TWENTY-FOUR hours had passed since Evelyn Preston’s discovery of the dead man, and the Burnham household had returned somewhat to its normal condition, chiefly through Dr. Hayden’s soothing influence and sound advice which had proved an effectual check to the servants’ inclination to hysteria, Burnham’s temper, and Evelyn’s nervousness. Marian Van Ness, in lieu of a trained nurse, had spent the night with the housekeeper, Mrs. Ward, who had finally quieted down under the influence of bromides and toward morning slept heavily. In the few remaining hours Marian had thrown herself on the couch in the housekeeper’s sitting room and snatched a short nap before going to her work at the State Department.
To Evelyn the day had seemed never ending; she had gone out for part of the morning, returned for luncheon, and afterward had attempted to rest, but she was far too restless to remain long in one place, and about four o’clock in the afternoon she found herself in the drawing room gazing moodily out of the window, her knitting needles for once idle in her lap. The entrance of Jones with the tea roused her from her contemplation of the closed house of her opposite neighbor across the street.
“Not many people are back yet, Jones,” she remarked.
“Not in this section, Miss Evelyn,” answered the butler, wheeling forward the tea-wagon and then going for a nest of tables from which he extracted the smallest. “Every house is closed hereabouts; it’s sort of lonesome, Miss, and strange, too, with the business part and the other streets just packed with people. Has Mr. Burnham returned yet, Miss?”
“I don’t think so.” Evelyn rattled the teacups as she rearranged them. “Are you quite positive, Jones, that no one called me on the telephone while I was out this morning?”
“Quite, Miss. I followed your instructions and stayed where I could hear the telephone bell if it rang; no one called, Miss.”
Jones had made the same answer to the same question at least six times during the day, but he was too well trained a servant to betray his curiosity aroused by Evelyn’s absent-minded harping on the subject. Being of a somewhat morbid tendency he, of all the household, had been the only one to get some entertainment out of the tragedy. The presence of the physicians, morgue attendants, and detectives had thrilled him beyond words; he had never hoped to participate in a humble degree in what promised to be a mystifying and unusual case of sudden death.
“Dr. Hayden went upstairs to see Mrs. Ward just now,” he said, finding that Evelyn asked no more questions. She looked up quickly and set down the tea-pot.
“Is the doctor still here?”
“I think so, Miss.”