“What is Mrs. Ward’s nationality?” asked Hayden. “I ask because last night just before going under the influence of the bromides she used several phrases which——”
A heavy step on the hardwood floor interrupted the physician and Jones appeared at Evelyn’s side.
“Detective Mitchell to see you, Miss Evelyn,” he announced and his low voice held suppressed excitement.
“Oh!” Evelyn gazed at him blankly for a minute, then at her companions; their presence would surely check any undue inquisitiveness which the detective might evince. Her step-father had told her that she might possibly have to appear at the inquest or give her deposition, and he had cautioned her against making any statement to either of the detectives who were then in the house. Evelyn, rather startled by his grave manner, had promptly vanished out of the house by way of the back door while the men from the Central Office were interviewing Burnham.
“Show him in,” she directed, and as the butler retreated, she looked at Hayden. “You were saying; oh, yes, now I remember; you asked about Mrs. Ward—she was born in Switzerland, but I believe has lived in the United States since she was fifteen years old. Is this Mr. Mitchell?” raising her voice as a well dressed, pleasant-faced man appeared in the room.
The detective advanced to the little group and his bow included them all.
“It is, Miss Preston,” he answered. “I was sorry not to see you this morning before you left.” Maynard, who had risen on his entrance, pushed forward his chair for the detective and subsided into one somewhat in the shadow of the grand piano. Mitchell acknowledged the courtesy with a word of thanks, then turned to Dr. Hayden.
“The nurse permitted me to see Mrs. Ward for a moment, doctor,” he began, “but she said she knew nothing of the suicide.”
“Suicide!” ejaculated Evelyn, startled.
“I am quoting Mrs. Ward,” explained Mitchell. “She evidently believes the stranger’s death to have been a case of suicide.”