Penfield, directly addressed, bowed gravely to Evelyn, who had risen with the others on their entrance, and then regarded his host with no lenient eye. That Burnham had been drinking or was under some powerful drug was evident, and Penfield wished heartily that Evelyn would retire; he disliked scenes—dead people were one thing, hysterical women another.
“There has been no inquest yet,” he said. “We are waiting for the principals in the case to be in condition to attend it before we hold it.”
“Principals?” Burnham moved nearer and placed an unsteady hand on the back of a chair. “Who d’ye mean?”
“Mrs. Ward, primarily,” responded Penfield politely. “I understand, Hayden, she is ill from shock.”
“Yes, she is; nothing very serious, however.”
“Has she a nurse?”
“Yes. Mrs. Duvall.”
“Excellent,” Penfield rubbed his hands together. “I would like to talk to Nurse Duvall if convenient.”
“Certainly, Penfield,” Hayden made a motion to go but Evelyn was before him.
“I’ll run up and take her place with Mrs. Ward so she can come down to see you,” she volunteered and slipped from the room.