“By the bye, doctor, what is the name of the night nurse at your sanitarium?”
Doctor Lindquist looked up quickly.
“My night nurse? Why—what has she to do with it? She was very busy Monday night. I can’t understand. . . . Well, if you want her name I have no objection. It’s Finckle—Miss Amelia Finckle.”
Vance wrote down the name and, rising, carried the slip of paper to Heath.
“Sergeant, bring Miss Finckle here to-morrow morning at eleven,” he said, with a slight lowering of one eyelid.
“I sure will, sir. Good idea.” His manner boded no good for Miss Finckle.
A cloud of apprehension spread over Doctor Lindquist’s face.
“Forgive me if I say that I am insensible to the sanity of your cavalier methods.” His tone betrayed only contempt. “May I hope that for the present your inquisition is ended?”
“I think that will be all, doctor,” returned Markham politely. “May I have a taxicab called for you?”
“Your consideration overwhelms me. But my car is below.” And Doctor Lindquist haughtily withdrew.