“She’ll live, I guess. We’ve been giving her passive exercise and artificial breathing for half an hour, and the doc hopes to have her walking before long.”
Markham, his nervousness somewhat abated, sat down again.
“Tell us all you can, Miss O’Brien. Was there any evidence as to how the poison was administered?”
“Nothing but an empty bouillon cup.” The woman was ill at ease. “I guess you’ll find remains of morphine in it, all right.”
“Why do you think the drug was given by means of the bouillon?”
She hesitated and shot Heath an uneasy look.
“It’s this way. I always bring a cup of bouillon to Mrs. Greene a little before eleven in the morning; and if Miss Ada’s around I bring two cups—that’s the old lady’s orders. This morning the girl was in the room when I went down to the kitchen, so I brought up two cups. But Mrs. Greene was alone when I returned, so I gave the old lady hers and put the other cup in Miss Ada’s room on the table by the bed. Then I went into the hall to call her. She was down-stairs—in the living-room, I guess. Anyhow, she came up right away, and, as I had some mending to do for Mrs. Greene, I went to my room on the third floor. . . .”
“Therefore,” interpolated Markham, “the bouillon was on Miss Ada’s table unprotected for a minute or so after you had left the room and before Miss Ada came up from the lower hall.”
“It wasn’t over twenty seconds. And I was right outside the door all the time. Furthermore, the door was open, and I’d have heard any one in the room.” The woman was obviously defending herself desperately against the imputation of negligence in Markham’s remark.
Vance put the next question.