“Observin’ fella!” smiled Vance. “No, Sergeant; Ada’s demise apparently bothered him far less than Sibella’s possible state of health. . . . Now, I wonder what that means. It’s an inveiglin’ point. But—dash it all!—it everts my pet theory.”
“So you have a theory.” Markham spoke rebukingly.
“Oh, any number of ’em. And, I might add, they’re all pets.” Vance’s lightness of tone meant merely that he was not ready to outline his suspicions; and Markham did not push the matter.
“We won’t need any theories,” declared Heath, “after we’ve heard what Ada’s got to tell us. As soon as she talks to us to-morrow we’ll be able to figure out who poisoned her.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Vance.
Drumm returned alone a few minutes later.
“Doctor Von Blon has stepped into the other girl’s room. Said he’d be down right away.”
“What did he have to say about your patient?” asked Vance.
“Nothing much. She put new energy into her walking the minute she saw him, though. Smiled at him, too, by Jove! A good sign, that. She’ll come through fast. Lot of resistance in her.”
Drumm had hardly ceased speaking when we heard Sibella’s door close and the sound of descending footsteps on the stairs.