Ada was sitting by the window when we came in, her elbows on the sill, chin in hands, gazing out into the snow-covered yard. She was startled by our entry, and the pupils of her eyes dilated, as if with sudden fright. It was plain that the experiences she had been through had created in her a state of nervous fear.
After a brief exchange of amenities, during which both Vance and Markham strove to allay her nervousness, Markham broached the subject of the bouillon.
“We’d give a great deal,” he said, “not to have to recall so painful an episode, but much depends on what you can tell us regarding yesterday morning.—You were in the drawing-room, weren’t you, when the nurse called down to you?”
The girl’s lips and tongue were dry, and she spoke with some difficulty.
“Yes. Mother had asked me to bring her a copy of a magazine, and I had just gone down-stairs to look for it when the nurse called.”
“You saw the nurse when you came up-stairs?”
“Yes; she was just going toward the servants’ stairway.”
“There was no one in your room here when you entered?”
She shook her head. “Who could have been here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Miss Greene,” replied Markham gravely. “Some one certainly put the drug in your bouillon.”