She shuddered, but made no reply.
“Did any one come in to see you later?” Markham continued.
“Not a soul.”
Heath impatiently projected himself into the interrogation.
“And say; did you drink your soup right away?”
“No—not right away. I felt a little chilly, and I went across the hall to Julia’s room to get an old Spanish shawl to put round me.”
Heath made a disgusted face, and sighed noisily.
“Every time we get going on this case,” he complained, “something comes along and sinks us.—If Miss Ada left the soup in here, Mr. Markham, while she went to get a shawl, then almost anybody coulda sneaked in and poisoned the stuff.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ada apologized, almost as though she had taken Heath’s words as a criticism of her actions.
“It’s not your fault, Ada,” Vance assured her. “The Sergeant is unduly depressed.—But tell me this: when you went into the hall did you see Miss Sibella’s dog anywhere around?”