“You may think what you please!” she snapped.
“Have you any idea,” Landis interjected smoothly, “who tried to murder Graham as they murdered Harrison—and why?”
“I have no idea whatever, Mr. Landis!”
“When did you next go to your room?” he inquired.
“When the doctor came. Ethel—Mrs. Graham asked me to go up with her and I did but the doctor did not seem to want me in the room so I crossed to my own. My door was not locked then! I waited there in case I was wanted and presently Mrs. Graham came over for a sleeping powder, which I gave her.”
“You made no effort to dress Graham’s wound as soon as he was hurt? You remained downstairs?” asked Landis.
“There were plenty of others to look after him!” said Miss Mount sharply. “Stimson is quite capable of such a simple dressing as that, I imagine!”
“What makes you think it was simple?” Bernard shot at her. “You didn’t see the wound, did you?”
“The doctor told me it was only a flesh wound.”
“After he came!” snapped Bernard. “You didn’t know that the wound wasn’t serious, possibly mortal and desperately in need of dressing until the doctor came, did you? Why didn’t you find out?”