cigar from his mouth and cocked his head at Markham.
“You know, sir, I was just thinking over the Inspector’s suggestion about planting some one in the house to keep an eye on things. How would it be if we got rid of this nurse that’s here now, and put in one of our own women from Headquarters?”
Von Blon looked up with eager approval.
“An excellent plan!” he exclaimed.
“Very well, Sergeant,” agreed Markham. “You attend to it.”
“Your woman can begin to-night,” Von Blon told Heath. “I’ll meet you here whenever you say, and give her instructions. There’s nothing very technical for her to do.”
Heath made a notation in a battered note-book.
“I’ll meet you here, say, at six o’clock. How’s that?”
“That will suit me perfectly.” Von Blon rose. “And now, if I can be of no more service . . .”
“That’s quite all right, doctor,” said Markham. “Go right ahead.”
But instead of immediately leaving the house Von Blon went up-stairs, and we heard him knock on Sibella’s door. A few minutes later he came down again and passed on to the front door without a glance in our direction.
In the meantime Snitkin had come in and informed the Sergeant that Captain Jerym was leaving Police Headquarters at once and would arrive within half an hour. He had then gone outside to make his measurements of the footprints on the balcony steps.
“And now,” suggested Markham, “I think we might see Mrs. Greene. It’s possible she heard something. . . .”
Vance roused himself from apparent lethargy.
“By all means. But first let us get a few facts in hand. I long to hear where the nurse was during the half-hour preceding Rex’s demise. And I could bear to know if the old lady was alone immediately following the firing of the revolver.—Why not have our Miss Nightingale on the tapis before we brave the invalid’s imprecations?”
Markham concurred, and Heath sent Sproot to summon her.
The nurse came in with an air of professional detachment; but her roseate cheeks had paled perceptibly since we last saw her.
“Miss Craven”—Vance’s manner was easy and businesslike—“will you please tell us exactly what you were doing between half past ten and half past eleven this morning?”
“I was in my room on the third floor,” she answered. “I went there when the doctor arrived a little after ten, and remained until he called me to bring Mrs. Greene’s bouillon. Then I returned to my room and stayed until the doctor again summoned me to sit with Mrs. Greene while he was with you gentlemen.”
“When you were in your room, was the door open?”
“Oh, yes. I always leave it open in the daytime in case Mrs. Greene calls.”
“And her door was open, too, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear the shot?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That will be all, Miss Craven.” Vance accompanied her to the hall. “You’d better return to your room now, for we’re going to pay a visit to your patient.”
Mrs. Greene eyed us vindictively when we entered after having knocked and been imperiously ordered to come in.
“More trouble,” she complained. “Am I never to have any peace in my own house? The first day in weeks I’ve felt even moderately comfortable—and then all this had to happen to upset me!”
“We regret, madam—more than you do apparently—that your son is dead,” said Markham. “And we are sorry for the annoyance the tragedy is causing you. But that does not relieve me from the necessity of investigating the affair. As you were awake at the time the shot was fired, it is essential that we seek what information you may be able to give us.”
“What information can I give you—a helpless paralytic, lying here alone?” A smouldering anger flickered in her eyes. “It strikes me that you are the one to give me information.”
Markham ignored her barbed retort.
“The nurse tells me your door was open this morning. . . .”
“And why shouldn’t it have been? Am I expected to be entirely excommunicated from the rest of the household?”
“Certainly not. I was merely trying to find out if, by any chance, you were in a position to hear anything that went on in the hall.”
“Well, I heard nothing—if that’s all you want to know.”
Markham persisted patiently.
“You heard no one, for instance, cross Miss Ada’s room, or open Miss Ada’s door?”
“I’ve already told you I heard nothing.” The old lady’s denial was viciously emphatic.
“Nor any one walking in the hall, or descending the stairs?”
“No one but that incompetent doctor and the impossible Sproot. Were we supposed to have had visitors this morning?”
“Some one shot your son,” Markham reminded her coolly.
“It was probably his own fault,” she snapped. Then she seemed to relent a bit. “Still, Rex was not as hard and thoughtless as the rest of the children. But even he neglected me shamefully.” She appeared to weigh the matter. “Yes,” she decided, “he received just punishment for the way he treated me.”
Markham struggled with a hot resentment. At last he managed to ask, with apparent calmness:
“Did you hear the shot with which your son was punished?”
“I did not.” Her tone was again irate. “I knew nothing of the disturbance until the doctor saw fit to tell me.”
“And yet Mr. Rex’s door, as well as yours, was open,” said Markham. “I can hardly understand your not having heard the shot.”
The old lady gave him a look of scathing irony.
“Am I to sympathize with your lack of understanding?”
“Lest you be tempted to, madam, I shall leave you.” Markham bowed stiffly and turned on his heel.
As we reached the lower hall Doctor Doremus arrived.
“Your friends are still at it, I hear, Sergeant,” he greeted Heath, with his usual breezy manner. Handing his coat and hat to Sproot, he came forward and shook hands with all of us. “When you fellows don’t spoil my breakfast you interfere with my lunch,” he repined. “Where’s the body?”
Heath led him up-stairs, and after a few minutes returned to the drawing-room.
