Conrad rapped on the door which was opened by Madge.
'I was just going to call you. Doc, says you can talk to her now.'
'How is she?'
'A bit jumpy. I don't wonder at it. She's had a bad time.'
'Yes.'
'She's in the far room,' Madge said. 'Do you want me?'
'Not right now. If she's ready to make a statement, I'll call you.'
As he was speaking the nurse came out of the inner room and nodded to him.
'Don't let her talk too much. She needs a good sleep.'
'I won't keep her long,' Conrad said, and aware his heart was beginning to beat unevenly, he walked into the inner room.
Frances lay on a couch with a rug thrown over her. She was very pale, and her big dark eyes looked at Conrad with uneasy anxiety.
He was aware of a sudden tightening of his throat as he looked down at her. Her face in the photograph had fascinated him, and he realized with a sense of shock that he could be in love with her. It was fantastic, of course, as he hadn't even spoken to her as yet, but the feeling was there, and for a moment he remained still, unable to collect his thoughts or to say anything.
She lay motionless, watching him, and he pulled himself together with an effort.
'I expect Miss Fielding told you I wanted to talk to you,' he said, and his voice was husky. 'I'm Paul Conrad, special investigator to the District Attorney's office. How are you feeling, Miss Coleman?'
'I – I'm all right, thank you,' she said in a small voice. 'I want to go home.'
'We'll fix all that in a little while,' he said soothingly. 'There are a few questions I want to ask you first.' He pulled up a chair and sat down near her. 'I'm not going to keep you long because the nurse said you should have some sleep.'
'I don't want to sleep. I just want to go home.'
'Have you any relations, Miss Coleman? Someone you would like me to get into touch with to let them know where you are?'
He saw a scared expression jump into her eyes, and she looked quickly away from him.
'I haven't any relations.'
'No one at all?'
'No.'
He suddenly realized that this interview might not be as straightforward as he had imagined.
'Miss Coleman, I believe you called on Miss Arnot on the 9th, around seven o'clock.'
Her dark eyes flickered uneasily over his face, then moved away.
'Yes, I did.'
'Did you see Miss Arnot?'
'Yes.'
Conrad was aware now that the palms of his hands were moist and his heart was beginning to bang against his ribs.
'May I ask why you wanted to see her?'
'I – I would rather not say.' A faint flush rose to her face and she looked anxiously around the room as if she were trying to find a way of escape.
'Well I won't press that question. You did see Miss Arnot?'
'Yes.'
'How long were you with her?'
'Oh, about five minutes. Not longer.'
'Do you know why I am asking these questions?' Conrad said gently, his eyes on her face.
'I – I suppose it's because of Miss Arnot's death.'
'That's right: because of her murder.'
He saw her flinch, and bite her under-lip.
'What did you do when you left Miss Arnot?'
'Why, I came away.'
'Did you walk down the drive?'
'Yes.'
Conrad took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. The next question would decide Maurer's fate.
