“You seem to be well up in the case, Nurse.”
“Oh, I am. Naturally I was interested, Lady Dormer being my patient and all.”
“Of course. But all the same, did Miss Dorland bring the brandy straight along to you?”
“I think so. I heard Nellie go along the passage on the half landing, and looked out to call to her, but by the time I’d got the door open, I saw Miss Dorland coming out of the studio with the brandy in her hand.”
“And where was Nellie then?”
“Just got back to the end of the passage and starting downstairs to the telephone.”
“At that rate, Miss Dorland couldn’t have been more than ten seconds alone with the brandy,” said Peter, thoughtfully. “And who gave it to General Fentiman?”
“I did. I took it out of Miss Dorland’s hand at the door and gave it to him at once. He seemed better then, and only took a little of it.”
“Did you leave him again?”
“I did not. Miss Dorland went out on to the landing presently to see if the taxi was coming.”
“She was never alone with him?”
“Not for a moment.”
“Did you like Miss Dorland, Nurse? Is she a nice girl, I mean?” Wimsey had not spoken for so long that Parker quite started.
“She was always very pleasant to me,” said Nurse Armstrong. “I shouldn’t call her an attractive girl, not to my mind.”
“Did she ever mention Lady Dormer’s testamentary arrangements in your hearing?” asked Parker, picking up what he conceived to be Wimsey’s train of thought.
“Well—not exactly. But I remember her once talking about her painting, and saying she did it for a hobby, as her aunt would see she always had enough to live on.”
“That’s true enough,” said Parker. “At the worst, she would get fifteen thousand pounds, which carefully invested, might mean six or seven hundred a year. She didn’t say she expected to be very rich?”
“No.”
“Nor anything about the General?”
“Not a word.”
“Was she happy?” asked Wimsey.
“She was upset, naturally, with her aunt being so ill.”
“I don’t mean that. You are the sort of person who observes a lot—nurses are awfully quick about that kind of thing, I’ve noticed. Did she strike you as a person who—who felt right with life, as you might say?”
“She was one of the quiet ones. But—yes—I should say she was satisfied with things all right.”
“Did she sleep well?”
“Oh, she was a very sound sleeper. It was a job to wake her if anything was wanted in the night.”
“Did she cry much?”
“She cried over the old lady’s death; she had very nice feelings.”
“Some natural tears she shed, and all that. She didn’t lie about and have awful howling fits or anything like that?”
“Good gracious, no!”
“How did she walk?”
“Walk?”
“Yes, walk. Was she what you’d call droopy?”
“Oh, no—quick and brisk.”
“What was her voice like?”
“Well, now, that was one of the nice things about her. Rather deep for a woman, but with what I might call a tune in it. Melodious,” said Nurse Armstrong, with a faint giggle, “that’s what they call it in novels.”
Parker opened his mouth and shut it again.
“How long did you stay on at the house after Lady Dormer died?” pursued Wimsey.
“I waited on till after the funeral, just in case Miss Dorland should need anybody.”
“Before you left, did you hear anything of this trouble about the lawyers and the wills?”
“They were talking about it downstairs. Miss Dorland said nothing to me herself.”
“Did she seem worried?”
“Not to notice.”
“Had she any friends with her at the time?”
“Not staying in the house. She went out to see some friends one evening, I think—the evening before I left. She didn’t say who they were.”
“I see. Thank you, Nurse.”
Parker had no more questions to put, and they took their leave.
“Well” said Parker, “how anybody could admire that girl’s voice—”
“You noticed that! My theory is coming out right, Charles. I wish it wasn’t. I’d rather be wrong. I should like to have you look pitifully at me and say, ‘I told you so.’ I can’t speak more strongly than that.”
“Hang your theories!” said Parker. “It looks to me as if we shall have to wash out the idea that General Fentiman got his dose in Portman Square. By the way, didn’t you say you’d met the Dorland girl at the Rushworths?”
“No. I said I went hoping to meet her, but she wasn’t there.”
“Oh, I see. Well, that’ll do for the moment. How about a spot of lunch?”
At which point they turned the corner and ran slap into Salcombe Hardy, emerging from Harley Street. Wimsey clutched Parker’s arm suddenly. “I’ve remembered,” he said.
“What?”
“Who that portrait reminds me of. Tell you later.”
Sally, it appeared, was also thinking of grub. He was, in fact, due to meet Waffles Newton at the Falstaff. It ended in their all going to the Falstaff.
“And how’s it all going?” demanded Sally, ordering boiled beef and carrots.
He looked limpidly at Parker who shook his head.
“Discreet man, your friend,” said Sally to Peter. “I suppose the police are engaged in following up a clue—or have we reached the point when they are completely baffled? Or do we say that an arrest is imminent, eh?”
“Tell us your own version, Sally. Your opinion’s as good as anybody’s.”
“Oh, mine!—Same as yours—same as everybody’s. The girl was in league with the doctor, of course. Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” said Parker, cautiously. “But that’s a hard thing to prove. We know, of course, that they both sometimes went to Mrs. Rushworth’s house, but there’s no evidence that they knew each other well.”
“But, you ass, she—” Wimsey blurted out. He shut his mouth again with a snap. “No, I won’t. Fish it out for yourselves.”
Illumination was flooding in on him in great waves. Each point of light touched off a myriad others. Now a date was lit up, and now a sentence. The relief in his mind would have been overwhelming, had it not been for that nagging central
