“I suppose you know what you’re doing,” she said. “I will send for them at once, but
“Will the nurse be here all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It isn’t likely that the patient will come round, but if she shows any sign of returning consciousness, send for the matron at once, nurse. And remember, that if she should utter even a single word, it might be helpful.”
The nurse promised hoarsely that she would do what he said. She looked as frightened as the matron, presumably worried so much because there had been a serious lapse of discipline. He followed the matron out of the room. The little nurse was waiting outside, obviously apprehensive. The matron gave her instructions to send the porters to the office, and maintaining her stately poise, she walked to the office and sat down at her desk. She was inwardly in a state of great agitation.
“What else has gone wrong?” demanded Rollison.
A tinge of colour stained the woman’s cheeks, and he admired her as she pulled herself together and answered.
“She should not have been left. The police asked us to arrange for a nurse to be with her all the time, and the doctors were equally emphatic. Nurse Armitage, who was on duty, was taken ill, and we could not find another at short notice who was free. It was only a matter of half an hour that the patient was left. She was well enough at lunch, because I was there with her myself.”
“I see,” said Rollison.
“What is your interest in her?” asked the matron, now rallying well. The shock of the discovery had temporarily unbalanced her, for if the patient died some blame would undoubtedly be attached to the nursing home. Now, however, she resumed her cloak of authority.
“I think she is a friend of a friend,” said Rollison, evasively.
There was a tap at the door, and the porters came in, two ordinary men in white smocks. The matron gave them precise instructions, dismissed them, and turned to Rollison.
“Why were you so—officious?”
“Someone had to make sure that everything necessary was done,” said Rollison. He touched the little bulge which the medicine glass made in his pocket. “That would probably have been washed, and someone might have closed the window. Should that have been left open?”
“Not at the bottom—there is a special ventilation shutter at the top. The nurse on duty was careless, and I didn’t notice it. I should have done, of course; the responsibility is mine.”
“I wonder if it is all yours,” murmured Rollison, and having won her hopeful interest, he went on: “This nurse who was taken ill—where is she?”
“She has gone home.”
“Has she been with you long?”
“Only a few weeks.”
“Have you found her quite satisfactory?”
“Perfectly,” said the matron, who obviously caught the drift of his questions. “I do not think that she co- operated with the people who administered the poison—if there
“Yes,” said Rollison.
“Then it is almost certainly
“Where is the bottle from which it was taken?” asked Rollison, and when she hesitated, he added: “I saw the police before I came here, they won’t object to these questions.”
“The bottle is in our dispensary,” replied the matron. “It is frequently prescribed, and we have it in bulk quantities.”
“Can I see it?” asked Rollison, and then changed his mind, anticipating a refusal and avoiding it. “No, that can wait for the police, provided it is put aside and not touched again until they’ve examined it.”
“I will see to that,” said the matron. “I suppose I’d better do it myself. Is there anything else you would like?”
“Several things,” said Rollison, “including a word with the police. May I use the telephone?”
She said Yes,” not very graciously, and went out. Rollison dialled Whitehall 1212, but did not wait to speak to Grice. He left a message which should bring Grice here hot-foot, rang off and moved to an oak filing cabinet by the side of the desk. He was not in view of anyone who might pass the window, but he looked at the door from time to time as he pulled open the filing cabinet and ran through the manilla folders inside. Under “N” he found “
