“Her clothes?”
“An odd shade of yellow. Velvet. Tiers on skirt and a hat of real marigolds. She had no coat.”
“Was she driving a car?”
“No. She came to Toronto with Dennis in his car.”
“Thank you,” Sands said. He went to the door and opened it for her. She walked out, looking a little surprised.
Sands reached for the telephone, reeled off Dinah’s description to the policeman at the desk, and then hung up and called the hospital again. Miss Stevens was doing as well as could be expected. Assured of his identity, the voice added that Miss Stevens had reacted wonderfully to the injections and was well enough to be eating. She was asking for her brother, Duncan. Would the inspector be kind enough to produce him?
“I left Duncan Stevens at the hospital,” Sands said acidly. “I didn’t smuggle him out in my pocket.”
“He left immediately after you did,” the voice claimed.
“I’ll find him. I’ll be there in half an hour. Keep the girl conscious.”
“That’s not in my province,” the voice said, and disappeared into space.
Sands went out into the hall and motioned to Prye, who was talking to Sergeant Bannister again. Prye came over.
“I hope you don’t get married often, Prye,” he said. “Another disappearance. This time it’s Stevens.”
They walked back into the library.
“Best news I’ve had in years,” Prye said. “But my luck won’t hold. Stevens has likely gone to another hospital for a quiet session with his d.t.’s.”
“Heavy drinker?”
“Chronic, I understand. He’s had a good ten years’ practice. He’s thirty-one.”
“The brother is a kind of guardian to his sister?”
“A kind of,” Prye said. “Jane’s twenty-two and Duncan controls the money until her marriage, in accordance with the family custom. Primogeniture and that sort of thing is very strong in the family.”
“Much money?”
“There used to be rather a lot, but Duncan is generous with himself. The best isn’t good enough for Duncan. How much this delusion has cost him I don’t know.”
“Any marriage imminent for the girl?”
“There was once.”
“Tell me.”
“It didn’t come off.”
Sands raised his brows. “These half weddings seem to run in the family.”
“That one didn’t get as far as mine did. Maybe the curse is lifting.”
“This was in Boston?”
“Yes. Three years ago. Ask Nora about it. She was there at the time.”
“What happened?”
Prye grinned. “Well, Nora swears that Duncan wears blue silk underwear and took a fancy to the young man himself. Nora read a book once.”
“I see. Was the girl upset at all?”
“You wait and see what a very great deal it takes to upset a cow.”
“Parents both dead?”
“Yes.”
They were silent a moment.
“You know when the girl was poisoned?” Sands asked.
“I think so. At breakfast. The time is right. She had breakfast about eight-thirty.”
“With whom?”
Prye looked up and smiled rather bleakly.
“With me,” he said at last. “With no one else but me.”
3
Miss Tomson, charge nurse of the accident ward, stepped out of room 202 and thumbed her nose at the door. Then she walked, with no loss of dignity, to the desk.
“Now what do you think she wants?”
Miss Hearst sighed. “A bedpan. All of them do all of the time.”
Miss Tomson ignored this. “A powder puff, a comb, lipstick, and some perfume. ‘If it isn’t too too much trouble.’ ”
“I’ll rustle up the perfume,” Miss Hearst said smoothly. “You can’t beat a drop of formaldehyde behind each ear. It’s so clinging.”
Miss Tomson remembered her official position and said, “No levity please, Miss Hearst.”
“Of course not, Miss Tomson. I was only trying to help.”
Mollified by this lip service, Miss Tomson became natural again. “I don’t care for these cloying blondes. They should be poisoned every six months as a matter of principle. Still, it’s odd, isn’t it? It wasn’t attempted suicide as most of them are, because she doesn’t even know she was poisoned, Dr. Hall says.”
“He’s been in there for half an hour,” Miss Hearst remarked. “He’s a sucker for blondes.”
Miss Tomson was arch. “Jealous, Miss Hearst?”
“Oh no,” Miss Hearst said with a shrug of her starched shoulders. “I could be a blonde myself if I wanted to spend the time on it.”
Unaware that harsh remarks were being made about her person, Miss Jane Stevens sank back among her pillows. Miss Stevens herself never made harsh remarks. Her mind moved in a small circle about herself though frequently the circle expanded to include her brother Duncan or some nice new young man she’d met at a party. Or at a hospital.
She smiled up at Dr. Hall, the intern on the accident ward. “You must be terribly clever. I feel quite well again. When am I going home?”
Dr. Hall returned the smile. “When we get a pretty girl on this ward we can’t let her go off the same day.”
“What... what happened to me?”
In the coarse white hospital gown she looked very small and fragile. She suspected this fact and endeavored to improve on it by letting one round white arm trail helplessly over the edge of the bed.
“You mustn’t think about it,” Dr. Hall said.
“Did I faint?”
“Well, in a way.”
She sat up, looking at him with frightened eyes. “Look, I didn’t have a... a fit? You know what I mean.”
“Epilepsy? Oh no.”
“Oh well, that’s all right.” She sank back again. “Where is Duncan? He’ll be worried about me.”
“He’s around somewhere,” Dr. Hall replied in the confident voice he used for making statements with no basis of truth.
The charge nurse bustled into the room and announced brightly that she wouldn’t want to disturb anybody but Miss Stevens had company waiting and Dr. Hall was wanted immediately in 206.
Dr. Hall scowled at her. “There wasn’t anyone in 206 half an hour ago.”
Miss Tomson replied sweetly that half an hour was a long time in a hospital.
“Company?” Jane said. “Is it my brother?”
Dr. Hall went out, and Miss Tomson gave Jane a look of synthetic sympathy. “My dear, it’s the police!” she hissed, and left Jane flailing her arms and shouting questions at the closed door.
Prye and Sands came in together.
Jane gasped, “Police? What— Not Duncan?”
“Nothing to do with Duncan,” Prye told her. “How are you feeling, Jane?”
The question calmed her. She gave him a very brave smile. “I’m fine, Paul. Don’t bother about me. I’m sorry I spoiled your lovely wedding.”
“That’s all right. Jane, this is Inspector Sands.”
Sands smiled but said nothing.
“You are a policeman then?” she said, paling. “What do you want?”
“I hope you’re feeling well enough to stand a shock,” Sands said mechanically, thinking that she looked well enough insulated.
“Shock? What is everybody so mysterious about today? What shock?”
“You were poisoned this morning.”
She didn’t look shocked at all. She seemed, on the contrary, rather pleased, as if she had been proved right about something.