"You can always reach me through Central Registry," and with a nod of gratitude she passed him to go to the telephone. From her couch, Mrs. Nash watched her opportunity. With a gesture of surprising quickness she removed the thermometer from her mouth and tucked it unseen against the hot water bottle. When Doctor Roberts closed his notebook and turned back to her, the thermometer was once again held firmly between her lips. He took it out, looked at it twice, and then at Mrs. Nash's scarlet countenance. "Miss Ward," he called, and his voice was grave. "Don't order a taxi--I think that you had better remain and prepare a bedroom for Mrs. Nash," and then, in an undertone, as Miriam gained his side, "it will never do to take Mrs. Nash out in this weather--her temperature reads 103°." CHAPTER V SHERIFF TRENHOLM ASKS QUESTIONS A DISTINCT and unmistakable snore from the bed caused Miriam to approach her patient. Mrs. Nash, her head unevenly balanced between two pillows, was at last asleep. To place her in a more comfortable position would undoubtedly awaken her, and Miriam backed away on tiptoe from the bedside. She had spent three weary hours at Mrs. Nash's beck and call; she had run every conceivable errand the sick woman's fancy had dictated, had prepared her for bed, and finally induced her, on threat of departure, to swallow the medicine prescribed by Doctor Roberts. Martha's scanty wardrobe could not provide clothing for Mrs. Nash, and the housekeeper had been dispatched to Upper Marlboro, the county seat, in the Nash limousine which had finally put in an appearance, to purchase such necessities as the country stores could supply. Betty Carter had taken little part in the discussion, contenting herself with the request that Martha buy a wrapper, bedroom slippers, and a night dress and bring them at once to her room, whereupon she had gone upstairs and locked her door. Martha had carried her dinner to her upon her return from the shopping expedition. Miriam had been too intent upon her professional duties to pay much attention to the other members of the small party, but she had gathered from Martha's remarks that Alan Mason and Doctor Roberts had left for Upper Marlboro in the latter's car shortly after dinner. Martha, with a sidelong glance which Miriam was beginning to associate with the housekeeper's personality, had overheard Alan tell her husband that he would return in time to "sit up with Mr. Paul." "Ain't it awful, Ma'am--Miss, to think of that poor gentleman lying in t'other room dead," she went on, with a shiver. "And him so sot on getting well. Poor Mr. Paul!" And she wiped away a few tears with the hem of her clean apron. "He won't rest easy in his grave."