The housekeeper's words recurred to Miriam as her gaze, which had been wandering about the room, rested on a small, black-bordered sketch of what appeared to be a group of neglected graves. The picture was well executed, but Miriam wondered at its selection for a decoration in a bedroom. From the drawing Miriam's eyes wandered to several paintings on the wall, and, from the likeness of one of the portraits to Paul Abbott, she judged it to be that of his father. Evidently the room given to Mrs. Nash had once been occupied by the elder Abbott, whether as bedroom or sitting room was hard to say, for the remainder of the pictures on the wall were hunting scenes and, except for the bedstead, the rest of the furniture was such as is found in a man's "den." Miriam selected the most comfortable of the easy-chairs and, taking care to make no noise, pushed it around so that from its depths she could have an unobstructed view of her patient. Her fatigued muscles relaxed as she sank back in the chair, but her brain--ah, it was on fire! For a moment she looked with envy at the slumbering woman. If she could only sleep as soundly with no visions of the past to disturb her! The present was bad enough in all conscience--who could have murdered Paul Abbott and what possible motive could have inspired the crime? The cautious turning of the door knob and the slow opening of the door caused her to bend forward in her chair. Sheriff Trenholm leaned inside the door and, catching sight of Miriam, raised a beckoning finger, and then placed it against his lips, enjoining silence. Miriam's rubber-soled shoes made no noise on the hardwood floor and she gained the hall door without disturbing her patient. "What is it?" she asked, stepping partly into the hall, down which the sheriff had retreated a few paces. "I'd like to have a talk with you," he replied. "Just quietly, by ourselves." "But my patient!" she exclaimed. "She is asleep, isn't she?" "Yes, but--" She came further into the hall so as to speak more emphatically and yet not awaken Mrs. Nash. "I am on night duty. I cannot leave my patient alone." "You don't have to; Mrs. Corbin will stay with her, and call you if there is the slightest need for your presence." Sheriff Trenholm moved to one side and Miriam caught a glimpse beyond him of Martha loitering by the door to Paul Abbott's old bedroom. "Come, Miss Ward, you will only be across the corridor from Mrs. Nash; and it is essential that I see you to-night." His voice deepened and his hand, as if by accident, pulled back his coat so that the badge of authority on his vest was visible. "I'll relieve you of any responsibility should Mrs. Nash question your absence," he added. "Go in, Mrs. Corbin," as the housekeeper, who had drawn nearer, paused undecidedly.