Trenholm looked doubtful. "That is possible but not probable," he retorted. "And it is not borne out by facts. If he was killed in bed, the sheets would have been stained with blood." His remark was caught by Alan Mason as the latter stepped inside the bedroom. At the sound of his entrance, Trenholm wheeled around and his frown at the interruption gave place to a pleased smile. Alan bowed to Miriam before addressing the sheriff. "Coroner Dixon told me that the wound bled internally," he pointed out. "Wouldn't that explain the comparatively stainless condition of the sheets?" "Not to my way of thinking," declared the sheriff. He frowned again. "No, I don't believe Paul was killed in that bed." "Do you mean that the murderer lifted Paul out of bed, killed him, and then put him back in bed?" Alan smiled in derision as he put the question. "Come, that's absurd." "Wait!" Miriam drew a step nearer Alan. His presence gave her courage. There was something indefinable about Alan Mason which, for want of a better word, she recognized as caste. His consideration in having a dinner tray sent to Mrs. Nash's door had kept her from a supperless vigil in the sick room and it was but one of many small acts of courtesy. "There is something I must tell you." "Yes? Go on, Miss Ward." Sheriff Trenholm brought her a chair. "Sit down, you must be worn out." Mechanically she seated herself. "I wanted to tell you this afternoon," she continued, struggling to steady her voice. She felt strangely nervous. Surely the curtains of the four-post bedstead were moving? She looked hard at them, then averted her gaze. Pshaw, nerves must not get the best of her. "But Miss Carter insisted that I was demented." Alan changed his weight from one foot to the other as he leaned against the table. "Miss Carter appeared hardly accountable for her behavior," he began. "I think that we can safely say that, eh, Guy?" Sheriff Trenholm did not at once reply. With head bent he studied the pattern of the rug upon which they were standing, and when he looked up his expression was inscrutable. "Miss Carter will be questioned further," he said noncommittally. "Go ahead, Miss Ward." Miriam Ward moistened her dry lips. Would they believe her, or would she simply involve herself more deeply in the mystery by making statements which she could not prove? "When I came back after Miss Carter's departure with her companion," she spoke slowly, almost haltingly, and to one of the men watching her, she appeared more like an animated waxen figure than a human being, "I put down the lamp and walked over to this bed. The curtains were adjusted about as they are now." Miriam paused and pointed toward them. "I drew them aside and looked down--a strange man lay in the bed." With one accord the two men advanced to her side. "Where was Paul?" demanded Alan and the sheriff almost in the same breath.