"I do not know," replied Miriam. "The shock of not seeing my patient was so great I felt myself reeling backwards--and knew no more." Guy Trenholm and Alan exchanged glances. "And the murderer's confederate seized that moment to chloroform you!" ejaculated Alan. "Confederate? You are traveling fast, Alan, my boy," exclaimed Trenholm. "Why couldn't the man in the bed have sprung up as Miss Ward toppled over and chloroformed her as she lay on the floor in a fainting condition?" "That is possible," agreed Alan. "What did the man look like, Miss Ward?" Miriam's gaze shifted dumbly from one to the other of her companions. She had dreaded the question. "His eyes were closed and except that he wore a beard and his hair was dark, I cannot tell you what he looked like," she stammered. "The room was dimly lighted. I saw the man but for an instant, and then lost consciousness." Sheriff Trenholm regarded her in steadfast silence. It was Alan who broke the prolonged pause. "Would you know the man if you saw him again?" he asked and Miriam was grateful that no note of doubt had crept into his voice. "I am sure I would," she answered swiftly. "Then, don't worry." Alan's smile was very engaging. His eyes swept a searching glance about the big bedroom. "How was the man dressed?" Miriam shook her head. "I have no idea. The bedclothes were pulled up about his shoulders to his chin." She hesitated. "I only caught a glimpse of his profile." CHAPTER VI THE THIRD HAND THE minutes dragged interminably to Martha Corbin and she wished most devoutly that she had gone to her room before Guy Trenholm had found her in the kitchen. The sheriff was not a man to disobey, and at his peremptory direction she had at once accompanied him upstairs to find Miriam Ward. But she had not bargained on having to take the nurse's place in Mrs. Nash's bedroom. Illness in any form terrified her, and only the knowledge that Miriam was across the hall kept her in her chair. At first she had not been uncomfortable, but as Miriam's absence grew prolonged, the housekeeper found it impossible to keep still. Her twitching fingers fumbled with the arms of the tufted chair until she had loosened four or five upholstery buttons and pulled off several inches of braid. Bouncing to her feet she looked at Mrs. Nash, then, convinced that she was still asleep, she tiptoed over to the old-fashioned bureau at the opposite end of the room.