Miriam bent over her and straightened the pillows with a practiced hand. "Isn't that more comfortable?" she asked, as Mrs. Nash sank back with a sigh. "It is time for your medicine," glancing, as she spoke, at her wrist watch. "Just a second," and moving swiftly over to the table, she prepared it and then returned to the bed. She expected some difficulty in persuading Mrs. Nash to take it, but to her secret surprise the latter swallowed it without a murmur, but with a wry face. "Roberts never prescribed an agreeable dose," she commented, after sipping a glass of water. "Sit by me, Miss Ward, I want to ask you some questions." "Not to-night," Miriam's charming smile softened her refusal. "You must go to sleep." "With that howl still ringing in my ears!" Mrs. Nash's shudder was no affectation, but a true indication of her state of mind. "What possessed the woman?" "Hysterics," briefly. "Now, Mrs. Nash, you really must close your eyes." "In a minute. Sit down just a second." Mrs. Nash's tone could be coaxing when she wished. "I'll do whatever you say if you will answer a few questions." "I can't promise." "Now, don't be obstinate." Mrs. Nash glanced at her shrewdly. "If you irritate me, I'll not sleep at all," and she squared her shoulders with an air of determination which made Miriam's heart sink. She knew, none better, that often temper and temperature went hand and hand in the sick room. Humoring a patient was occasionally a short cut to health as well as peace. "What is it you wish to know?" she asked, sitting down. Mrs. Nash smiled, well pleased with having gained her point. "What killed Paul?" she asked, and at Miriam's frown, added hastily: "There is nothing in that question to send my temperature skyward. Was he poisoned?" "No; stabbed." Miriam met her piercing black eyes steadily, while wondering at the concentration of her regard. Mrs. Nash sat bolt upright. "Was the knife left in the body?" she demanded. "No." "Have they found it?" "No." Miriam hastened to supplement her second monosyllable with a further statement as she saw another question trembling on Mrs. Nash's lips. "The weapon has not been found _yet_." "Then how do they know that he was stabbed?" persisted Mrs. Nash. "By the nature of the wound," replied Miriam. "Sheriff Trenholm told me just now that the autopsy proved Mr. Abbott died from what is known as a punctured wound." "And what is that precisely?" "Why, the weapon used left a fusiform or spindle-shaped wound," she added, observing Mrs. Nash's blank expression. "Now, please lie down again, for that is the last question I am going to answer to-night," and the gentle firmness of her voice convinced Mrs. Nash that she meant what she said. But before she settled back on the pillows she looked around at her nurse. "Was my niece talking to Guy Trenholm in the hall before you came in here a second time?" she inquired.