Mrs. Nash's eyelids flickered slightly; otherwise she regarded him with unchanged expression. "It is a pity," she agreed, "in a way. But I have no doubt that certain terms in Paul's ridiculous will can be set aside." "Ah, on what grounds?" "That he was not of sound mind when it was drawn up," quietly. "In view of the mystery surrounding Paul's shocking murder, Mr. Trenholm, I feel that you should be informed on certain matters." "And what are they, Mrs. Nash?" as she paused. Trenholm was giving her flattering attention and she smiled shrewdly. "My father had given his consent to Betty's engagement to Paul," she went on, "when, shortly after, we noticed a change in Paul. His morbid tendencies became more pronounced and he suffered from the delusion that people were pursuing him." She looked at Trenholm. "You know the unfortunate story of his mother?" "That she died insane, yes." "My father grew more and more distressed, for Betty is his only grandchild. At last my husband went to Doctor Roberts and asked him to join my father's party on our yachting trip to Bermuda, so that he might have Paul under mental observation." Mrs. Nash paused to clear her throat. "That was only two months ago." "And what conclusion did Roberts come to regarding Paul's mental condition?" questioned Trenholm swiftly. "Roberts is an old fogy!" For once Mrs. Nash's self-control slipped. She had herself in hand again before Trenholm could guess the cause of her emotion. "And his affection for Paul biased his judgment. My husband would have done better had he employed another physician." Trenholm scrutinized her intently for several minutes. "And what connection is there between Paul's mental condition and his murder?" he asked finally. "Suicide--" Trenholm laughed outright. "An utterly unpractical theory, Mrs. Nash," he remarked, and the dryness of his tone brought the carmine to her cheeks under her rouge. "It was physically impossible for Paul to have stabbed himself." He rose without ceremony and stared openly about the big bedroom. "I've been in here often when Mr. Abbott, Sr., used it as a sitting room," he said, "and these are the hunting prints which Paul left me." He looked down at Mrs. Nash, a faint smile still lingering about his lips. "I want these prints awfully. Please don't contest Paul's will," and turning his back upon her, he walked leisurely across the room and examined them. Mrs. Nash's emotions were too great to permit her clear vision and she failed to detect Trenholm when he quietly took down the sketch of neglected graves which hung where Miriam had seen it during her first vigil in the sick room. Slipping the small picture inside his pocket, he strolled back to the bed. "Good-by, Mrs. Nash," he bowed courteously, then bent further down until his lips nearly touched her right ear. "I am not much of a doctor, but I am of the opinion that you can get up." When Mrs. Nash recovered her breath only Somers was in the bedroom.