— 28 —Olivia Sacret waked from a light sleep to find that it was past midday by the blue enamel traveling clock on her bedside table. She rose, adjusted her hair and dress and went lightly through the hushed house to Susan’s room.
“How punctual you are!”
The widow looked keenly at her friend who was pacing about restlessly, still wearing her dressing gown.
“Yes, I have just wakened. Have you the money? Was the messenger punctual, also? How is your husband?”
“Yes, the bank messenger came, at the stroke. No one noticed him—there are so many people in the house now, five doctors, old Mrs. Rue and her maid—and no one thinks of anything else save Martin. I was able to watch out and go to the door myself. I signed the receipt—here is the gold.”
Susan spoke rapidly, almost incoherently, in a
