"Ah, this is the nearest way from the house, across the lawn, of
course," said Mr. Jacobs. "I suppose this is the way Lord Heyton comes
when he goes for his bath. Right across the lawn, eh?"
The Inspector nodded indifferently. It seemed to him that the detective
was curious about everything unconnected with the case.
They went across the lawn, the detective still dilating on the charms of
a country life, and entered the wood. If they had not followed exactly
the line taken by Heyton in the morning, they had touched it now and
again; and when they reached the edge of the lake, Mr. Jacobs looked
round in a casual way and presently seated himself on the big stone on
which Heyton had sat while he dressed himself. Mr. Jacobs obviously was
delighted with the lake and its surroundings; and the Inspector would
not have been surprised if the great detective had proposed a swim; but
he stopped short of that eccentricity and they returned to the house.
They went into the state rooms, which received Mr. Jacobs' unstinted
admiration, and were crossing the hall to the little sitting-room which
had been set apart for him, when Celia met them. She was very pale, and
her brows were drawn together by trouble and anxiety; for a great deal
of responsibility had fallen suddenly on her shoulders. Though a duly
qualified nurse was in possession of the sick-room, Mrs. Dexter and
Celia were assisting her; and Celia had Miriam almost entirely on her
hands; for Miriam was almost in a state of collapse. Celia had expected
her to break down; but there was something in Miriam's condition which
puzzled Celia. She seemed not only overwhelmed by grief and anxiety, but
to be possessed of a nervous terror which expressed itself in an
avoidance of her husband. Lord Heyton had asked after his wife several
times that day; but Miriam had refused to see him, and once, when Celia
ventured to plead with her, and to try to persuade her to allow Lord
Heyton to come into the room, Miriam had sprung at the door and leant
with her back against it, panting, with absolute terror, and with a look
of horror on her face which at once stopped all Celia's attempts at
persuasion.
For a time, Miriam paced up and down the room, like one distraught,
continually muttering, "Will he die? Will it be murder?" But at last
Celia had succeeded in getting the hysterical woman to bed, where she
lay, exhausted by her emotions. Celia was on her way to ask Doctor Scott
for a sleeping draught, when she was met by the detective and the
Inspector.