The nurse turned from the bed, however, attracted by the half-open door
of the cupboard. Here were the medicine bottles. She took them out one
by one, looked at them with professional curiosity, pulled out the
corks, smelt the contents, replaced the bottles. Then she went to the
window, which stood open; she stepped out upon the stone steps which
led into the garden, looking about her, to breathe the soft air of noon
among the flowers.
She came back, and it again seemed as if she would examine the bed, but
her attention was attracted by a small book-case. She began to pull
down the books one after the other and to turn them over, as a
half-educated person does, in the hope of finding something amusing.
She found a book with pictures. Then she sat down in the armchair
beside the sofa and began to turn over the leaves slowly. How long was
this going to last?
It lasted about half an hour. The nurse laid down the volume with a
yawn, stretched herself, yawned again, crossed her hands, and closed
her eyes. She was going to sleep. If she would only fall so fast asleep
that the woman behind the curtain could creep away!
But sometimes at the sleepiest moment sleep is driven away by an
accident. The accident in this case was that the nurse before finally
dropping off remembered that she was nursing a sick man, and sat up to
look at him before she allowed herself to drop off.
Stung with sudden inspiration she sprang to her feet and bent over the
man. "Does he breathe?" she asked. She bent lower. "His pulse! does it
beat?" she caught his wrist.
"Doctor!" she shrieked, running into the garden. "Doctor! Come--come
quick! He is dead!"
Fanny Mere stepped from her hiding-place and ran out of the back door,
and by the garden gate into the road.
She had escaped. She had seen the crime committed. She knew now at
least what was intended and why she was sent away. The motive for the
crime she could not guess.