“Not while Miss Dorland was in the room, if that’s what you mean.”
“Suppose anybody had listened at the door afterwards — could they have heard what was said?”
“Oh, no! The patient was very weak and spoke very low. I couldn’t hear myself half she said.”
“Where were you?”
“Well, I went away, because I thought they’d like to be alone. But I was in my own room with the door open between, and I was looking in most of the time. She was so ill, you see, and the old gentleman looked so frail, I didn’t like to go out of earshot. In our work, you see, we often have to see and hear a lot that we don’t say anything about.”
“Of course, Nurse — I am sure you did quite right. Now when Miss Dorland brought the brandy up — the General was feeling very ill?”
“Yes — he had a nasty turn. I put him in the big chair and bent him over till the spasm went off. He asked for his own medicine, and I gave it to him — no, it wasn’t drops — it was amyl nitrate; you inhale it. Then I rang the bell and sent the girl for the brandy.”
“Amyl nitrate — you’re sure that’s all he had?”
“Positive; there wasn’t anything else. Lady Dormer had been having strychnine injections to keep her heart going, of course, and we’d tried oxygen; but we shouldn’t give him those, you know.”
She smiled, competently, condescendingly.
“Now, you say Lady Dormer had been having this, that and the other. Were there any medicines lying about that General Fentiman might have accidentally taken up and swallowed?”
“Oh, dear no.”
“No drops or tabloids or anything of that kind?”
“Certainly not; the medicines were kept in my room.”
“Nothing on the bedside table or the mantelpiece?”
“There was a cup of diluted Listerine by the bed, for washing out the patient’s mouth from time to time, that was all.”
“And there’s no digitalin in Listerine — no, of course not. Well now, who brought up the brandy-and-water?”
“The housemaid went to Mrs Mitcham for it. I should have had some upstairs, as a matter of fact, but the patient couldn’t keep it down. Some of them can’t, you know.”
“Did the girl bring it straight up to you?”
“No — she stopped to call Miss Dorland on the way. Of course, she ought to have brought the brandy at once and gone to Miss Dorland afterwards — but it’s anything to save trouble with these girls, as I daresay you know.”
“Did Miss Dorland bring it straight up—?” began Parker. Nurse Armstrong broke in upon him.
“If you’re thinking, did she put the digitalin into the brandy, you can dismiss that from your mind, constable. If he’d had as big a dose as that in solution at half past four, he’d have been taken ill ever so much earlier than he was.”
“You seem to be well up in the case, Nurse.”
“Oh, I am. Naturally I was interested, Lady Dormer being my patient and all.”
“Of course. But all the same, did Miss Dorland bring the brandy straight along to you?”
“I think so. I heard Nellie go along the passage on the half landing, and looked out to call to her, but by the time I’d got the door open, I saw Miss Dorland coming out of the studio with the brandy in her hand.”
“And where was Nellie then?”
“Just got back to the end of the passage and starting downstairs to the telephone.”
“At that rate. Miss Dorland couldn’t have been more than ten seconds alone with the brandy,” said Peter, thoughtfully. “And who gave it to General Fentiman?”
“I did. I took it out of Miss Dorland’s hand at the door and gave it to him at once. He seemed better then, and only took a little of it.”
“Did you leave him again?”
“I did not. Miss Dorland went out on the landing presently to see if the taxi was coming.”
“She was never alone with him?”
“Not for a moment.
“Did you like Miss Dorland, Nurse? Is she a nice girl, I mean?” Wimsey had not spoken for so long that Parker quite started.
“She was always very pleasant to me ” said Nurse Armstrong. “I shouldn’t call her an attractive girl, not to my mind.”
“Did she ever mention Lady Dormer’s testamentary arrangements in your hearing?” asked Parker, picking up what he conceived to be Wimsey’s train of thought.
“Well — not exactly. But I remember her once talking about her painting, and saying she did it for a hobby, as her aunt would see she always had enough to live on.”
“That’s true enough,” said Parker. “At the worst, she would get fifteen thousand pounds, which carefully invested, might mean six or seven hundred a year. She didn’t say she expected to be very rich?”
“No.”
“Nor anything about the General?”
“Not a word.”
“Was she happy?” asked Wimsey.
“She was upset, naturally, with her aunt being so ill.”
“I don’t mean that. You are the sort of person who observes a lot — nurses are awfully quick about that kind of thing, I’ve noticed. Did she strike you as a person who — who felt right with life, as you might say?”
“She was one of the quiet ones. But — yes — I should say she was satisfied with things all right.”
“Did she sleep well?”
“Oh, she was a very sound sleeper. It was a job to wake her if anything was wanted in the night.”
“Did she cry much?”