The men spent most of the morning together in the den, with the
door shut. Now and then one of them would tiptoe upstairs, ask
the nurse how her patient was doing, and creak down again. Just
before noon they all went to the roof and examined again the
place where he had been found. I know, for I was in the upper
hall outside the studio. I stayed there almost all day, and after
a while the nurse let me bring her things as she needed them. I
don't know why mother didn't let me study nursing--I always
wanted to do it. And I felt helpless and childish now, when there
were things to be done.
Max came down from the roof alone, and I cornered him in the
upper hall.
"I'm going crazy, Max," I said. "Nobody will tell me anything,
and I can't stand it. How was he hurt? Who hurt him?"
Max looked at me quite a long time.
"I'm darned if I understand you, Kit," he said gravely. "You said
you disliked Harbison."
"So I do--I did," I supplemented. "But whether I like him or not
has nothing to do with it. He has been injured--perhaps
murdered"--I choked a little. "Which--which of you did it?"
Max took my hand and held it, looking down at me.
"I wish you could have cared for me like that," he said gently.
"Dear little girl, we don't know who hurt him. I didn't, if
that's what you mean. Perhaps a flower pot--"
I began to cry then, and he drew me to him and let me cry on his
arm.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224