Fourteen
I NQUIRY
IM olly lay on her bed. Dr. Graham and Dr. Robertson, the West Indian police doctor, stood on one side—Tim on theother. Robertson had his hand on Molly’s pulse—He nodded to the man at the foot of the bed, a slender dark man inpolice uniform, Inspector¹ Weston of the St. Honoré Police Force.
“A bare statement—no more,” the doctor said.
The other nodded.
“Now, Mrs. Kendal—just tell us how you came to find this girl.”
For a moment or two it was as though the figure on the bed had not heard. Then she spoke² in a faint, faraway voice.
“In the bushes—white….”
“You saw something white—and you looked to see what it was? Is that it?”
“Yes—white—lying there—I tried—tried to lift—she it—blood—blood all over my hands.”
She began to tremble.
Dr. Graham shook his head at them. Robertson whispered—“She can’t stand much more.”
“What were you doing on the beach path, Mrs. Kendal?”
“Warm—nice—by the sea—”
“You knew who the girl was?”
“Victoria—nice—nice girl—laughs—she used to laugh—oh! and now she won’t—She won’t ever laugh again. I’llnever forget it—I’ll never forget it—” Her voice rose hysterically³.
“Molly—don’t.” It was Tim.
“Quiet—Quiet—” Dr. Robertson spoke with a soothing⁴ authority—“Just relax—relax—Now just a small prick—”
He withdrew the hypodermic.
“She’ll be in no fit condition to be questioned for at least twenty-four hours,” he said—“I’ll let you know when.”
II
The big handsome negro looked from one to the other of the men sitting at the table.
“Ah declare to God,” he said. “That’s all Ah know. Ah don’t know nothing but what Ah’ve told you.”
The perspiration⁵ stood out on his forehead. Daventry sighed. The man presiding at the table, Inspector Weston ofthe St. Honoré CID, made a gesture of dismissal. Big Jim Ellis

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