THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
MIRIAM WARD opened the window a little further and looked out. It was
nearly midnight and the cold, raw breeze was an agreeable contrast to
the atmosphere of the sick room. Mrs. Nash's preparations for the night
were long-drawn-out and Miriam had found her at her worst. In turn she
waxed dictatorial, fault-finding and fretful, and Miriam's stock of
patience was severely taxed. It seemed an interminable time before Mrs.
Nash finally closed her eyes with the avowed intention of taking "forty
winks," and the imperative command that she be awakened the moment her
husband returned.
Miriam made herself as comfortable as possible on the window seat,
having carried a sofa pillow with her, and pulling her sweater more
closely over her shoulders, she leaned her head against the wooden sash
and stared out into the night. The stars were out and the moonlight
added beauty to the grounds. It all appeared so calm and peaceful,
so utterly different from the last four hectic days. Miriam sighed
involuntarily and closed her eyes. When she opened them a few minutes
later she saw the powerful headlights of a car coming along the
turnpike. A second later it had swung into the driveway and Miriam
recognized the Rolls-Royce. The front door was toward the other side of
the house, and Miriam lost sight of the car as it circled the approach
to the _porte cochère_. Undoubtedly Doctor Nash had returned.
Miriam's expression hardened. Her outspoken, frank disposition made
it next to impossible for her to cloak her aversion even under the
ordinary courtesies of the sick room. She was commencing to loathe
Doctor Nash; while wondering dimly why two such opposite natures as
Dora Carter and the clergyman had ever fallen in love with each other.
Truly, the marriage market was but a lottery!
Leaving her position by the window, Miriam walked softly over to the
bed. Her patient's deep breathing assured her that Mrs. Nash was
comfortably asleep and Miriam's heart lightened; she would not have to
summon Doctor Nash, for, in spite of his wife's wishes, Miriam did not
propose to awaken her. The closing of a door further down the hall with
a resounding bang brought her hand to her heart and Mrs. Nash's eyes
unclosed in time to notice Miriam's agitation.
"What was that noise?" she demanded. "What has happened to make you so
pale?"
"Nothing--it's the lamplight," Miriam stammered a trifle incoherently.
"A door slammed and startled me."
Mrs. Nash rubbed her eyes and inspected her with interest. Miriam's
trig uniform was becoming.
"Nerves," Mrs. Nash remarked caustically. "Have you seen Doctor Nash?"
"He has just returned and I believe is still downstairs," responded
Miriam. "But, Mrs. Nash, you should not see any one at this hour."
"Tut! My nap has refreshed me, and besides, I am stronger, much
stronger," with emphasis, and she struggled into a sitting position.
"Just throw that bed sacque over my shoulders and ask Doctor Nash to
come here, there's a good child!"
Miriam's hesitation was interrupted by a low tap on the bedroom door,
and walking swiftly over to it she found Doctor Roberts standing in the
hall.
"I am on my way to bed," he said, softly. "How is Mrs. Nash?"
"Her general condition is better now." Miriam slipped outside and held
the door so that their voices would not carry into the bedroom. "But
when I came on duty I found her cyanosed, so I gave her stimulation and
applied heat locally."
Doctor Roberts stroked his chin thoughtfully, then moved toward the
door and Miriam held it open. Mrs. Nash greeted him with a frown.
"Some more horrid medicine," she grumbled. "Well, all paths lead to the
grave."
"A cheerful outlook," smiled Roberts as he took her pulse. "You ought
to be asleep at this hour."
"I never felt more wakeful," and Mrs. Nash's alert look confirmed her
words. "Where have you been all the evening?"
"At Sheriff Trenholm's--Alan Mason and I dined with Trenholm, and your
husband drove us back."
"What was he doing there?" The look which she flashed at him startled
the physician.
"He had come for Betty Carter, having missed her at the cemetery,"
replied Roberts. He was commencing to feel uncomfortable under Mrs.
Nash's steady stare. Quickly he rose to forestall other questions.
"We returned together a few minutes ago. Now, Mrs. Nash, it is after
midnight and you must get to sleep."
"Presently," she retorted. "As you go to your room, Doctor, please ask
Alex to come here. I shall not sleep until I have seen my husband," and
her air of finality closed the discussion. "Good night."
Roberts smiled at her characteristic dismissal. At the door he turned
to Miriam and signed to her to come into the hall.
"Humor her as much as possible," he said. "When she gets her own way,
she'll go to sleep. Her pulse is better and she has no temperature.
I'll send Nash along," and with a friendly smile he hurried downstairs.
Miriam had just given Mrs. Nash a drink of water when the clergyman
came in. Mrs. Nash's sharp, black eyes detected his constrained manner
as he spoke to Miriam and her equally stiff acknowledgment of his
greeting. Turning her back upon Nash, Miriam addressed his wife.
"I will wait in the alcove in the hall until your husband leaves," she
said. "If you wish anything, please let me know."
Nash remained standing until the hall door closed behind Miriam and
then he seated himself in a chair by his wife's bed.
"I am so thankful that you are better, Dora," he said, taking her hand
in both his and raising it to his lips. "So very, very thankful to a
merciful Providence."
"Save some of your thanks for Miss Ward," she remarked dryly. "She gave
Providence a helping hand. By the way, you don't seem to like her."
"My dear Dora!"
"Why not?" she persisted, ignoring his interjection.
Nash sighed. Custom had taught him respect for his wife's tenacity, but
there were times when he wanted to shake her.
"She, eh--reh--has an agreeable personality," he began. "I am grateful
to her for what she has done for you, but I, eh, really, my dear,
haven't given her much thought."
"Oh!" Nash squirmed uneasily under her unswerving gaze. "Oh!" repeated
Mrs. Nash, and her intonation conveyed much or little according to her
husband's perception. "And Betty, where is she?"
The rapid change of topic confused Nash, his slower wits failing to
keep up with his wife's trend of thought. "She is downstairs," he
stated. "That is, I left her there talking to Alan and Roberts."
"She ought to be in bed," declared Mrs. Nash, with ill-concealed
irritability. "Traipsing around the countryside by herself at night.
Did she reach the cemetery?"
"Yes." Nash cleared his throat. "The attendant at the vault told me
that she had gone to Trenholm's, two miles the other side of the
cemetery; so Pierre drove me there and I brought her home."
Mrs. Nash looked down at the old-fashioned, handmade quilt and studied
its pattern and cross stitch intently.
"Betty is a great responsibility," she said, glancing over at her
husband. "Her eccentric conduct, her total lack of thought for others--"
"She is young," broke in Nash with some vehemence and his wife changed
color. "And youth is selfish."
"If that were all--" Mrs. Nash spoke under her breath and her husband
failed to catch what she said. He did not care to break the pause and,
as the silence lengthened, Mrs. Nash's thoughts reverted to the past.
Alexander Nash did not appear a day older than the first time she
had met him in London two years before. The fact that he was again
clean-shaven accounted for his unaltered appearance, his wife decided.
She had never cared for his carefully trimmed beard and mustache which
he had worn until a day or so before. A flood of memories of the days
of their courtship, their marriage in Paris and their happy, happy
honeymoon kept Mrs. Nash silent. A year and six months had passed since
then. Mrs. Nash bit her lip.
"I am a romantic old fool," she admitted, and her usually metallic
tones had softened, holding a depth of feeling which would have
startled her skeptic friends. "Kiss me, Alec."
From where she sat in the hall Miriam caught now and then the sound
of voices from the living room on the floor below, and recognized
Betty's clear tones and Roberts' heavier bass, with now and then a word
from Alan Mason. But from Mrs. Nash's bedroom no sound issued and she
waited patiently in her corner for Doctor Nash to take his departure.
Footsteps on the staircase caused her to draw further back in the
alcove; she was in no mood to talk to any member of the house party
that night. Was "house party" the proper term when tragedy had brought
them together under the same roof? With a shake of her head Miriam
dismissed the question as Betty came up the steps, followed by Roberts.
On reaching the second floor she paused and spoke to the physician.
"I cannot sleep," Miriam heard her say. "Indeed, Doctor, I cannot
sleep, and another night like the last three will drive me to madness.
Can't you give me something to induce sleep?"
Roberts scanned her closely. Betty's broken voice, her quivering lips
which she strove vainly to keep steady, were both unmistakable symptoms
of her overwrought condition. Roberts had marveled at her self-control
during their drive homeward, unexpectedly delayed by a puncture which
had taken Pierre over an hour to repair. Nash's wrath at the chauffeur
for not having a spare tire along had added a picturesque moment to
the monotony of the trip. It was the first time Roberts had seen the
generally self-contained clergyman give way to temper.
"Get ready for bed, Betty," Roberts advised, "and I will ask Miss Ward
to prepare a sedative."
Betty checked him with an expressive gesture. "Can't you give it to
me?" she asked. "I--I dislike to--to ask Miss Ward for--for--to do
anything," she spoke through chattering teeth. "I believe I am having a
chill."
Roberts laid a firm hand on her arm. "Come," he said in tones which his
patients rarely disobeyed. "Go immediately to bed. I will find Miss
Ward to assist you; now, no nonsense," as she paused to voice another
objection. "Go."
Miriam emerged from the alcove as Roberts, after conducting Betty to
her bedroom door, came down the hall.
"Doctor Nash is with his wife," she explained. "I have been sitting
yonder and could not help but overhear your conversation with Miss
Carter."
"She is on the point of a breakdown," Roberts said tersely. "Is your
hypodermic ready for use?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Then please come to Miss Carter's bedroom: I will meet you there in a
few minutes," and taking her acquiescence for granted Roberts hurried
to his own room where he had left his bag.
Miriam paused in indecision; she had been trained to serve humanity--to
care for the sick and to look after the infirm. Was it obligatory
upon her to minister to Betty now that she was ill? No, a thousand
times, no! From somewhere came the chimes of a clock--one in the
morning--Doctor Roberts was powerless to secure other aid in a sick
room at that hour and twenty miles from Washington. Miriam walked
quietly to her room, where she had her hypodermic syringe, secured it
and went direct to Betty. Alexander Nash would find her if she was
needed by his wife.
Betty looked up at her approach and Miriam was struck by the suffering
in her face. In her haste to undress and get into bed she had scattered
her clothes on the floor and she had kept on her dressing gown.
"It--it's very good of you," she murmured. "I--I--" she paused, at a
loss for words.
"Doctor Roberts will be here in a moment," answered Miriam quietly.
Putting down her hypodermic, she spent the next few minutes arranging
the room and adjusting the windows. Betty never took her eyes from her
and Miriam was thankful when Roberts knocked on the closed door.
Silently Miriam aided him in his examination and her swift deftness won
his admiration. As he took the thermometer from Betty Miriam observed
a gold chain suspended about her neck. She caught Miriam's glance and
drew her dressing gown close about her throat.
Miriam prepared the hypodermic, then paused by Roberts' side. "Will you
give it?" she said simply, holding the instrument toward the physician,
and Roberts grasped her reluctance to administer the opiate.
No one in the room was aware that the door had been cautiously opened
an inch or two and then as quietly closed. Alan Mason reached the
staircase a minute later and stood listening, his head bent. Only the
faint tick-tock of the grandfather clock was to be heard. Convinced
that he was alone in the hall he made his way noiselessly to the door
of the room where Paul Abbott's body had lain until the funeral that
afternoon. The door was locked. Alan drew in his breath sharply,
hitched at his dark sweater, and glanced down at his "sneakers"; then
he crept softly through the darkness of the back hall and disappeared.
Roberts looked over at Miriam and then at Betty as he rose and tiptoed
to the door. "She will be all right, now," he said. "If you have
an opportunity, come in again during the night." He paused and, to
Miriam's surprise, held out his hand. "Thank you. Good night."
Miriam delayed only a few seconds to adjust the light so that it would
not shine directly in Betty's eyes and awaken her, and then she left
the room. She had almost reached her old seat in the alcove, and was
debating in her mind whether or not to go at once into Mrs. Nash's
room, when her patient's door swung open and Doctor Nash appeared in
the hall. He looked relieved to find her there.
"I waited until my wife dropped asleep," he said. "You can go in now,
but pray don't disturb her."
Miriam bit her lip to keep back a heated rejoinder. Instructions in
nursing from members of the patient's family, irrespective as to who
they were, were generally infuriating, but, from Alexander Nash, doubly
so. He evidently expected no answer, for turning abruptly, he sought
his bedroom.
Nash had not only lowered the lamp before leaving his wife, but had
placed a screen about it--however Miriam's familiarity with the room
enabled her to move about without colliding with the furniture. The
cot did not appeal to her--she felt, as she had once expressed it to a
fellow student at the hospital when in training, too "twitchy" to lie
down. Going over to the chair which Nash had occupied, she sat down
in it. It was not the one which customarily stood near the bed, but
another chair, bigger and much lower, and Miriam experienced a sense of
sudden shock as she dropped down further than she had expected.
It was a chair built for a large man and Miriam felt lost in its depths
and squirmed back, hoping to find an easier position, but that made her
stretch her legs before her at an uncomfortable angle. Too tired to get
up, she put her hand behind her and pulled up the seat cushion. As she
did so, she touched a paper--evidently a letter, she judged, as she ran
her fingers over what was unmistakably an envelope with stamps upon it.
Half rising she turned around and bending down saw that a letter was
wedged between the high, tufted cushion and the upholstered back of
the chair. In idle curiosity, Miriam took it up, replaced the cushion,
and carried the letter over to the lamp. The orange Canadian stamps
caught her attention instantly. She turned it over. The black seal was
unbroken, the flap uncut--the letter evidently never had been opened.
Miriam drew a long, long breath. Turning, she gazed at the chair. Its
unwieldy size had induced her to push it behind the bedroom door the
first night of Mrs. Nash's illness, to get it out of the way. Evidently
Doctor Nash had preferred it to the one in which she generally sat, and
had moved it up to the bed. Had he accidentally dropped the letter in
the chair and not perceived it when leaving the darkened room? Miriam
consulted the postmark and then the address. It bore Paul Abbott's name
and was dated January 23, 1923.
Miriam stood in deep thought holding the unopened letter, then she
slipped it inside her uniform, made sure that it was safe, and,
crossing the room, seated herself once more by Mrs. Nash, her mind in a
turmoil.
It was close upon three o'clock in the morning when Mrs. Nash awoke and
called Miriam by name.
"I am so thirsty," she complained, as the girl bent over her. "Couldn't
I have some orange juice?"
"Certainly," and Miriam went over to the table on which she kept her
supplies. The oranges were there, but hunt as she might, she could find
no knife. With a few uncomplimentary comments on Martha's carelessness
in neglecting to bring her one when she carried her night lunch
upstairs, Miriam hastened down to the pantry, after a brief word of
explanation to Mrs. Nash.
Mrs. Nash could see from her position in the bed the hall door which
Miriam had left ajar; from there her gaze shifted to the lighted lamp
at the farther end of the room, and then she closed her eyes. When she
opened them the bedroom was in darkness.
As Mrs. Nash lay speechless with surprise, she grew conscious that some
one beside herself was in the room, and a faint, scraping noise sounded
closer and closer to the bed. Suddenly something soft brushed across
the back of her hand lying on the edge of her bed. Turning her hand
over with lightning speed, her fingers closed spasmodically upon some
object, and a cry escaped her.
Miriam, halfway up the stairs, covered the distance to her bedroom
with flying feet as the low cry came to her ears. She faltered in
consternation at sight of the utter darkness. Mrs. Nash caught sight of
her white uniform as she stood in the doorway, outlined by the light
behind her in the hall.
"Bring in the lamp," she directed, unaware that her voice was hoarse
from excitement, and Miriam obeyed her instantly. When she reached the
bedside, Mrs. Nash was leaning upon her elbow, a false beard suspended
from her hand.
"I almost got him," she exclaimed in triumph, then fainted quietly away.