“Go and get Dr. Graham,” said Evelyn, “and on the way knock them up and tell them to make strong coffee. Strong as possible. Hurry.”
Tim dashed off. Just outside the doorway he collided with Edward Hillingdon.
“Oh, sorry, Edward.”
“What’s happening here?” demanded Hillingdon. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Molly. Evelyn’s with her. I must get hold of the doctor. I suppose I ought’ve gone to him first but I—I wasn’t sure and I thought Evelyn would know. Molly would have hated it if I’d fetched a doctor when it wasn’t necessary.”
He went off, running. Edward Hillingdon looked after him for a moment and then he walked into the bedroom.
“What’s happening?” he said. “Is it serious?”
“Oh, there you are, Edward. I wondered if you’d woken up. This silly child has been taking things.”
“Is it bad?”
“One can’t tell without knowing how much she’s taken. I shouldn’t think it was too bad if we get going in time. I’ve sent for coffee. If we can get some of that down her—”
“But why should she do such a thing? You don’t think—” He stopped.
“What don’t I think?” asked Evelyn.
“You don’t think it’s because of the inquiry—the police—all that?”
“It’s possible, of course. That sort of thing could be very alarming to a nervous type.”
“Molly never used to seem a nervous type.”
“One can’t really tell,” said Evelyn. “It’s the most unlikely people sometimes who lose their nerve.”
“Yes, I remember . . .” Again he stopped.
“The truth is,” said Evelyn, “that one doesn’t really know anything about anybody.” She added, “Not even the people who are nearest to you . . .”
“Isn’t that going a little too far, Evelyn—exaggerating too much?”
“I don’t think it is. When you think of people, it is in the image you have made of them for yourself.”
“I know you,” said Edward Hillingdon quietly.
“You think you do.”
“No. I’m sure.” He added, “And you’re sure of me.”
Evelyn looked at him then turned back to the bed. She took Molly by the shoulders and shook her.
“We ought to be doing something, but I suppose it’s better to wait until Dr. Graham comes. Oh, I think I hear them.”
II
“She’ll do now.” Dr. Graham stepped back, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You think she’ll be all right, sir?” Tim demanded anxiously.
“Yes, yes. We got to her in good time. Anyway, she probably didn’t take enough to kill her. A couple of days and she’ll be as right as rain but she’ll have a rather nasty day or two first.” He picked up the empty bottle. “Who gave her these things anyway?”
“A doctor in New York. She wasn’t sleeping well.”
“Well, well. I know all we medicos hand these things out freely nowadays. Nobody tells young women who can’t sleep to count sheep, or get up and eat a biscuit, or write a couple of letters and then go back to bed. Instant remedies, that’s what people demand nowadays. Sometimes I think it’s a pity we give them to them. You’ve got to learn to put up with things in life. All very well to stuff a comforter into a baby’s mouth to stop it crying. Can’t go on doing that all a person’s life.” He gave a small chuckle. “I bet you, if you asked Miss Marple what she does if she can’t sleep, she’d tell you she counted sheep going under a gate.” He turned back to the bed where Molly was stirring. Her eyes were open now. She looked at them without interest or recognition. Dr. Graham took her hand.
“Well, well, my dear, and what have you been doing to yourself?”
She blinked but did not reply.
“Why did you do it, Molly, why? Tell me why?” Tim took her other hand.
Still her eyes did not move. If they rested on anyone it was on Evelyn Hillingdon.
There might have been even a faint question in them but it was hard to tell.
Evelyn spoke as though there had been the question.
“Tim came and fetched me,” she said.
Her eyes went to Tim, then shifted to Dr. Graham.