When he paused Oscar said, “Tell me what you said and what she said, to the best of your memory.”
“I said who I was, and I asked her to lie flat on her back so I could examine her. She just turned her head, wouldn’t say anything. I asked a lot of questions about the pain and when it had started. I asked if she had had an operation, but she didn’t say one word. The only sound she made was crying out when I palpated her abdomen.
“So I opened the door and called to the driver he should bring the stretcher, and he did, and we got her off the bed and onto it. She didn’t say a word to me.”
Oscar’s head turned toward him, quite sharply.
“Did she say a word to somebody else?”
Graham looked flustered. “Mrs. Stone was talking to her, the way people do in that kind of situation. She said, ‘Oh no, oh no, Janine,’ and ‘My poor girl,’ and ‘It was too much,’ and other things like that. And she touched her, her face, and stroked her hair. I think Mrs. Campbell might have said a few words back, then, but I couldn’t say for sure. We were trying to maneuver the stretcher through the little hall, and the floor was slippery with blood. The last I remember of Mrs. Stone was her standing in the door, her hands clutched to herself—” He demonstrated. “She was weeping, quiet but weeping a waterfall. Then in the ambulance Mrs. Campbell spoke to me direct for the first time. She said she wanted to be taken to the New Amsterdam. She grabbed onto my sleeve hard, and said it twice, Dr. Savard at the New Amsterdam. And that’s what we did.”
“She didn’t talk to you otherwise?”
“I was surprised she managed that much, in her condition. She didn’t say anything more.”
“And where was Mrs. Campbell’s purse in all of this?”
Graham blinked, confused. “Her purse?”
“Was her purse on the stretcher with her?”
“I don’t—”
“Mrs. Campbell had more than a thousand dollars in her purse that has never been recovered. What became of that money, do you think?”
Neill Graham’s mouth fell open. People often described such things, but Anna couldn’t remember ever seeing someone’s jaw drop. The color left his face, and his gaze jerked from Oscar to Jack and then to Anna. She did her best to keep her expression neutral.
“Are you asking—” he said, and stopped. “Are you saying—”
“I think I was clear. Mrs. Campbell had a thousand dollars with her that day, and that money disappeared.”
Now Graham’s color came back in a rush. “I took nothing. There wasn’t anything to take. She didn’t have any purse or satchel with her. I didn’t see a single coin, and I certainly didn’t take anything. Are you charging me with a crime?”
Jack stood up. “If you allow us to search your room, that will go some way to clearing you.” He shook his head when Graham got to his feet. “I’ll ask Mrs. Jennings to show me to your room, and she can stand by and watch. But you need to stay here.”
“I’ll come along with you,” Oscar said. He looked at Anna, as somber as she had ever experienced him. “Will you sit here with Dr. Graham?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “Gladly.”
When they were the only two left in the parlor Neill Graham buried his face in his hands and rocked forward, a man in shock. When he looked at her again his eyes were red-rimmed.
“This will be the end of my career,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t matter that I’m innocent; if word gets out, I’m finished.”
Anna thought of many things she could say. First and foremost was the simple truth: he was correct. But it was also true that Jack and Oscar didn’t really suspect Neill Graham of anything. Anna understood that they were staging a drama in the hope that unsettling the young man would jog his memory and he would remember exactly what Mrs. Campbell said to Mrs. Stone.
Finally she poured more tea into his cup, a gesture that he might take for sympathy or understanding.
He said, “Dr. Savard—”
Jack and Oscar were back, followed by Mrs. Jennings, whose hands were fluttering like birds.
“Clean as a whistle,” Jack said. He looked at Anna and tilted his head to the door. She glanced at Graham, who had once again lost control over his jaw. He got to his feet, his knee knocking the side table so that the cups and saucers clattered.
“You’re not charging me with anything?”
Oscar took his hat off the coatrack and turned to smile, as if the entire conversation had never happened. “Nothing to charge you with, Dr. Graham. You did your best with poor Mrs. Campbell. Thank you for your time. Wait. One more thing.”
He gave a thoughtful pause. “When you last saw Mrs. Stone standing in front of the house with her hands folded on her breast, what was she holding?”
Graham blinked and blinked again. “A purse,” he said. “A black purse.”
“And where did the purse come from?”
A silent shake of the head. “I swear I don’t know.”