After a brief delay, they were informed that Miss Logan would see them. They were taken into a big bedroom facing over the lawn. In the bed was an old lady with white hair, her delicate old face drawn by suffering.
“I have been very ill,” she said faintly. “And I can’t talk much, but Ellen tells me you are detectives. Lois went to consult you then? She spoke of doing so.”
“Yes, Miss Logan,” said Tommy. “We don’t want to tire you, but perhaps you can answer a few questions. The maid, Hannah, is she quite right in her head?”
Miss Logan looked at them with obvious surprise.
“Oh! yes. She is very religious—but there is nothing wrong with her.”
Tommy held out the book he had taken from the table.
“Is this yours, Miss Logan?”
“Yes. It was one of my father’s books. He was a great doctor, one of the pioneers of serum therapeutics.”
The old lady’s voice rang with pride.
“Quite so,” said Tommy. “I thought I knew his name,” he added mendaciously. “This book now, did you lend it to Hannah?”
“To Hannah?” Miss Logan raised herself in bed with indignation. “No, indeed. She wouldn’t understand the first word of it. It is a highly technical book.”
“Yes. I see that. Yet I found it in Hannah’s room.”
“Disgraceful,” said Miss Logan. “I will not have the servants touching my things.”