"We don't know, but it's a lot - a few grains a day, I should think. I can't give you precise measurements and I wouldn't if I could. You would rather not know."
"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "I won't ask again. When the matter comes to court, who is likely to testify on the thefts?"
"Only Fermin Thorpe, willingly - or at least not willingly but for the prosecution," she amended. "He's going to hate having to say that anything went missing from his hospital. He won't know whether to make light of it, and risk being thought trying to cover it up, or to condemn it and be seen on the side of the law, all quivering with outrage at the iniquity of nurses. Either way, he'll be furious at being caught up in it at all."
"Is he not likely to defend one of his staff?" The look in her face was eloquent dismissal of any such prospect.
"I see," he concluded. "And the apothecary?" "Phillips? He'll cover all he can - even to risking his own safety, but there's only so much he can do."
"I see. I will speak with a few of the other nurses, if I may, and perhaps Mr. Phillips. Then I shall go and see Sergeant Robb."
It was early evening by the time Rathbone had made as thorough an examination of the hospital routine as he wished to, and had come to the regrettable conclusion that it required considerable forethought and sorne_skill and nerve to steal medicines on a regular basis. The apothecary was very careful, in spite of his unkempt appearance and erratic sense of the absurd. Better opportunities occurred when a junior doctor was hurried, confused by a case he did not understand, or simply a little careless. Rathbone formed the opinion that in all probability Phillips was perfectly aware of what Cleo had been doing, and why, and had either deliberately connived at it, or at the very least had turned a blind eye. Against all his training, he found himself admiring the man for it, and quite intentionally ceased looking for evidence to support his theory.
Consequently, it was after seven o'clock by the time he went looking for Sergeant Robb, and was obliged to ask for his address at home in order to see him.
He found the house quite easily, but in spite of Michael Robb's courtesy, he felt an intruder. A glance told him he had interrupted the care of the old man who sat in the chair in the center of the room, his white hair brushed back off his brow, his broad shoulders hunched forward over a hollow chest. His face was pale except for two spots of color on his cheeks. The sight of him gave a passionate and human reality to the work Cleo Anderson was prepared to risk so much for. Rathbone was startled to find himself filled with anger at the situation, at his own helplessness to affect it, and at the world for not knowing and not caring. It was with difficulty that he answered Michael Robb in a level voice.
"Good evening, Sergeant. I am sorry to intrude into your home, and at such an uncivil hour. If I could have found you at the police station I would have."
"What can I do for you, Sir Oliver?" Michael asked. He was courteous but wary. Rathbone was of both a class and a profession he was unused to dealing with except in court, where the duty of their offices prescribed the behavior for both of them. He was acutely conscious of his grandfather sitting, tired and hungry, waiting to be assisted. But he was by nature, as well as occupation, a gentle-mannered man.
"I have undertaken to defend Mrs. Anderson against the charge of murder," Rathbone replied with a faint, self-deprecating smile. He could not pretend to anyone he hoped for much success, and he did not wish Robb to think him a fool. "The question of theft is another matter."
"I'm sorry," Michael said, and there was sincerity in his face as well as his voice. "I took no pleasure in charging her. But I can't withdraw it."
"I understand that. It provides the motive for the murder of Treadwell."
"Are you talking about Cleo Anderson?" the old man interrupted, looking from one to the other of them.
Michael's face tightened, and he shot Rathbone a look of reproach. "Yes, Grandpapa."
Rathbone had the strong impression that if Michael could have escaped with a lie about it he would