When we arrived I saw there was a little crowd of people outside. They looked at me oddly as I jumped out of the car and ran inside. Doctor Barton was waiting for me. He stopped me as I would have gone into the bedroom. ‘She’s very poorly,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I doubt she’ll last the night – but she is conscious and she wants to see you.’ I swallowed hard, holding back the tears. ‘What happened? Was it an accident?’ ‘I don’t think so. She has a severe wound to the back of her head. I think she was struck from behind. She was found by one of her friends, a lady who often calls to see how she is.’ ‘She has many friends,’ I said. ‘Where was she?’ ‘In the kitchen, lying on the floor – and this was near her.’ He indicated a biscuit tin. At the moment it contained only a broken string of coral beads and some papers. ‘Someone must have robbed her. She told me her bits and pieces were in a tin under her bed.’ ‘When was this?’ ‘Just after my father died.
