"They seemed to be only to his face, sir."
"So he could use his arms and legs with no problem?"
"Yes, he walked from the entrance to the elevator and then to his room. Mr. Midas was walking gingerly but didn't seem to be limping. I think Mr. Midas was moving carefully because he was in pain. I didn't see him move, except from his bed to a nearby chair, for the rest of the week."
"Did Mr. Midas tell you about his accident?"
"He only made an embarrassed attempt at a joke, something about trying to chop down a tree with his face. I didn't ask him anything more about it."
The detective pulled the prescription bottle from his shirt pocket and showed it to the maid. "I know it's been a long time, but do you remember if he had this pill container with him?"
"He had a container this size and color on his bedside table. I never read the label. Most prescription bottles look alike. I have no way of knowing if this was the one Mr. Midas used."
Mick nodded. "Thank you, ma'am. You've been a tremendous asset to my research."
"Thank you," the maid responded, tapping the newspaper.
