Craig nodded.
“I am from the psychopathic ward of the City Hospital—an orderly, sir,” the man introduced.
“Yes,” encouraged Craig, “what can I do for you?”
“A Mrs. Blair has just been brought in, sir, and we can’t find her husband. She’s calling for you now.”
Kennedy stared from the orderly to Seward Blair, startled, speechless.
“What has happened?” asked Blair anxiously. “I am Mr. Blair.”
The orderly shook his head. He had delivered his message. That was all he knew.
“What do you suppose it is?” I asked, as we sped across town in a taxicab. “Is it the curse that she dreaded?”
Kennedy said nothing and Blair appeared to hear nothing. His face was drawn in tense lines.
The psychopathic ward is at once one of the most interesting and one of the most depressing departments of a large city hospital, harboring, as it does, all from the more or less harmless insane to violent alcoholics and wrecked drug fiends.