"Wait! Wait!" I gasped into the mouthpiece. "Who—"
"Number, please," said a stilted feminine voice.
"My God!" I cried. "Hugh, they've killed him, I think."
Hugh's face went white as I repeated the message. Watkins' eyes popped from his head.
"Where is this hospital?" stammered Hugh.
"Over on the East Side."
"We must catch a taxi. Hurry!"
Watkins came with us without bidding. In the taxi none of us spoke. We were all dazed. Things had happened too rapidly for comprehension. We could scarcely realize that we were confronting stark tragedy. As we turned into East Twenty-sixth Street and the portals of the huge, red-brick group of buildings loomed ahead of us, Hugh exclaimed fiercely:
"It may not be true! I believe it was a lie!"
But it was not a lie, as we soon learned in the office to which we were ushered by a white-uniformed orderly. Yes, the nurse on duty told us, an ambulance had brought in an elderly man such as Hugh described within the half-hour. The orderly would show us the ward.