She turned away, still with one hand holding on to the wall. She evidently wished me to follow her.
"One moment," I said. "Wait while I put something on."
I turned back into my room and wrapped my dressing-gown around me. Then I followed her along the corridor. She led the way to the room which had been occupied by Leslie Guest. Outside the door she hesitated. She turned and faced me abruptly. She was white to the lips. Her appearance was horrible.
"I dare not go in!" she moaned. "I have been a nurse for fifteen years, and I have never known anything like this!"
"Like what?" I asked, bewildered. "What is it that has happened?"
She shivered, but she did not answer me. I was beginning to feel impatient.
"Are you hysterical?" I asked. "I wish you would try and tell me what is the matter."
"Go in," she answered; "go in, and see—if you can see anything."
I opened the door and entered. The room was dimly lit by a lamp, placed on the table near the window. Upon the bed, covered by a sheet, his waxen-like face alone visible, was the body of the man who had been my guest. Beyond, with the connecting door wide open, was the anteroom where the nurse had been sleeping. Except for the ticking of a clock, there was no sound to be heard; there was no sign anywhere of any disturbance or disorder. I looked back at the nurse for an explanation.
"What is it that has upset you so?" I asked. "I can see nothing wrong."