He listened. There was no sound within or without. He spoke again, louder: “Laurie!”
First, a movement beyond the partition—a soft, rustling, creeping movement. Then, close to the wall, a little, weak, long-drawn sob!
The doctor straightened, his heart pounding so furiously that it hurt him, his face hot with the joy of his discovery. Smiling, he glanced down.
He looked into a pair of startled eyes that were staring up at him. “Who are you?” came the husky demand, and the sick man suddenly lifted himself to an elbow, almost as if he were about to leap from the bed.
The doctor could only stare back. The man was conscious. Had he heard him? What was to be done?
Before he could frame any course of action the man with the scar entered.
“Your friend’s lots better,” announced the doctor, turning toward the door. “Come and see.”
“That so?” The other crossed to the foot of the bed.
“Nick,” began the sick man, speaking with great effort, “don’t you trust anybody. You get out of here. Do you understand? Never mind me. I’m going to die. Look at my nails.” He put out a trembling hand.
“Don’t you worry,” answered the man with the scar. “The Doc came in blindfolded.”