“Very well,” Judge Treadwell said. “We’ll see what the patient has to say for himself.”
The nurse produced a key. Dr. Londonberry took it, fitted it to the lock in the door, flung it open, and stood to one side.
“Some visitors for you, Mr. Leeds,” he said. “I think you had better come first, Miss Leeds.” He bowed to Phyllis, then turned back, and stiffened in surprise.
There was no one in the room.
For several silent seconds, the little group stood there, staring at a cheerful room containing an immaculate hospital bed with snowy white linen, a reclining chair, a white enameled bedroom table, and a dresser with a mirror. A bathroom door, standing open, disclosed a white tile floor, a porcelain washstand with a medicine cabinet and mirror on the wall. Part of a bathtub was visible just beyond the open door.
Dr. Londonberry strode across the room, pushed open the bathroom door, looked inside, then turned swiftly on his heel, and, completely disregarding the group, pushed his way through them to stand in the corridor and summon the nurse.
“Where’s the patient in thirty-five?” he asked.
She stared at the room in surprise. “Why, he was there less than an hour ago.”
Judge Treadwell crossed the room to stare at the window around which an ornamental, iron grille work shut off a little balcony some four feet wide.
Dr. Londonberry said, somewhat hastily, “That’s a precaution we take with most of the rooms on the ground floor. It keeps the patient from escaping.”