Time seemed strangely vague.
Suddenly a terrifying thought dominated the young man. What had become of Harry Vincent? Clyde closed his eyes and pictured the entrance to a warehouse on Sixty-ninth Street. That was the spot where Harry had disappeared — and he, Clyde Burke, had not reported it!
Good fortune favored his desire for duty. Clyde was alone in a lounge room. He remembered walking here from the ward, with a nurse supporting him. He rose unsteadily and entered the corridor.
There was no one in view. He walked along and passed a desk where a nurse was writing a report. He managed to go by unseen. He found a stairway and went down. A door at the right attracted him. He pushed it open, and found himself in a short corridor on the first floor. There was an open door that led to the ambulance driveway.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Clyde Burke left the hospital.
He was weak when he reached a taxi stand. He entered a cab and gave an address to the driver. He closed his eyes and rested.
After interminable moments, the cab stopped. Clyde entered the lobby of an antiquated hotel, where he made his way to a public phone booth that was virtually out of sight in a secluded corner.
He dropped a nickel in the slot and dialed a number. When he heard the ringing of the bell at the other end, he hung up the receiver. His nickel tumbled into the coin return.
Clyde used it again and called the same number. After a few rings, he again hung up and retrieved his coin. Then he waited.
At the lunch counter in the Grand Central Station, the silent attendant had noticed a ringing of the phone in the booth opposite. He heard its sudden termination, and kept on serving a customer until it rang again.