I was seated in the corridor some three hours later, near what should have been four bells, when I heard my name called softly. I looked about me without seeing any one. The wounded men were resting, and Legrand was at the farther end of the corridor, acting as sentinel over our makeshift of a fortress. I sat wondering, and then my name was called again—called in a whisper that, nevertheless, penetrated to my ears and seemed to carry on the quiet air. I rose and went towards Legrand.
"Did you call?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No," said he.
"I heard my name distinctly," I said.
"Oh, don't get fancying things, Phillimore," he said with impatient earnestness. "My dear fellow, there's only you and Barraclough and me now."
"Well, I'd better swallow some of my own medicine," I retorted grimly, and left him.
I walked back again and turned. As I did so, the call came to me so clearly and so softly that I knew it was no fancy on my part, and now I involuntarily lifted my eyes upwards to the skylights. One of these had been shattered in the gale.
"Doctor!"
I gazed in amazement, and suddenly Holgate's face passed momentarily over the hole in the glass.
"Doctor, can you spare me ten minutes?"