There was nothing out of the way to be seen. There were the plain dresser, the bedside table, two chairs, the folded burlap screen and the high, narrow bed—nothing else. Something caught in my throat as I glanced at the bed and toward the closet doors.
“The—closet——” breathed Maida at my side. “Oh! You are not going to open that!” as I took a more decisive step forward.
It was no easy thing to do, for I knew well that those shallow closets were yet large enough to hold—what one of them had held.
They were both unlocked this time. And there was nothing in them!
I turned to Maida, whose white face had been beside me during the ordeal. Without saying a word we retreated to the corridor.
“Are you sure you saw something?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“I am positive,” whispered Maida. “You see, I was just answering Fourteen’s light, which brought me fairly near to Eighteen. I came out the door and was starting down toward the chart desk when something—I don’t know what—some rustle or sound, perhaps, made me turn around, facing this way, so I could see the south door. And I was just in time to see a sort of movement at the door of Eighteen.” Her hands went to her throat as she spoke and I did not feel very comfortable myself.
“It couldn’t have been one of the patients?” I murmured.
“No! There isn’t a one of them who is able to walk.”
“Then who——”