“There are likely ways in and out of St. Ann’s,” she said finally, and with that a signal clicked somewhere. I recalled Three who would be in a tantrum by this time, and we separated.
We were very busy for the rest of the night, and dawn was never so welcome a sight. But during those slow hours I came to the conclusion that there were only two things we knew without doubt. The key to the south door had been removed from the nail and left on top of the chart desk, and the sinister door of Room 18 had been opened and left open.
Who had done this and why was a matter of conjecture, and I resolved to say nothing of it save to Lance O’Leary. I should leave it to O’Leary.
Leave it to O’Leary! I had so far recovered from my fright that I smiled faintly at the phrase, but I could have embraced the day nurses when they came on duty, and the rattle of the dishes in the small, rubber-tired dumbwaiter, as it came up with the breakfast trays, sounded like music to my ears.
On the way to the basement for breakfast, I had time for a word or two with Maida.
“We’ll say nothing about it, save to O’Leary,” I murmured in a low voice and she nodded, just as Miss Dotty joined us with one of her insufferably bright good-mornings.
Miss Dotty keeps a book at her bedside, entitled Every Day a Sunny Day, and memorizes verses from it. Her verse that morning was:
If you’re lonely, sad and blue,
Keep smiling.
Luck will bring you someone true
Who understands and loves just you.
Keep smiling,
which seemed not only inane but downright offensive, as coming from one old maid to another.