“Now then,” he continued after a short silence, “about this hypodermic needle: I should like to have a little talk with Miss Day. And also I want to visit Room 18 again.”
“There is a patient in Room 18.”
“Already!”
“Yes. I don’t think Dr. Balman, or Dr. Hajek either, wanted to permit the room to be used, but there was no other place for the patient.”
O’Leary’s clear eyes considered me absently for a moment.
“It isn’t likely, then, that there will be a repetition of last night’s affair,” he said finally. “But suppose you let me go over the room again, when I can do so without disturbing the patient.”
A figure moving through the mist caught our eyes. It was Maida, her white cap gleaming above her blue and scarlet cape.
“Good-afternoon, Miss Day,” said O’Leary, stepping into the path.
I think Maida was a little startled, for her eyes darkened and she glanced hurriedly along the path toward the bridge.
But: “Good-afternoon, Mr. O’Leary,” she answered composedly enough. “Oh, there you are, Sarah,” she went on as her eyes fell on me. “I was wondering where you had gone.” Her eyes travelled to my hair, and she exclaimed: “How wet your hair is! You’ll get neuralgia, won’t you?”