It was a scream of stark terror!
A woman’s scream!
Somehow I got into the corridor. Maida was there, too, running toward Room 18, and I followed her.
It was Maida who reached for the light. It revealed our patient half out of bed, staring with blinking eyes at something on the other side of the bed.
We followed his gaze. Huddled there on the floor was a woman. We saw a dark cloak, a brown hand outflung and metallic waves of hair. We both leaned closer.
“It’s Corole!” cried Maida sharply.
We turned her on her back. For a horrible moment I though that Eighteen had added another victim to its list. But all at once Corole opened her eyes, sat up dazedly, saw Mr. Gastin still sitting on the edge of the bed, and at the sight her mouth opened, her eyes glared, and she pressed her hand tight across her mouth as if to prevent an outcry.
The relief of seeing that she was alive was so great that Maida sank limply to a chair and I turned in natural reaction to anger.
“What on earth are you doing here, Corole?” I asked warmly. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”
She ignored my questions.