And it was clear to me, all at once, that she was looking for something.
What could that something be—the radium? Could Corole believe that the radium was still in Room 18? And if so, what reason had she for her belief?
And at the same time I recalled my promise to O’Leary to telephone to him if the night brought any disturbance. It was with some trepidation that I convinced myself that he could do nothing till morning anyway, and it was as well that I had forgotten my promise.
I did not for a moment believe Corole’s faltering attempt at an explanation. But at the same time it occurred to me that had she been of a mind to lie she could likely have invented a much more plausible and convincing tale than the one she told.
11. By the Light of a Match
It was near morning by that time, and Maida and I had to work rapidly to get our patients washed and tooth-brushed and ready for the breakfast trays. To my satisfaction no one from the other wings appeared to have heard Corole’s scream, or to know that there had been any disturbance in the south wing.
The morning passed quietly. I took a long-needed rest and did not see O’Leary until I came downstairs about the middle of the afternoon. Somewhat to my disappointment, for I had anticipated telling him myself, he knew all about Corole’s visit. Dr. Balman had told him of it. O’Leary said briefly that he had talked to Corole; I gathered that she stuck to her story of the previous night, even to the extent of embroidering rather elaborately on her cousinly affection for Dr. Letheny and her anxiety to know the cause of his death. O’Leary seemed somewhat perturbed, a result that would have delighted Corole had she known it.
“We have got bolts on the window,” said O’Leary. “Dr. Balman suggested it; at least there’ll be no more such visitors as last night.”
He did not linger. An hour or so later I slipped out the south door for a breath of fresh air. I glanced in at Room 18 as I passed. Sure enough there were shiny new bolts on the window. Mr. Gastin had evidently preferred the charity ward to Room 18, for he had not returned, though the pot of lobelias still stood on the table looking more jaundiced than ever.
If cold and damp, still the air was refreshing and I walked at a brisk pace along the path toward the bridge. I did not see that Higgins was following me until I paused to lean on the railing and stare at the muddy, swollen little stream below my feet. There the shrubbery grows so close to the bridge that it hangs over it and the water, and I was amusing myself by pulling dead leaves from a willow, bending near and tossing them into the little, swirling eddies of water when Higgins spoke suddenly at my elbow.