“Another time, Sonny. You must go to sleep now.”
O’Leary’s fingers sought the red pencil stub as I told him.
“So,” he pondered, “Jim Gainsay was here in St. Ann’s.”
“Where he had no business to be,” I interpolated grimly.
“And he was here at about the time I was knocked out and the radium stolen. This increases my interest in Mr. Gainsay.” He thrust his stub of a pencil into his pocket, ran a hand over his already smooth hair, and glanced at his watch. “I think we’ll have to disturb Jim Gainsay’s rest to-night—if he is asleep. You are sure the drug room will not be in use, Miss Keate?”
“If we need anything I’ll get it myself,” I promised hastily. There was a sort of repressed smile on his face as he turned away, though I’m sure I don’t know why.
Jim Gainsay must not have been asleep, for within five minutes the two men were coming along the corridor from the main entrance. One of the student nurses saw me lead them into the drug room and her eyes would likely have popped out had I not spoken sharply to her. On the theory that every cloud has a silver lining I considered it fortunate that Eleven chose that very time for a rather cataclysmic upheaval which kept Maida thoroughly engrossed for an hour or so, and I don’t think she ever knew of the interview that took place there in our wing.
She came very near it once, when she hurried for some soothing drops, but I forestalled her by offering to get the medicine myself. If she thought my hasty offer curious, she said nothing and went back to her patient.
Opening the drug-room door I walked into an electric atmosphere. Jim Gainsay, lounging tall and bronzed against the window sill, was clearly furious; his eyes were narrow and wary, his lean jaw was set, his lips tight and guarded.
I caught the words . . . “entirely a personal matter” in no very pleasant voice from Jim Gainsay.