It was a useless search. That I knew even in the moment of lowering my candle to look under the bed. The dead man had not torn from himself that box with the wide strips of adhesive.
Arising from my knees I stared across the narrow bed into Maida’s panic-stricken eyes.
The very storm outside quieted for a second as if to give my words significance.
“He is dead,” I whispered. “And the radium is gone!”
She nodded, her hands at her throat, her face as white as her cap.
The tiny flame wavered and jumped and threatened to go out, the shadows in the room crept nearer, the gusts of wind and rain beat upon the black window pane with renewed fervour.
“We must telephone to Dr. Letheny. Then get lights and see to the wing. Will you go down to the office and telephone to the Doctor? I shall stay—with this.”
Maida’s eyes widened and she flung out her hands with an odd gesture of panic.
“No,” she stammered. “No. I—I can’t call Dr. Letheny!”
Not knowing what to say I stared at her. Suddenly she straightened her shoulders and mastered her agitation.