What was going on in the dark room? What did it mean?
It was fortunate that I had plenty of assistance, for I could not possibly have gone about my duty with this amazing thing in my mind. In fact, I paid very little attention to the demands of the wing and alternated my gaze between my wrist watch and that shadowy end of the south wing corridor.
When the red light shines above 18!
When would it shine—what would I see upon opening that heavy gumwood door?
When the red light shines . . . After what seemed eons of time I strolled casually and with attempted calm in that direction. My heart began to pound violently as I approached that mysterious door. I paused at the south end of the corridor, pretending to scrutinize a thermometer that hung on the wall and listening with all my ears toward that dully gleaming panel of gumwood. Not a sound came from it, and though I lingered for some time in the vicinity, still I heard nothing.
On the way back Olma Flynn stopped me.
“Eleven says he will not take his medicine, Miss Keate. What shall I do?”
I must have answered her rather vaguely and, in fact, barely heard her question. At any rate, she gave me a strange look, whirled to follow my gaze down the corridor south and, seeing nothing, faced me again.
Her eyes were very wide and her mouth hung open.
“What—what did you say, Miss Keate?”