“That Mr. O’Leary. Just wait till you see him. Such a way of speaking! Such clothes! And his eyes are simply wonderful!” Miss Dotty appeared to recall herself from Mr. O’Leary’s charms with difficulty. “But I must hurry. They said if we couldn’t find the key they would have to take the door off the hinges.”
“Take the hinges off, you mean. Indeed they shan’t! That lovely gumwood door! They’ll be sure to scar it. Maybe some of the student nurses locked it. Ask them. Or—wait! I’ll come down myself.”
But Miss Dotty’s starched skirts were already scuttling away.
Before leaving the room, and not without a guilty feeling in my heart, I placed the cigarette case in a safe hiding place which was nothing more nor less than the bottom of my laundry bag. Almost without conscious volition on my part I had resolved to keep the matter of the cigarette case a secret and in my own possession, at least until I knew more certainly where my duty lay concerning it. It carried with it too grave an implication to act upon readily.
Then, still preoccupied, I took my way downstairs, through the main portion of St. Ann’s, past the general office, and turned into the corridor leading to the south wing. As I approached the chart desk, one of the student nurses seized upon me tearfully with a tale of Three’s hysterics, and wouldn’t I help for she had not the least idea what to do. There was nothing for it but to go to her assistance, much as I was interested in the proceedings in Room 18. And it was a good thing for me that I did! Otherwise I should have been in the room when they opened the closet door.
Three’s hysterics proved to be of an unusually stubborn kind, really virulent in fact, and though I was aware of a sort of subdued confusion and tremor of excitement outside the door I could not clearly understand what it was about. I heard faintly the sound of hammering, of feet running along the corridor, of a man’s voice calling out something indistinguishable, and a hastily hushed, woman’s scream which Three promptly and wilfully echoed. Then several people hurried through the hall, and as they passed the door I heard the unmistakable little metallic rattle of the wheels of the stretcher-truck, and caught the words—“Call Dr. Balman,” and something about an ambulance.
This was too much for me and I left my patient as soon as possible. No one was to be seen in the corridor, however, so I walked hurriedly down toward Room 18. Just as I reached it a policeman opened it, saw me, slid hastily through the narrow aperture and, closing the door, stood squarely before it.
“You can’t go in there, miss,” he said firmly.
“But—what has happened? What is all the commotion about?”
“You can’t go in there,” he repeated stupidly. To my surprise I saw that the man was actually frightened. His eyes were staring, his weather-beaten face a sort of yellow-green, and his breath coming in gasps. “You can’t go in there. You can’t——”