“He said nothing that would lead you to believe that he was—er—worried about anything? Had had any trouble?”
“Nothing. I really think, Mr. O’Leary, that he will return before the day is over. Some accident has detained him. There will be some explanation.”
“You—admire Dr. Letheny?” Lance O’Leary was scrutinizing a dripping shrub outside the window as he spoke.
“Yes,” I replied dubiously. “That is, he is a splendid surgeon, very cool and very daring. I like to assist him.”
“You have known him for a long time?”
“Several years. That is, I have known him as everyone else knows him. I do not believe that any of us feel particularly well acquainted with him. He is rather distant, very much interested in some research that he is carrying on.”
“You don’t know the kind of research—the special subject of study?”
“No.”
There followed a long silence; the rain beat steadily against the window; outside in the corridor I heard the sound of the four-o’clock nourishment trays being carried along, the glasses of orange-juice and egg-nogg clinking together. It was chilly there in the office and I shivered a little.
“I do wish that Dr. Letheny would return,” I said. “It is bad for the head doctor of St. Ann’s to be away at such a time.”