Fortunately for our piece of mind, it was a busy night. We actually needed the extra help, Olma Flynn and a student nurse, and the two extra uniforms, here and there about the wing, made it seem a little less silent and ghostly.
Along about two o’clock Sonny’s light went on and I answered it.
“Why, hello, Miss Keate,” he said, as I turned on the light above his bed. “You haven’t been in to see me since last night.”
Was it only last night?
“I’ve been busy, Sonny,” I replied. “How is the cast doing?”
“It was pretty bad last night.” He moved a little to ease his tired body. “It is better to-night, though. Quite a lot more comfortable. What happened last night, Miss Keate? I heard somebody scream.”
“One of the girls had a little fright.” I made my explanation casually but Sonny’s gaze remained puzzled.
“To-day has been so queer, too. So many people in and out and strange footsteps past the door. And this afternoon, about two o’clock, they shut all the doors and I heard the wheels of a truck being taken along the corridor. Did—did one of the patients die, Miss Keate?”
When I can’t tell the truth I made it a rule to tell as near the truth as possible.
“One of the patients died, Sonny. He was an old gentleman.”