“Peter will help us figure out what really happened,” declared Judy. “Oh, I hope he’s well enough to be—interested. Right now I’m more concerned with what happened to him.”
“Will he be allowed to tell you?” Irene asked.
“I don’t know. So much of his work is secret. That’s the hardest part,” Judy continued, a little break in her voice. “I never know what dangers he’s facing. Usually he tries to make a joke of it when I ask him. But this time I can’t help thinking—”
Irene’s hand closed gently over Judy’s. “Don’t think of what might have been. Just be glad he’s here with good nurses to take care of him.”
“I am glad. I’m glad Clarissa’s here, too—if that patient is Clarissa. I’d like to think she didn’t trick us, but how could the accident have happened?” Judy wondered. “And where was she going in a cab?”
“It almost makes a person believe in phantoms, doesn’t it?” Irene asked. “Clarissa was so—naïve is the word. And now if she’s hurt—Oh, Judy! Why are we always getting mixed up in other people’s troubles? We have enough of our own.”
“The way I look at it, other people’s troubles are our troubles. Peter feels that way, too,” Judy continued thoughtfully. “He says what hurts one of us hurts all the rest. We can’t isolate ourselves and pretend trouble doesn’t exist. We have to fight the good fight with fidelity, bravery, and integrity. That’s the motto of the FBI, and if anybody has those three qualities, it’s Peter. He’s faithful, brave, and I never knew anybody as honest and sincere and—and—”
Judy was in tears, suddenly. The strain of waiting had been too much. A nurse, hurrying in, reassured her that Peter’s condition was not serious.
“He is asking for you,” she added in the usual composed manner of hospital nurses. “Will you come?”
Would she come? Judy wondered how she kept her feet from flying down the corridor. At the door of Peter’s room she paused, a nameless fear coming over her.