It seared him like a sirocco. Yesterday morning, she had stood there with just such a breeze blowing. Yesterday morning it had promised her summer, too ... and today.... He turned his back resolutely to the window and still stood with his eyes closed.
The sun began relaxing the muscles at the base of his brain and then he seemed suddenly sane. Her death had been like those of the officers in the Great War who had jumped out of the trenches and walked up and down to give their men courage....
He returned to his desk and calmly began planning what must be covered at this meeting, and what witnesses must be called. Cub, if he could leave his father, otherwise his testimony must suffice. The day white nurse, the night pupil nurse, Miss Kerr’s niece, and Mattus’ impression of the patient when he last saw her. Then it would be wise to ask Dr. Heddis to come over and report upon the autopsy findings.
The lack of sleep was telling upon him. He had entirely forgotten about questioning the orderly, William. He rang for his secretary and gave her the orders.
When Dr. Barton’s squared frame filled the door it brought with it a sense of relief. Queer how sane associating with children made a man. Almost immediately he was followed by Hoffbein, Peters and Paton ... together. They had just settled themselves when Dr. Harrison strode in. There was an armor of righteousness about him that dazzled. Dr. MacArthur had never seen Harrison this way before. Like some great patriarch of Biblical fame girded for battle.
When they were all seated, Dr. Barton and Dr. Harrison exchanged monosyllabic diagnoses upon Dr. Bear and Dr. MacArthur read their faces.
Peters, Hoffbein, and Paton missed the discussion. They were funereal, self-righteous and pious, respectively.
A nurse was dead. They had gone on record opposing placing her in the position where she might be murdered. Dr. MacArthur had sacrificed her to save Cub Sterling’s reputation.
At half-past six when Dr. MacArthur had notified Dr. Peters, Dr. Peters had telephoned Dr. Paton right away and intoned “The sort of thing that purifies a man,” and after that their conversation had been long, gossipy ... and horrified. Princeton had been propped against his pillows, his feet glued to a white rubber hot water bottle and a deep purple corded silk dressing gown thrown over his still firm shoulders.
His wife was abroad with Mrs. Paton.