Dr. MacArthur interrupted him. His panic was welling up.
“I’ll agree to anything ... almost, Mr. Higgins. After last night action is vital. Tomorrow is visiting day throughout the hospital. By tomorrow night relatives of every patient on that ward will know that Rose Standish was murdered! And we cannot avoid their knowing it. If we close the ward to visitors ... we have never in all the years the hospital has been in existence done ... that! Public confidence is our greatest asset. Has been. What shall we do? The newspapers, the police, the reputation of the hospital, d’y’see?”
“Too well, sir.”
But the tension was wearing itself out in speech and Dr. MacArthur went on:
“The hysteria among the nursing and medical staffs was bad enough, God knows, but before today is over, we must face the hysteria manifesting itself among the menial staff. How can a hospital run without orderlies, electricians, cooks? If the menials become hysterical...?”
“They already are, Doctor. When I came out of the basement entrance of the old lab building into the service corridor fifteen minutes ago, my feet caught upon a bunch of red roses.”
“What?”
“I said, sir, my feet caught....”
“I heard you. Where did they come from?”
“They had been dropped, Doctor, by a maid who had been ordered by Miss Kerr, the head nurse in Medicine Clinic, to take them over to the Nurses’ Home for the funeral of Miss Standish. An orderly told the maid where they came from....”