"No—that is—Hark! What is that noise? It sounds like a little baby crying. That's the third time tonight I've heard it squall."
Miss Hays obediently strained her ears to listen. "It does sound like a child, doesn't it?" she admitted, as the plaintive wail was repeated. "Who can it be?"
"Seems as if it came from the other part of the building," said Peace, peering across the moonlit court toward the windows of the opposite wing.
"But there are no babies over there," the nurse objected. "Nearly all the patients in that section are old men, and the nurses' rooms are on the top floor."
"Well, that's where the crying comes from anyway," Peace insisted, as another low, persistent wail rose on the midnight air. "Are you sure there ain't any babies over there?"
"None that I know of. I'll go investigate. It's queer that Miss Gee did not mention it to me if any new patients were brought in there today."
Puzzled Miss Hays turned to go when Peace stopped her with an imperative, "Wait! There's a nightcap sticking out of a topfloor window. I guess it's going to holler."
"Nightcap? Where?" demanded the nurse, again staring out over the court toward the other wing of the hospital.
"It looked like one, but it's gone in out of sight. O, I know I saw it. There! What did I tell you!"
Peace was right. From an open window in the nurses' quarters a white-capped head slowly protruded, followed by a huge pitcher. There was a sound of splashing water, a startled caterwaul from the lawn below, some excited spitting and scratching, and two black shapes streaked across the court to the street. The wailing ceased. Silence reigned.