“I have found his name, sir. It’s on his surgical bag. He is Dr. Herbert Carlson of New York.”
“Thank you very much! Please find his ’phone number and I will call his wife and tell her what we are doing for him.”
As her father was calling Carlson’s telephone number, Ina listened with strained attention. His wife! Somehow, it had never occurred to her that he might be married!
“Hello! Is this Dr. Carlson’s residence?... Yes, yes, I know he’s not there now. May I speak with his wife?... What’s that?... Not married?... O, I beg your pardon! His sister?—yourself? Thank you! Now listen to me, please!...”
Ina did not try to analyze her feelings when her father’s words at the telephone seemed to prove that Carlson was unmarried. But then she suddenly remembered, as with a stab at her heart, what the police surgeon had said! Yes: As her father had ordered, He must be saved! Nothing else mattered!
At 2:53 A. M. the telephone at the Holden residence rang for at least the hundredth time that fateful night. The butler had instructions not to call Mr. Holden except for communications from the police or the hospital. Ina and her mother, in Ina’s bedroom, heard the muffled buzzer in the study below, and looked at each other anxiously. Ina snatched up the extension receiver at her bedside and listened.
“Hospital speaking. I have a message for Mr. Holden.”
It was the second message from the hospital. The first had told the hopeful news that Dr. Carlson had been successfully operated on, that hemorrhage had been checked, and that his heart had responded to stimulants. Mr. Holden, at his desk, lifted the receiver.
“Mr. Holden speaking. Quick! What’s your message?”
“Dr. Carlson slept until five minutes ago. Then he woke up suddenly and asked: ‘Is Ina all right?’ We told him that Miss Holden was safe at home, and he said: ‘Thank God!’ and went to sleep again.”