“But surely that was unusual?”
“Yes. But the night was so hot and ether out there in the apple orchard so impossible that I decided I must be mistaken, that it was just the mingled scents of alfalfa and clover and other growing things.”
“Well—which was it? Ether or imagination?”
“I don’t know,” I said firmly. “I’m just telling you what happened. I know it sounds queer—but last night was a queer night. That dinner at Corole’s and everything,” I finished thoughtlessly.
“Dinner at Corole’s? That is Miss Letheny?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Letheny was there?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes. Miss Day, Dr. Balman, Dr. Hajek, and a friend of Dr. Letheny’s—a Mr. Gainsay. He is an engineer who stopped for a day’s visit with them.”
“And you and Miss Letheny?”
“Yes.”
“You implied that it was—‘queer,’ I think was the word you used. How was it queer?”
“Oh—I scarcely know. It was very hot and oppressive you know—that sort of electric atmosphere that precedes a thunder storm.”
“Aside from the—er—electricity in the air, was everything quite as usual?”
I paused for a long moment before replying.
“No,” I said candidly. “I think we were all a little nervous and uneasy on account of the heat and suffocating air. That is, I was. And Dr. Letheny—and Miss Day—”
“But not the others?”
“Well—” It was difficult to define that curious tensity I had felt in the air all the night. “No one seemed quite natural to me. It may have been only I who was a little nervous. I really can’t tell you anything definite.”
“Why did you say definitely that Dr. Letheny and Miss Day were unlike themselves?”
“Dr. Letheny is a rather quick-spoken man—when you know him you will understand what I mean. He goes on his nervous energy, is very high-strung and temperamental. He seemed especially explosive last night. And Miss Day was a little abstracted, tired, I think.”
“I suppose you talked—played bridge—had a little music?”
“Yes. All of that.”
“Any special topics of conversation?”
“No—”
He noted the uncertainty in my voice.
“Radium wasn’t mentioned?”
“Well—yes. But only in a general way.”
“Didn’t speak of using it? Having it out of the safe?”
“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Didn’t say for what patient it was being used? In what room?”
“Yes. But only casually.” I explained Dr. Letheny’s request to leave the south door unlocked.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing in particular. We just talked of general matters.”
“Such as—”
I glanced at him impatiently.
“Such as?” he repeated.
“Oh—how warm it was, and how everybody longs for something that money will buy, and how St. Ann’s is equipped with radios and expensive ambulances and a whole gram of radium and how much such things cost and all that—and then we played a few hands of bridge and then Dr. Letheny played the piano and then Maida—Miss Day—and I came back through the orchard to St. Ann’s and changed into our uniforms and went on duty.”
“You talked of money and how everybody longs for something that money will buy,” mused O’Leary, adding with uncanny intuition, “I suppose several of you admitted a special desire for money?”
“Every single one of us,” I confessed. “That is, except Dr. Hajek. He just listened and seemed amused.”
He smiled. “Don’t be alarmed over such an admission. That doesn’t mean anything, that you all wanted money. Everyone wants money. But suppose you tell me, word for word, as much as you can remember of the conversation. Don’t be afraid of implicating anyone, Miss Keate. I make the request only because I like to get as clear an idea of the general surroundings as possible.” He smiled again. He had an extraordinarily winning smile; it brightened his whole face, for all that it was so brief, and I found myself warming under its influence.
Not seeing how I could possibly harm anyone I repeated as much of our conversation as I could remember, and since I have usually a good memory I think I omitted very little of it.
When I had finished he sat for some time turning and twisting his pencil. I might say that I never but once saw him use that pencil sensibly as a pencil is meant to be used. I even grew to cherish a notion that the pencil aided his mental processes and that if it were taken away from him his ability to think might go along with it. Like Samson’s hair, you know. Then I aroused myself from such childish speculation.
“If that is all—” I hinted. “This is a busy day for us, you know.”
“Not quite all, Miss Keate.” The smile had completely gone from his face; his expression lost its youthfulness and was very grave. “When did you last see Dr. Letheny?”
“Last night, shortly after twelve thirty.”
“He had come to see Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes. He was here only a few moments.”
“You saw him leave?”
“Yes.”
“And he did not return, to your knowledge?”
“No.”
“He said nothing of leaving town?”
“Nothing.”
“He said nothing that would lead you to believe that he was—er—worried about anything? Had had any trouble?”
“Nothing. I really think, Mr. O’Leary, that he will return before the day is over. Some accident has detained him. There will be some explanation.”
“You—admire Dr. Letheny?” Lance O’Leary was scrutinizing a dripping shrub outside the window as he spoke.
“Yes,” I replied dubiously. “That is, he is a splendid surgeon, very cool and very daring. I like to assist him.”
“You have known him for a long time?”
“Several years. That is, I have known him as everyone else knows him. I do not believe that any of us feel particularly well acquainted with him. He is rather distant, very much interested in some research that he is carrying on.”
“You don’t know the kind of research—the special subject of study?”
“No.”
There followed a long silence; the rain beat steadily against the window; outside in the corridor I heard the sound of the four-o’clock nourishment trays being carried along, the glasses of orange-juice and eggnog clinking together. It was chilly there in the office and I shivered a little.
“I do wish that Dr. Letheny would return,” I said. “It is bad
