The morning passed quietly. I took a long-needed rest and did not see O’Leary until I came downstairs about the middle of the afternoon. Somewhat to my disappointment, for I had anticipated telling him myself, he knew all about Corole’s visit. Dr. Balman had told him of it. O’Leary said briefly that he had talked to Corole; I gathered that she stuck to her story of the previous night, even to the extent of embroidering rather elaborately on her cousinly affection for Dr. Letheny and her anxiety to know the cause of his death. O’Leary seemed somewhat perturbed, a result that would have delighted Corole had she known it.
“We have got bolts on the window,” said O’Leary. “Dr. Balman suggested it; at least there’ll be no more such visitors as last night.”
He did not linger. An hour or so later I slipped out the south door for a breath of fresh air. I glanced in at Room 18 as I passed. Sure enough there were shiny new bolts on the window. Mr. Gastin had evidently preferred the charity ward to Room 18, for he had not returned, though the pot of lobelias still stood on the table looking more jaundiced than ever.
If cold and damp, still the air was refreshing and I walked at a brisk pace along the path toward the bridge. I did not see that Higgins was following me until I paused to lean on the railing and stare at the muddy, swollen little stream below my feet. There the shrubbery grows so close to the bridge that it hangs over it and the water, and I was amusing myself by pulling dead leaves from a willow, bending near and tossing them into the little, swirling eddies of water when Higgins spoke suddenly at my elbow.
It startled me and I whirled to face him.
“Miss Keate,” he began again. “I—Could you—There is something I want to tell you.” He spoke in a hesitating, reluctant manner as if he were not sure he wanted to tell me, after all.
“What is it?” I inquired crisply.
He swallowed audibly and cleared his throat.
“I—I’ve been wondering—It is this way, Miss Keate. I want to know what you think I had better do.”
I squared around for a better look at him. He was rather pale and played nervously with his furnace-stained cap.
“What about, Higgins?” I said kindly.
He made a motion to speak, checked it and peered furtively up and down the path. Owing to its twisting he could not see very far either way, so he leaned over toward me and spoke in a half-whisper.
“It is about the night of June seventh,” he said mysteriously.
The words focused my attention sharply.
“June seventh!” I exclaimed.
“Sh—sh—” he made a quick gesture for silence, and peered again all about in the semi-twilight made by the still dour, cloudy sky and mist and dripping, close-growing shrubbery. “Yes. The night of June seventh. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what my duty is. I don’t want to get nobody into trouble. But I can’t go on no longer without telling somebody. I thought you, Miss Keate, would know what to do.”
“What is it?” I asked quickly.
He did not reply at once. Instead he looked uneasily all about us, examining the surroundings with an intensity that impressed upon me the need for caution as to the matter he was about to relate. Unconsciously I drew nearer him.
“Go on,” I said.
He surveyed me doubtfully.
“I wish I knew whether I was doing right or not,” he mused with a worried air. “You see—I don’t want to get into trouble myself, either.”
Poor Higgins!
“I’ll see that you do not,” I promised rashly, little knowing how impossible it would prove to be to keep my word.
He cleared his throat, glanced toward the path again.
“You see, I saw it,” he whispered.
“Saw what?”
“Saw who killed the patient in Room 18!”
For a breathless second I wondered if the man had taken leave of his senses. His gray face, his evident fright, the way his eyes shifted about, first peering in one direction and then another, convinced me of his sincerity. He must be speaking the truth. It was evident, too, and I did not wonder at it, that he was in a mortal terror of his knowledge.
“How was it? What did you see?” I whispered too.
“Well, it was this way,” he began so slowly as to nearly drive me frantic with impatience. “It was this way: I had a bad toothache that night. It wouldn’t let me sleep and the hot night seemed to make it worse. I finally got up and came upstairs to get Dr. Hajek to give me something for it. I knocked and knocked at his door but I couldn’t wake him, so—”
“What time was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know exactly. I think about one o’clock. Anyway I went back to the basement and still couldn’t get any peace from the tooth. It ached and ached and I got up and tried to rouse Dr. Hajek again. I couldn’t wake him—you see, he wasn’t there at all. So I let myself out of the main door and walked around the corner of the hospital. Sometimes Dr. Letheny would sit up late and I thought that if there was a light in his study, I could get something for my tooth from him. It was the darkest night I have ever seen.”
He paused to shake his head dolefully.
“Anyway, pretty soon I saw a sort of green light up there on the hill, and knew that Dr. Letheny was reading late. Well, I started toward the path and it was so dark I could hardly find my way. When I got to the end of the south wing, I could see that the south door was open, and could see the light over the chart desk. The wing looked almost as dark as it did outside.” He stopped, drew out a blue bandana
