His tone irritated me. It may be true that I am considered something of a martinet, especially among the student nurses, but somebody has to see to things.
“Nonsense,” I spoke sharply. “I want money just as much as anybody.”
I suppose my words rang sincere, for Dr. Letheny sat up.
“What is your repressed desire, Sarah Keate?” he demanded with just the shade of amusement in his voice that always riled me. “Come on, out with it! Do you long for the gay night life? Or have you secret urges to become a front-page sensation?”
And I must say that, in the light of what was to occur, it was remarkable that he said just that.
“She might make a splendid aviatrix,” said Jim Gainsay, smiling into the dusk.
After that I was not going to tell them that above all things I longed to travel and that everybody knows travel costs money. I said curtly:
“Everybody wants money.”
“How about you, Maida?” broke in Corole rather maliciously.
Maida is, as a rule, almost too perfect at the art of concealing her emotions. It may have been that the semidarkness of the room concealed an intended air of frivolousness, or it may have been that the threat of the approaching storm plucked at her nerves and pierced her habitual armour of reserve. At any rate her answer was unexpected.
“Money!” she said. “Money! I think I would give my very soul for money!”
Of course, I knew she didn’t mean that. But Dr. Letheny shot her a glance that fairly pierced the dusk, Corole laughed a little metallic ripple, and Jim Gainsay turned straightway around in his chair to face Maida’s shadowed eyes.
“I haven’t any money,” he said directly and quite as if Maida had asked him a question, though I think the others were too preoccupied to observe this. “I haven’t any money at all.”
“And are you happy without it, Jim?” asked Corole, her warm voice caressing.
“Well …” Jim Gainsay paused. “I was, until lately.”
He was still speaking to Maida. I believe Dr. Letheny understood that somewhat singular fact, also, for he spoke so quietly that there was a suggestion of deliberate restraint about his words.
“And what do you intend to do in the face of this sudden realization?”
“Make some money,” replied Jim Gainsay simply.
Dr. Letheny laughed—not pleasantly.
“But my dear fellow, is it so simple as that?”
“It should not be difficult.” Gainsay did not appear to be disturbed by the perceptible edge of irony in Dr. Letheny’s questions.
“Owing to the fact that several billions of people over the face of the earth are engaged in profitless efforts in that direction, will you tell us just how you propose to accomplish it with such expedition?”
“Certainly not. If I can manage to lay my hands on—say—fifty thousand I can make—oh, as much money as I want. I can do it. And I will.” He was grave and yet quite casual. A mere matter of information for Maida. If she wanted money he would see that she got it and that was that! It seemed so clear to me that I felt something very like embarrassment, though neither Maida nor Jim Gainsay seemed disturbed.
“Fifty thousand dollars,” mused Dr. Letheny softly. “That is quite a lot of money. Many a man has failed for its—inaccessibility.”
“I’ll get it all right,” said Jim Gainsay.
“And when you get it what are you going to do with it? How are you going to make it grow into as much money as you want?”
“Contracting.” There was an undercurrent in the short reply that warned Dr. Letheny off.
Corole laughed again.
“Funny!” she said. “Every single one of us has confessed to a fervent desire for money. That is, all but Franz and Dr. Hajek. And we all know that Franz would give his very eyes—no, he needs them for experiment—ten years of his life, then, for money to carry on those same precious experiments.”
“It is a good thing we are all law-abiding citizens,” I remarked drily.
“I think I shall be on the safe side, though, and lock up my jewels tonight!” said Corole.
“Don’t be a fool,” observed Dr. Letheny.
Corole’s topaz eyes caught a glint of angry green light.
“Why, really, Louis, being what one can’t help is better, at any rate, than longing for what one can’t get.”
Her somewhat stupid reply did not, to my mind, warrant its effect. Dr. Letheny moved suddenly upright in his chair, his thin lips drawn tight over his teeth.
“Until later, dear cousin.” The words had a sharp edge of fury. “Until later. We have guests at present.”
I could only suppose that the stifling atmosphere had disturbed Dr. Letheny’s always hair-trigger nerves. Otherwise he had not been so needlessly vulgar. He was a brilliant man with a cutting tongue, but gossip had whispered that what Corole lacked in the way of brains she more than made up for in feline cunning of attack. This was the first time, however, that I had heard the two ill-assorted housemates come to open and bad-mannered warfare.
Dr. Hajek relieved the strained silence that naturally followed the little contretemps.
“I hear that you used the radium today.” He had a peculiarly inflectionless manner of speech that made him seem heavy and dull.
“Yes.” Dr. Letheny rose and pulled the curtain still farther from the window. “Torrid night, isn’t it? Yes, we are trying it for old Mr. Jackson.” He paused. “I don’t know that it will do any good,” he added callously. “But we may as well try it. By the way, Miss Keate, I shall be in shortly after midnight to see how the patient is getting on. You might leave the south door unlocked for me. Let me see—he is in Room 18, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“So you are going to Russia on another bridge project, Jim?” Dr. Letheny was again master of himself.
“What—oh, yes! Yes.” Jim Gainsay started a little as if Dr. Letheny had recalled
