The rain continued, steadily increasing in fervour as the dreary day passed. All morning I remained in my room, the door locked securely, a chair in front of the window lest Corole should take a notion to return the way she had gone, and myself trying to sleep and succeeding for the most part in staring at the ceiling or at the rain-smeared window.
At noon I rose, dashed ice water on my tired eyes, dressed and started downstairs. The dark day made the vast old place gloomier than ever and lights had had to be turned on all over the building which, however, failed to dispel the lurking shadows. Apparently the nurses were doing their duty as well as might be expected, though I noted that they gathered in groups and that there was a noticeable lack of smothered talk and laughter.
In the north wing of the second floor I caught a glimpse, as I rounded the stairs, of Dr. Hajek, clad in fresh, white duck trousers and coat and certainly not much resembling a thief and a murderer, making his morning rounds, and at the door of the maternity ward I met Dr. Balman, an attendant nurse at his elbow.
It was strange to see the everyday routine going on almost as usual, almost as if we were not held in the cold grip of horror. No, not quite as usual, for there was somehow about the place, emanating from the very, white and expectant walls, an air of suspense, of breathless waiting.
Dr. Balman had noted it, too.
“Even the patients are upset and restless today,” he said wearily, as I stopped to ask him about Sonny, whose cast did not satisfy me. He rubbed his hand over his high, benevolent forehead, drew it gently over the bruise that still looked red and angry, and sighed.
“It is the weather,” I suggested, though it was nothing of the kind.
“Yes. Yes, it must be the weather. A constant succession of cloudy, rainy days such as we have been having is bad for the nerves. I hope this rain sees the end of it.” His anxious eyes went past me toward the window at the end of the corridor.
“One wonders where it is all coming from,” I commented. “I think, too, that the patients feel the—er—atmosphere of the hospital. The nurses are uneasy and nervous, jump at every sound, and there is a distinct feeling of suspense and—breathlessness in the air.”
Dr. Balman nodded; his eyes looked tired and sad under his thin eyebrows.
“I understand what you mean. There is a psychic undercurrent of unrest and alarm that is bound to communicate itself to the sick.”
“You aren’t looking well, Dr. Balman,” I said. “You should have that bruise attended to.” And I thought, though I did not say it, that he would profit by some liver pills.
“I haven’t had time—” he began; a nurse rattling up to us in her crisp skirts interrupted him with a question and I went on downstairs.
A letter was waiting for me on the rack in the hall. I did not recognize the handwriting, which was square and distinct and very painstaking; the signature, however, caught my attention and I ran through the note hastily, read it again more carefully, and with an involuntary glance about me I withdrew into a secluded corner of the hall and read it once more. It was short and to the point.
Dear Miss:
I think it is my dooty to tell you somthing I heerd. It is about Mr. Gansie I liked him but he is croked. He thinks Miss C whuz name I will not menshun has the radeyum, she said you know more than you will tell about those murders too and he said well what if I do what I want is the radeyum. Then she said youd better get out of here before you land in jail and he said speak for yourself. Then the kitchen door blew shut. You can tell that little man with the gray eyes if you want to.
That Gansie is a bad man he has a revolver in his pocket.
I have left Miss C for good.
Aside from reading “croked” to be “croaked” and thinking for a wild second that she was announcing Gainsay’s death, I had no difficulty in understanding Huldah’s amazing epistle. It sounded exactly like her, and Huldah is honest, so I did not even have the dubious satisfaction of doubting her word. It was my duty, too, to turn the thing over to O’Leary, and I should have done so at once had I been able to find him. But he was not to be found and I finally went down to lunch with a heavier heart.
The afternoon passed as slowly as the morning. O’Leary stayed out of sight, I heard no news about Corole or the radium, and the note from Huldah was simply burning a hole in my pocket. I tried telephoning to O’Leary but could not even get an answer from his servant. It was while I was in the general office that someone telephoned for Dr. Hajek. Miss Jones was at the telephone and asked me to call him, saying he was in the south wing.
“It’s a woman,” she said, winking at me. “She wouldn’t give her name or number.”
I found Dr. Hajek in Room 17 changing a dressing. He dropped his forceps and pulled off his rubber gloves so hastily that they split across one palm.
“Pick up those forceps and sterilize them,” he directed the
