A silence fell in the room. O’Leary walked to the window, pulled the heavy, mulberry-coloured drapes aside, and stood there for a moment. The world outside was sodden and cold; the dense green shrubbery strange and unfamiliar with its fallen leaves rotting and its heavy branches dripping. The piano in the alcove opposite me was shrouded with a great black velvet cover, but it seemed to me that ghostly fingers took up the first haunting strains of the “C Sharp Minor Prelude.” I stirred impatiently and O’Leary turned to face Corole, who sat sullenly still in the davenport, her fingernails digging into an orange pillow.

“Come, Miss Letheny. Give up the radium and tell me the whole truth.”

“I have not got the radium. If you don’t believe me you can search the house.”

“The house has already been searched. Your maid was ordered not to tell you. It was done yesterday while you were⁠—out.”

“While I was out yesterday⁠—Tell me, Mr. O’Leary, is anyone else honoured with a⁠—guard? The man from the police department followed me all day yesterday and I suppose is out there now, sitting on the porch railing or somewhere.”

“O’Brien, his name is,” said O’Leary amiably. “No, you are not the only person thus watched.”

“I thought not.” Her eyes glinted with malicious satisfaction. “I thought not. What about Jim Gainsay? And Maida Day?”

“Well, what about them?”

“What about them!” To do Corole justice she did hesitate for the barest fraction of a second before she went on: “Is it possible that you do not know that Maida Day was the last person to talk to Louis?”

There was a pause, during which Corole looked in vain for any change of expression in O’Leary’s face.

“Are you not surprised!” she cried impatiently. “Goody-goody Maida with her fastidious, touch-me-not ways was in the orchard with Louis after midnight last Thursday night.”

“No,” said O’Leary. “No. I am not surprised.”

“I heard the whole conversation,” continued Corole, as if bent on getting some sort of more spirited reaction out of the detective. “I was there in the shadows and heard the whole thing. Louis was wild about Maida⁠—I’m sure I don’t know why. Anyway, she did not hesitate to tell him that she didn’t return his love.” Corole smiled a very cruel little smile. “Poor Louis! They talked for some time. Louis was one of these cold-natured men, as a rule. I was surprised to hear him. It was better than a play.”

“Could you see them?” inquired O’Leary drily.

“It was black as tar. But I knew their voices. And anyway I can see in the dark like a cat, so I could tell about where they were⁠—could see the outline of Maida’s uniform and Louis’s shirt front.”

“They could see each other, of course?” asked O’Leary nonchalantly.

“No, I shouldn’t think so. I thought I told you that I can see in the dark better than most people. I’m sure they couldn’t see each other for I remember that when they met and began to talk, Maida sort of gasped and said ‘Who is it?’ and Louis answered her.”

“How long did they talk?”

“Not long. Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes.”

“That was about what time?”

Corole paused before replying, I suppose to be sure that she was admitting nothing as to her own activities on that dark night.

“It must have been just before one o’clock. I think it was just after Louis had gone to Room 18 with Sarah to visit his patient there.”

“Did Miss Day return at once to the hospital?”

“Yes, I think so. She was in a rage. I think poor Louis managed to kiss her and Maida is deplorably high-spirited. She struck him at the last; I was sure of that. They parted on very unfriendly terms.” Her eyes slanted maliciously at O’Leary, but he was engrossed in studying the soft figures on the rug at his feet.

“Why do you tell me all this, Miss Letheny?” he asked quietly.

She raised her thin, plucked eyebrows at this, delicately.

“Didn’t you ask me to tell you anything that could help you? I should think that it would be of value to know that the last person known to have been with Louis was quarrelling violently with him.”

“As a matter of fact, you have done Miss Day a favour,” remarked Lance O’Leary. “You have very kindly explained the presence of Miss Day’s lapis cuff link in the pocket of Dr. Letheny’s dinner jacket.”

Corole’s eyes flickered.

“I thought you said you were not surprised to hear this⁠—as if you already knew it.”

“I suspected some such affair. Miss Day made a point of saying that the last time she saw Dr. Letheny was when she left your house Thursday night, and it was perfectly true. She did not see him when she talked to him later. But, of course, I knew that she must have had some sort of meeting with him. Indeed,” he went on quietly, “I can quite understand Miss Day’s reluctance to tell of the matter. Any young woman would shrink from the headlines⁠—can’t you see them: ‘Beautiful young nurse⁠—Love quarrel with Doctor’⁠—all that sort of thing? Doubtless the cuff link got detached from the cuff and into Dr. Letheny’s hand and he thrust it into his pocket thinking to return it⁠—not knowing what was to happen. Thank you for telling me this, Miss Letheny.” He walked to the door and paused with his hand on the knob. His face was very stern as he glanced back at Corole. “You are only making things worse for yourself when you refuse to tell the whole truth. Good morning, Miss Letheny.”

Once again on that damp path we said little.

“It was Miss Day’s meeting with Dr. Letheny that Corole overheard, then, and threatened to tell of; that is what Gainsay’s note to Miss Day meant,” said O’Leary musingly as we approached the south door. “Well, that meeting does throw a new light on things⁠—doesn’t it? By the way, Miss Keate, I expect to stay in St. Ann’s for a night or two. I want no one but you to know of it.”

“But where⁠—in what room will you be?”

“Room 18.”

I could feel the colour draining from my face.

“That⁠—room is not safe!”

“Nonsense.”

“But, Mr. O’Leary⁠—I have not told you what I heard this morning!”

“What’s that!”

“Corole⁠—Corole and Dr. Hajek⁠—” He waited in silence while I told him of the singular dialogue that I had interrupted.

“Thank you, Miss Keate,” he said quietly when I had finished.

“But⁠—aren’t you going to arrest them at once? Before they do⁠—whatever it is they are planning? We don’t want another murder in St. Ann’s!”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think it will come to that. And anyway, you know⁠—give a man rope enough⁠—” He did not complete his sentence.

I tightened my lips disapprovingly; it seemed to me that handcuffs would be far more efficacious.

“Can you keep a secret, Miss Keate?” said Lance O’Leary suddenly.

I nodded.

“Then, if all goes well, another twenty-four hours will see the end of this affair.” And with that he was gone, leaving me to stand as if frozen on the step and watch that slight gray figure till it vanished around the corner of the hospital.

Another twenty-four hours!

I was still on the step, staring absently into the surrounding greens, when a movement through a lane of trees caught my eyes. There, strolling through the wet orchard, was Jim Gainsay. At his side was Maida, her white cap distinct against that green curtain, her soft black hair waving gently about her lovely face. The navy-blue cape she wore was thrown back so that its scarlet lining gleamed against a fold of her white dress and the scarlet seemed to match her cheeks and lips. As I watched, the two suddenly faced each other. Jim caught at Maida’s hands and held them against his face and slowly drew her toward him. She yielded for a moment, then glanced toward St. Ann’s windows and pulled away. He relinquished her hands and laughed and after a second she laughed, too. Then they resumed their slow pace, and the white cap and scarlet fold of cape and brown Stetson hat disappeared among the dense green thickets.

He had succeeded in seeing her, then, and I did not need to fulfil my promise.

The rest of the day passed quietly but none too pleasantly, for the hospital was gloomy and dark and very hushed, the nurses uneasy and nervous, and there was a sort of subdued terror that lurked in the very walls of the great, old place.

I could not sleep, as was my custom, during first watch, and it was fortunate, as it happened, that I could not for I went down to the south wing a little early and thus, I believe, prevented another panic. I am sure that any other nurse seeing Corole as I saw her would have gone completely to pieces.

This is the way it happened.

I found myself in the south wing a good half hour before midnight and strolled casually along the corridor. The south door was locked as it should be, the new key having duly arrived and hanging, very bright and new, on the nail above the chart desk. I remember that I had just decided to find a new and less well-known place for it, and having selected a spot at the right of the door in question was endeavouring to push in a nail with a glass paper weight, and not having much success, when a sort of scratching outside the door caught my ears. I paused to peer through the small squares of glass.

The wind had risen again and the low branches of the trees outside were tossing and moaning. The corridor was not sufficiently light to enable me to see beyond the black panes of glass and they glittered emptily, so that I felt as if eyes were looking in at me. Then, all at once, a face pressed up against the glass. It was a face so haggard, so wild, so fraught with terror that I did not recognize it at once to be Corole’s.

As I stared she made an imperative gesture and moved her pale lips in words that I could not hear. The key was in my hand and I unlocked the door. Corole slipped stealthily inside and I closed the door hastily on the wind and rain, locking it before I turned to her.

She was panting, her hair was flying in wet strings about her face and her eyes had great, fiery, black pupils that caught and reflected the light. She was wrapped in a dark silk cloak trimmed with monkey fur that was wet and hung about her neck in long, dank wisps that added to her wild aspect. One hand clutched the cloak across her breast and the other carried a square, leather-covered jewel-case.

I found my voice.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

She cast a furtive glance toward the south door.

“Did you lock the door? Come, is there some place where we can talk? Here⁠—” With a swift motion she pushed open the door of Room 18, and pulled me inside.

“Don’t turn on the light,” she warned me in a tense whisper. And indeed, I had no intention of so doing, for as she spoke I recalled O’Leary’s presence in the room. I looked sharply toward the bed and chair but could not tell if either were occupied.

Corole took several deep, shaking breaths before she spoke.

“I’ve been running,” she whispered presently. “I had to get rid of O’Leary’s watchdogs.” Actually there was an undercurrent of mirth in her whispered accents, though I was sure that she had recently had a bad fright of some kind.

“Did someone follow you?” I asked.

She held her breath for a second; then she released it.

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know who it was. Sarah, I had to come here. I⁠—I am afraid to stay in the cottage alone all night. Huldah is gone, you know. I⁠—am afraid. Can’t I stay here?”

“Certainly not. Don’t be foolish, Corole. St. Ann’s is not a hotel.”

She gripped my arm and her hand was trembling.

“I tell you I am afraid. Sarah, you must let me stay here. I’ll sleep anywhere. I’ll sleep right here in this room.”

“No. No. You can’t do that!”

“I must stay in St. Ann’s. You can’t put me out bodily. I’ve got to stay.” I felt her shiver violently. “I cannot go through that terrible orchard again. I cannot sleep in Louis Letheny’s house tonight. There are ghosts, Sarah, ghosts⁠—oh, you don’t know!”

“Ghosts! There are nothing of the kind.” I felt my scalp prickle as I spoke.

“Maybe not. Anyway, I must stay here.”

“No,” I repeated but she must have felt me weakening for she renewed her pleas, even promising to make herself eligible to a room in the hospital by having tonsillitis, if I insisted. She said she felt it coming on owing to her getting so wet and being bareheaded. Which was not only silly, as I assured her, but was not even to be believed, Corole being as sleek and healthy as a young jaguar, and about as even-tempered.

“But you can stay,” I relented, “if you will do as I say and keep quiet about it.”

“Heavens, yes!” agreed Corole fervently. “All I want to do is keep quiet about it. Shall I just stay right here in Eighteen? I am not afraid.” She moved toward the bed.

I grasped her cloak and jerked her back.

“No,” I said hastily. “No. You cannot stay in this room.” There may have been a note of consternation in my voice and I am quite sure I heard a sort of subdued snicker from the direction of the bed.

Corole heard it, too.

“What was that?” she whispered sharply, starting back against me. I shuddered aside from contact with that dripping monkey fur.

“Probably a cat,” I said at random.

“A cat!” I could feel her pull her short skirt tighter around her. “I hate cats. They remind me of⁠—I hate cats.”

“Corole, stay right here for a moment or two. Don’t move from the door! I shall come back and open the door, and you go as fast as you can through the corridor and as far as the general office door. Don’t let anyone see you if you can help it and wait there for me.”

She murmured something in assent and in less time than it takes to tell, I had manufactured errands to get the nurses into the diet kitchen and drug room, had watched Corole move with the lithe swiftness of an animal through the long shadowy corridor and myself had followed her. My own room was, of course, the only place where I could let her sleep. I even loaned her a night garment; she looked at its long sleeves and high neck dubiously but accepted it.

I gave myself the satisfaction of locking the door and carrying the key away; I did not know whether Corole heard the click of the key or not but I did not intend that Corole Letheny should be allowed to prowl at large through the dark corridors of St. Ann’s.

It was a little after twelve when I found myself in the south wing again. Maida was already there and Olma Flynn and the same little, blue-striped student nurse.

I don’t mind admitting that I slipped into the diet kitchen at my first opportunity and brewed myself a cup of very strong, black coffee. Corole’s advent had shaken my nerves a bit and I did not like the way the wind was murmuring around the corners of the great old building, stirring up forgotten drafts and rattling windows and slapping rain against them.

Second watch, however, passed quite as usual, save for the little air of uncertainty and uneasiness that made itself manifest in our fondness for each other’s company, our frequent glances into the shadows, and one or two broken thermometers owing to the sudden crashes of the wind. The light flickered once as if about to go out but mercifully did not do so. I might add that the prevalence of broken thermometers was one of the minor troubles of that week; a thermometer is an easy thing to slip from one’s fingers, especially when shaking it, and it is not surprising that Dr. Balman had had to order new thermometers for every wing in St. Ann’s.

The hours seemed very long, particularly when it occurred to me that if Corole and Dr. Hajek expected to carry out their scheme that “day” there were only a few hours left in which to do so. Of course, I had Corole safely locked up and if her coming to St. Ann’s in well-simulated terror to beg a refuge was actually, as I half suspected, only a part of their plan, why then I had stopped any further activity on her part. But I could not wholly believe that Corole’s coming had been prearranged; her panic had been too genuine.

We were not very busy, so I had plenty of time to think. More than once I caught myself eyeing Maida as she went quietly about her business.

Once, when we were both at the desk, engaged in a desultory and halfhearted conversation, footsteps padding softly along the corridor back of us caught our attention and I turned simultaneously with Maida. I noted that her eyes flared black as she whirled and her lips were a quick, set line, and wondered if my own face showed such immediate alarm. However, it was only Olma Flynn, advancing to tell me through chattering teeth that she was sure there was Something in Room 18. I was startled for a flash, though at once I realized that it was O’Leary, and Maida went white though she held her shoulders straighter than ever.

I managed to calm Olma, though she clung to her point with a firmness that in my heart I labelled plain mule stubbornness.

“If we are all murdered before morning, Miss Keate, it will be your fault,” she said at last.

“Nonsense! If it is a ghost, as you seem to believe, you need not be alarmed. Ghosts can’t do anything but moan around the corners.” It was unfortunate that just then the wind swept through the draughty old corridor with a most realistic moan, upon which Olma turned green and vanished into the diet kitchen. It was this, I think, that gave rise to a swiftly travelling tale that Room 18 was haunted, a tale that the south wing has never yet been able to live down.

Thinking to warn O’Leary that he must be more circumspect in his behaviour if he wished his presence in that ill-omened room to remain a secret, I watched my chance to slip unobserved into Eighteen. Dawn was creeping into the room by that time and the furniture loomed up dark and black in the cold half-light. The room was quite empty of human presence, though to my tired nerves it seemed that there might be other presences. I shrugged aside the unwelcome thought. A glance at the window showed me that the bolts had been slipped and the screen opened. I had no doubt that O’Leary was making use of that low window as others had done. I resisted a childish impulse to fasten the bolts against his return and returned to the corridor.

With the tinny sound of the breakfast bell away down in the basement, the straggling through the corridors of the day nurses, freshly uniformed if a trifle gray about the eyes, the fragrant smell of coffee floating through the halls, my vigilance relaxed a bit. The night was past and so far as I knew nothing out of the way had occurred. Knowing Corole to be a late sleeper I did not go immediately to my room to release her. Instead I followed Maida and Olma and the student nurse downstairs to the dining room. It was a sorry meal with buckwheat cakes which I despise and which, besides, give me hives, and Miss Dotty relating a very lurid dream and dissolving into tears under Melvina’s interpretation. The tears dripped dismally down Miss Dotty’s inefficient nose, Melvina enlarged upon the meaning of dreams, and I found that I had sugared my coffee twice. I was glad when the meal was over.

In the intervals of Melvina’s sinister monologue I had come to the conclusion that Corole Letheny under lock and key was not a situation to be lightly relinquished. I sought O’Leary at once, surreptitiously avoiding the day nurses. He was not in Room 18, so I straightened the wrinkled counterpane on the bed and left. As I passed through the corridor of the second charity ward I took a breakfast tray off the dumbwaiter standing there unguarded; the disappearance of the tray caused considerable excitement in the ward, I found later, which was augmented by its reappearance later in the morning in the second-floor linen closet where I had thoughtfully left it, with only the coffee splashed a little, for Corole did not even see that breakfast tray.

When I unlocked the door to my room it required only a glance to see that my bird had flown, so to speak. I set the tray on the dresser and advanced into the room. The bed was tossed and had been slept in, though the night garment I had loaned her was still decorously folded on a chair. The window was open, letting in gusts of rain on my flowered voile curtains which were running in pink and green streaks and later had to be replaced. I crossed to close it and in doing so found the mode of her exit. St. Ann’s, as I have said, was an old building with numerous turrets and towers and roof irregularities which included various ledges and wide window casings. From the window beyond mine dropped an old-fashioned, iron fire escape fastened to the old red bricks with rusted bolts. And from my window to the next ran a sort of ledge, narrow, to be sure, and slippery, but there was the ivy to cling to and shrubbery below to break a fall. For a woman of Corole’s build and propensities it was not a difficult climb and once on the fire escape the rest was easy. I leaned out the window. Had I still been unconvinced, there was proof of her passage, for caught on an ivy strand there hung a dejected, wet, black wisp of monkey fur.

So Corole was gone! I felt guilty for letting her slip through my fingers but reflected that O’Leary had known of her presence in St. Ann’s, and moreover, a woman cannot go far in a drenched coat and no hat.

This comfortable reflection lasted until I went to the wardrobe and found that my best hat was gone. The hat was a very beautiful thing with quantities of artificial violets on it and three yards of looped purple ribbon, and had cost me twenty-five dollars owing to my having it made to order to fit my bobless head. And Corole had brazenly worn it out in the rain, which did not increase my affection for Corole.

I set forth again to find O’Leary, feeling that he should know at once of Corole’s flight, pausing only to leave the tray in the second-floor linen closet.

O’Leary turned up at last in the vast old stable, now converted into a garage, that is out back of St. Ann’s. He was apparently engaged in sniffing at something that I did not see and that he thrust hurriedly into his pocket at the sound of my approach.

In as few words as possible I told him of Corole’s departure.

His face became very sober.

“That’s bad,” he said. “That’s bad. I figured she was safe in your hands. So she got away across that ledge.” The place was visible from where we stood, and he surveyed it thoughtfully through the gray streaks of rain.

“Well, it can’t be helped now. You say she wore your hat?”

“Yes.”

“She would not be apt to return to the Letheny cottage,” he mused. “Let me see; it is barely seven o’clock⁠—the stores will not be open for another hour. There is plenty of time.”

“The stores?”

“She will go straight to buy a hat,” he explained with remarkable lack of tact. “Corole Letheny is not going far in a hat that⁠—” He noted my unsympathetic countenance. “A hat that⁠—er⁠—does not suit her. I mean that she did not choose herself,” he amended hastily.

Without saying a word I turned toward the gravelled path that leads back to St. Ann’s.

“Wait a minute, Miss Keate,” begged O’Leary contritely, seeing perhaps that he had offended me in a matter that no woman can freely forgive. “Please, wait. If you’ll forgive me I’ll tell you something of interest.”

Being exceedingly curious I went back. He drew me into the shadow of a big gray ambulance.

“I want you to keep an eye on Miss Day,” he said in a low voice and with an odd glance into the shadows of the place.

“Miss Day!”

“Especially if you see this fellow, Gainsay, hanging around.”

“Why, what do you mean? Is Jim Gainsay⁠—”

“Jim Gainsay is the man who was following Corole last night. O’Brien was stationed up at the cottage last night and saw him. It seems that Corole slipped out a side door. She came out so unexpectedly that she was into the orchard before O’Brien was after her. He was going full tilt when he found that someone else was ahead of him, both of them after Corole, who was having the devil’s own luck, according to O’Brien, in avoiding tree trunks and shrubbery. O’Brien says she can see in the dark. At the bridge O’Brien caught up with the man and can swear it was Gainsay, but just then a low-hanging branch knocked O’Brien down and senseless for a moment and when he got to his feet Corole and Gainsay were both gone. O’Brien wandered about the orchard hunting them for half the night and I ran into him about five o’clock, soaked to the skin and his face a welt of scratches and his disposition permanently warped.”

“So it was Jim Gainsay who gave Corole such a fright,” I murmured. “I wonder what he wanted.”

“It looks bad for Gainsay,” said O’Leary thoughtfully. “Whether he killed Dr. Letheny in a mistaken effort to defend Miss Day, or whether he killed Jackson for the sake of the radium, or whether, thinking that the radium is still at large he is determined to secure it for his own use, in any case it looks bad. I hope your little friend, Miss Day, is not going to be too much hurt.”

“You mean if she cares for Gainsay? Maida is not one to wear her heart on her sleeve. If we could only find that radium,” I concluded hopelessly.

“Oh, I have the radium,” said O’Leary simply.