Lieutenant Valcour went to the head of the stairs.

“O’Brian!” he called down.

O’Brian looked up at him from below.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Send Hansen up here, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

A painting on the wall held Lieutenant Valcour’s attention while he waited. A Gauguin, he thought, and, going closer, confirmed it. His eye drifted over the entire corridor. Everywhere were the details of great wealth, and the young owner of it all not a happy child of kind fortune, but a detested, a passionately hated, and a passionately loved man. There flashed again before him in brief review Mrs. Endicott, a storehouse of mountain storms in summer; Mrs. Siddons, spiritual ash; Roberts, the shortest step this side of some fervour bred in the swamps of lunacy; Hollander⁠—Marge Myles⁠—who knew? And would one ever know? Suppose, as Dr. Worth had more than hinted, Endicott should refuse to speak⁠—if that strange reticence harped upon so insistently both by his wife and his physician should resist⁠ ⁠…

“Lieutenant, sir, Officer Hansen reporting.”

Lieutenant Valcour dragged his eyes from the Gauguin unwillingly.

“All right, Hansen,” he said. “Come with me.”

They went down the corridor and stopped before the door to Endicott’s room.

“Do you know what’s gone on here tonight, Hansen?”

“From what I’ve heard, sir, the man who was thought dead is now alive.”

“That is correct.”

Lieutenant Valcour opened the door and beckoned to Cassidy. Cassidy came out and joined them.

“When you two men go back into that room,” Lieutenant Valcour said, “I want you to get a couple of chairs and sit down just inside the bathroom doorway. Put the chairs where you can watch the bed and this hall door. If you talk, use a low voice that won’t disturb either the patient or the nurse, and from the moment when she indicates that he’s returning to consciousness, say nothing at all and sit still. The shock of knowing that you were there might disturb his heart again. Is that clear?”

They assured him, in unison, that it was.

“This hall door,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “is going to be kept locked on the inside by the nurse. Every time she opens it, watch carefully. Keep your eye on anyone who comes into the room, especially if they offer some excuse for wanting to be there⁠—and when I say ‘anyone,’ I mean just that. For instance: the nurse might want some coffee and ring for a servant. Watch that servant every second, until she goes and the door is locked again. While on the subject of coffee, you will drink none that may be offered you while you’re on watch.”

“I never drink coffee, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. “Now if it was a cup of tea⁠—”

“If you get thirsty,” said Lieutenant Valcour severely, “take some water from the tap. And eat nothing at all. I don’t want to have to come back here and find you both groggy with knockout drops and with heaven-knows-what happened to Endicott. Mind you, I’m not suggesting that anything like this will happen⁠—but it might. Clear?”

Again, in unison, they assured him it was all most clear.

“Keep in mind,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “that primarily you are in a sickroom over which Dr. Worth has absolute charge. You are not to interfere with anything he may do, or with any arrangements he may make during the night. You are only to step in if you see that Endicott’s life is threatened through the action of some person who may approach him. Try to prevent this by physically overpowering the attacker if you can, but if there is no time for that do not hesitate to shoot.”

“Even if it’s a woman, Lieutenant?” said Hansen quietly.

Lieutenant Valcour shrugged. “There are no such things,” he said evenly, “as sex or chivalry in murder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am painting, incidentally, the darkest prospect of the picture. In all probability nothing will happen at all. You’ll spend a sleepless and tiresome night, get cricks in your necks, and damn the day you ever joined the force. Now, then, there is one thing more, and that concerns a man by the name of Thomas Hollander. Dr. Worth believes it advisable that an intimate friend of Endicott be near him and be the first person whom Endicott sees when he recovers consciousness. Mr. Hollander is that friend. I am going to try to get in touch with him shortly, explain matters to him, and get him to come up here. Mr. Hollander is naturally the exception to my previous instructions. Let him alone. Don’t interfere with him, but⁠—” Lieutenant Valcour’s pause was significantly impressive “⁠—watch him. Watch him, my good young men, as two harmonious cats might watch a promenading and nearsighted mouse. Shall I repeat?”

“I get you, Lieutenant,” said Cassidy. And Hansen, he was assured, had “got” him, too.

“Then we will go in, and you will establish yourselves for the night at once.”

He opened the door, and they went inside. Dr. Worth’s arrangements were complete, and he was ready to turn in. Nurse Murrow had received her instructions and was to call Dr. Worth should Endicott show any symptoms of returning consciousness.

Dr. Worth joined Lieutenant Valcour at the door.

“There is nothing further we can do for the present, Lieutenant, except wait,” he said.

“All right, Doctor. I’ve told my men how things stand.” He nodded toward Cassidy and Hansen, who, on tiptoe, were vanishing into the bathroom with two chairs. “I’ve told them you’re in charge here, and that there’s not to be an unnecessary sound or move out of them.”

Dr. Worth continued to remain politely incredulous. “Well, I dare say you know what you are doing, but it still seems an extraordinary precaution to me.”

“And it probably is. I spoke to one of the maids about your staying here, Doctor.”

“Yes⁠—thank you. They’ve told me where my room is. It’s the one directly above this one.”

“I’ve also lined up one of Endicott’s friends. I’m getting in touch with him directly, and when he comes I’ll have him sent up to you. You can tell him just what you want him to do, and then see that he gets in here all right, if you will, please.”

“By all means. Who is he, Lieutenant?”

“A Mr. Thomas Hollander⁠—lives on East Fifty-second Street.”

“Never heard of him; but there’s no reason why I should have.” He sped a parting look toward Endicott, faintly breathing on the bed. “The most reticent man, Lieutenant, whom I have ever met.”

They went outside and closed the door.

Nurse Murrow went over and locked it. She felt, to put it mildly, not a little atwitter. Her life had not conformed to the popular version of a trained nurse’s. There had been no romantic patients in it whose pallid, interesting brows she had smoothly divorced from fever by a gentle pass or two with magnetic fingers. No grateful millionaire had offered her his heart and name; nor had any motherly eyed old dowager died and willed her a fortune. No. There had been, on the other hand, a good many years of sloppy, disillusioning, grilling work, long hours spent in pampering peevish patients, patients who were ugly with that special ugliness which is inherent in the sick, snappish doctors, and a perfect desert of romance.

The present case loomed as a heaven-sent oasis. Who knew what might not develop out of it? It awakened all the atrophied hunger of her starved sentimentalism. And even if nothing did result from it⁠—nothing practical, like marriage, or a good bonus⁠—it would at least leave her something to think about during those endless, tiresome, tiring hours of the future.⁠ ⁠…

She crossed to the bed and looked down at Endicott. She felt his pulse and made a notation on her night chart. She lingered near the bathroom doorway.

“The strangest case,” she whispered, “that I’ve ever been on.”

Cassidy looked up at her bleakly.

Hansen said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“I dare say,” she whispered on, “that it’s quite in the ordinary run of things for you gentlemen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There’s an atmosphere⁠—a something sinister⁠—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nurse Murrow’s broad shoulders jerked impatiently. There was a talk-chilling quality in being so determinedly ma’am’d. She gave it up, and settled herself starchily in an armchair. She adjusted a lamp so that it shaded more efficiently her eyes.

A floor board creaked upstairs⁠—once.

That would be Dr. Worth, she decided, going to bed. What a man! What a shining light in his profession! A little bigoted, perhaps, in some things, but so distinguished⁠—admirable⁠—a bachelor, too⁠—But what nonsense!

A complete stillness settled gently on the house. The stillness of a grave.

Yes, she thought, just exactly that⁠—the stillness of a grave.⁠ ⁠…