The Patient in Room 18 · Chapter 2 (2/2)

I must have a light. I must call Dr. Letheny. I must⁠—There was the sound of windows being lowered. I found my way to the door. If I could make Maida hear me⁠—but, of course, I couldn’t through the confusion of patients calling out from fright as they found the lights failing to go on, and the constant roll of thunder and crashing of rain. The flashes of lightning were frequent and I caught a fleeting glimpse of Maida crossing the corridor farther down the hall.

It would be of no use to call her; furthermore, she was busy. I disliked leaving Eighteen with no one in the room, but I must have a light. I ran down the length of the corridor⁠—it seemed long and unfamiliar⁠—groped in a drawer of the cupboard in the diet kitchen, found the burnt end of a candle and some matches, and flew back to Room 18. At the door I met Maida. Our faces gleamed eerily in the lightning and then vanished into darkness.

“Isn’t this awful!” she cried. “Where were you! Every window in the wing was open. And the lights have gone out! What⁠—what in the world are you doing?”

She was at my elbow in Room 18. My fingers shook so that I could scarcely light the candle, and when I did succeed it made only a feeble little flicker that did not dispel the shadows.

She followed me to the bed.

“Why, Sarah! Is he⁠—” She reached over to place her hand on his face as I had done. “He is dead!”

Setting the candle on the table, I pushed aside the covers to find his heart. If there were the least flicker of life, something could yet be done. But there was not.

It was as I drew back that I made the astounding discovery.

The box that held the radium was gone! Adhesive and all had been stripped clean!

“Look⁠—” I tried to cry out but a roll of thunder that shook the very foundations drowned my voice. I pointed with a finger that shook and held the futile little flame nearer, while Maida searched frantically among the sheets.

It was a useless search. That I knew even in the moment of lowering my candle to look under the bed. The dead man had not torn from himself that box with the wide strips of adhesive.

Arising from my knees I stared across the narrow bed into Maida’s panic-stricken eyes.

The very storm outside quieted for a second as if to give my words significance.

“He is dead,” I whispered. “And the radium is gone!”

She nodded, her hands at her throat, her face as white as her cap.

The tiny flame wavered and jumped and threatened to go out, the shadows in the room crept nearer, the gusts of wind and rain beat upon the black window pane with renewed fervour.

“We must telephone to Dr. Letheny. Then get lights and see to the wing. Will you go down to the office and telephone to the Doctor? I shall stay⁠—with this.”

Maida’s eyes widened and she flung out her hands with an odd gesture of panic.

“No,” she stammered. “No. I⁠—I can’t call Dr. Letheny!”

Not knowing what to say I stared at her. Suddenly she straightened her shoulders and mastered her agitation.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I’ll call him immediately.”

I was too disturbed to worry over Maida’s aversion to telephoning to Dr. Letheny, although it was to recur to me later. I set the candle down again, wishing that the lights would come on and that my knees would not shake.

It was clear to me, even in those first terrifying moments, that the radium had been stolen. And a hideous conjecture was slowly settling upon me. It did not seem possible that my patient had died a natural death!

What had caused his death?

It is strange how one’s hair prickles at the roots when one is frightened. My hair stirred and I peered fearfully about the room. A curious sense of something evil and loathsome near at hand was creeping over me. The room, however, was as bare as any hospital room. I even took the candle in my hand, and holding my teeth tight together to restrain a disposition toward chattering, I made a circuit of the room, holding the candle into the corners. Of course, there was nothing there. Indeed, there was scarcely any place to hide in the whole room. There were the usual shallow closets, two of them, barely large enough for a patient’s travelling bag and clothes. I opened one closet which held a bag and a light overcoat. The other one was locked and the key gone, probably lost by some student nurse.

The candle was dripping hot wax on my hand so I placed it again on a saucer on the table.

Maida had been gone for some time, surely time enough to rouse the whole hospital staff. A thousand fears crossed my mind while I stood there waiting; my eyes kept travelling from one corner of the room to the other, and the feeling of a presence near me other than that of the dead man on the bed became stronger with the dragging seconds.

I was beginning to think that I could remain no longer in that fear-haunted room, with only the ghastly flickering of the candlelight for company, when there was a quick rush of footsteps and Maida was in the room, panting, her eyes black and frightened.

“Dr. Letheny is out,” she cried. “Corole didn’t know where he was. She said he wasn’t anywhere in the house. She thought he had gone for a walk in the orchard and got caught in the storm.”

“A fine time to go for a walk,” I cried, fright making me irritable.

“So then I telephoned to Dr. Balman,” went on Maida hurriedly. “It was so dark I couldn’t see the directory, so I had to ask Information for the number. He finally answered and said he would be right out. It’s as dark as a black cat all over the building.”

“Did you call Dr. Hajek?”

“Yes. That is, I knocked at his door and called him several times but couldn’t wake him. Girls from other wings are running around in the dark, there near the general office. Nobody has lights and the bell that connects with the basement is out of order. At least, they can’t rouse Higgins.”

I thought rapidly. Such a situation! No lights, a storm, frightened patients⁠—it only needed the news of the radium theft and this strange death to complete our demoralization.

“We can’t both leave this room,” I thought aloud. “We must not leave him alone. His death is so strange⁠—so⁠—”

Maida must have been struck with something in my manner for she gripped my arm.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I replied with difficulty, speaking through oddly stiff lips, “I mean that⁠—I’m afraid this is⁠—is murder.”

She shrank back, her face as white as the dishevelled sheets.

“Not⁠—that!”

“You see, he was in good condition. And combined with the theft of the radium⁠—Oh! I know it is a fearful thing to suspect. But what explanation is there?”

“Who could have done it? How⁠—”

“I don’t know.” With an effort I pulled myself together, forced myself to think. “We have no time to think of that now. We must keep things going⁠—get a doctor.” I paused, eyeing her dubiously. “Could you stay here with⁠—with it⁠—while I go to the office, rouse Dr. Hajek and the janitor, and get some sort of lights?”

She glanced from the bed, where her horrified eyes had fastened themselves, to the feeble ray of the candle.

“The candle is almost burnt out,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said. “I’ll hurry.”

Her lips tightened to a thin white line.

“Hurry.”

Once groping my way through that dark corridor I was vaguely surprised to find my hands like ice and my face damp. My mind was whirling but one thought was predominant: I must not leave Maida alone for long in that terrifying room with what it held, I must hurry.

As I turned into the corridor running east and west, that connects the south wing with the main portion of the hospital, the storm burst upon the place with renewed savagery. At another time the fury of the thunder and lightning and wind and rain would have appalled me, but then it seemed all in a piece with what I feared had happened.

I have only a chaotic memory of colliding with various other nurses, of ringing for the janitor, of calling the Electric Power Company only to hear a pert-voiced operator tell me that the wires must be down in our direction, of being afraid that the matches the nurses were lighting would set fire to the whole place, and of bruising my knuckles on Dr. Hajek’s door. He finally opened it, and I was so unstrung by that time that at the sound of his slow voice I clutched into the darkness with both hands. My touch encountered his coat, which was damp.

“Go to Room 18,” I stammered, half-sobbing from fear. “Hurry, Doctor. Room 18 in the south wing.”

“It is dark. Can’t you turn on the lights?” he said stupidly.

“The lights have gone out. The storm⁠—Hurry!” I believe I pushed him toward the door. Somebody had found a lamp and the hall was full of weird, wavering shadows.

“What is it? What has happened?” asked some nurse at my elbow.

I have never known what I replied; I remember only her frightened, pale face. But somehow I restored things to a semblance of order, mercifully thought of some lamps and candles that were in the storeroom, unearthed a couple of flashlights and sent someone to wake Olma Flynn to help out in the south wing. Then, taking the flashlights, I hurried back to the wing.

At the door of Room 18 I paused.

Maida was standing beside a table, staring downward, her face paper-white; her sleeves had been rolled up and a wisp of dark hair across her cheek gave her a curiously dishevelled appearance. Dr. Hajek was standing at the foot of the bed; he was gripping the foot-rail with such force that the knuckles on his small hands showed white. Dr. Balman had arrived; he was sitting at the other side of the bed and I did not see him until I stepped into the room. His stethoscope dangled from his hands, his gleaming raincoat dripped moisture steadily on the floor. He, too, was staring downward.

No one moved as I approached the bed. It was as if some evil spell held us all staring at the dead man. And through that brooding silence, broken only by the hurling rain and wind outside, I knew as well as I shall ever know anything that I was right. That the man there on the bed had been murdered!

My throat was very dry. I had to make several efforts and finally achieved a single word:

“How⁠—”

Dr. Balman glanced at me, apparently noting my presence for the first time.

“Overdose of morphine,” he said.

“Morphine!” I was shocked out of the numbness that had enveloped me. “Morphine. But he was not to have morphine. How do you know?”

With a laconic gesture he showed me the tiny hypodermic scar on the patient’s arm.

“That⁠—and look here⁠—the pupils of his eyes,” Dr. Balman drew the lids upward gently. “As well as his general condition. You know⁠—”

I nodded slowly. Morphine!

It was then that a strange thing happened. We were all staring at the small wound, else we should not have seen the little pinprick of red that crept slowly from it. It was not a drop by any means, it was barely enough to be visible, but it brought to our minds the old superstition: a corpse bleeds when its murderer is near. A cold shiver crept up my back as I looked, and Dr. Balman sprang to his feet with a hoarse word or two, and Maida cried out, gasping, and started back, and even phlegmatic Dr. Hajek muttered something under his breath and drew his hand across his eyes.

With an effort I controlled myself. This sort of thing would turn us all into gibbering idiots and there was much to be done.

“Dr. Balman,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, “Dr. Letheny is caught out in the storm somewhere and we have not yet been able to find him. Mr. Jackson was not to have morphine: it was not ordered and moreover at twelve thirty he was all right. He has evidently been⁠—killed⁠—so that someone could steal the radium. There will be⁠—confusion. Someone must take charge from now on⁠—and since Dr. Letheny is gone⁠—”

“Leave things to us, Miss Keate,” said Dr. Balman at once. “See to your wing as usual and Dr. Hajek and I will do what is necessary.”

“Do you intend to call the coroner?” I asked.

“Certainly. I shall telephone at once. It means police⁠—detectives⁠—all that, but this is a terrible thing. Steps must be taken immediately. A delay in such a matter⁠—”

“Here I am, Miss Keate,” said Olma Flynn from the doorway. “I hurried to get dressed. What⁠—” her pale eyes travelled past me to the bed. “Why⁠—why what is it? He is⁠—dead!” Her voice rose. I suppose our very attitudes and gray faces told her the truth, for suddenly she began to scream. I seized her by the arm none too gently, clapped my other hand over her mouth and pulled her outside, closing the door behind me.

But it was too late. Others had heard her screams, and there was no keeping the thing secret, especially as some prowling nurse heard Dr. Balman and Dr. Hajek telephoning for the police and the coroner. The story was over the hospital in ten minutes and only the strictest measures prevented a panic. Terror-stricken nurses crowding into the halls and wing, the demands of the sick to whom the excitement seemed to have communicated itself, flaring, inadequate lamps and candles and their little flickering circles of light that made frightened faces whiter and the surrounding gloom blacker, horrified questions that no one could answer, stark fear in every pair of eyes⁠—all this made it an hour not soon forgotten.

Fortunately Maida and I found that our own patients had not suffered from our enforced absence from duty. It was a difficult matter, however, to calm some of the more nervous ones and keep the knowledge of what had happened from reaching their ears. Olma Flynn’s assistance was of the slightest as she refused to stir three feet from Maida or me, and her hands shook so that she spilled everything she touched.

We were very busy and I did not see the coroner and the police when they arrived and went directly to Room 18. Along about half-past three I slipped into the diet kitchen and made some very strong coffee which I shared with Maida and Olma Flynn. We felt a little better after that though still weak and sick and controlling our fears by sheer strength of will.

Somehow the weary gray hours dragged along. Dawn came through still gusty rain and wind and the cold light crept reluctantly into the sick rooms. Breakfast was late that morning owing to the cook’s not being able to find enough candles for adequate lights, but the day nurses finally came on duty, white and fear-stricken over what the night had held.

By that time, however, policemen were all over the place and I must say that their broad, blue backs gave me a welcome sense of security. Dr. Letheny had not turned up yet; at least, if he had I had not seen him.

The breakfast trays came up at last and Maida, Olma Flynn, and I washed our hands and faces and descended to the dining room in the basement. We said little. The candles on the long table flickered; the rain beat against the small windows; our uniforms were wrinkled and looked cold; our eyes were hollow and our faces drawn and gray, and already we were starting nervously at sudden sounds and were beginning to cast furtive glances over our shoulders as if to be sure there was nothing there.

But it was not until I had finished drinking some very black coffee and playing with my toast that the reason for our strained silence made itself clear to me.

Only someone connected with the hospital could have known that the radium was out of the safe and in use in Room 18. Only a doctor or a nurse would have known how to administer morphine with a hypodermic syringe.

It might be⁠—anyone! It might be one of us!

The thought threatened that remnant of courage I still maintained. I rose, pushing back my chair. It scraped along the floor and at the sound heads jerked in my direction too quickly and someone cried out nervously.

I hurried from the room, up the stairs and to my room in the nurses’ dormitory. I am not ashamed to say that I locked the door. But though I needed rest I could not sleep.