The Patient in Room 18 · Chapter 5 (2/2)

“By increasing the complexities of a personality that I must classify and index. You see,” he went on, as I still did not wholly understand him, “Corole is a factor to be considered along with the rest of the possibilities. And this fact warns me that she likely has a streak of savagery back of those yellow eyes; that the beat of tom-toms would stir her, for instance. She is apt to be rather indolent, too, and to seek what she desires in unconventional ways. Such as by the use of revolvers.”

“Why, yes,” I murmured idiotically. “Murder is unconventional.”

“So you see, the counts against Corole are interesting, to say the least. Then, there are the others at that ill-fated dinner party. We shall have to consider the possible culpability of every single one of them⁠—even of you, Miss Keate.” He added this with a half smile but I did not relish his joke⁠—if joke it was. I was inclined to think it was not.

“Corole Letheny,” he checked her off on his fingers. “Because her revolver was found in the closet of Room 18, because she knew of the radium being in use and of the hospital routine and of the door being left unlocked and because she benefits by Dr. Letheny’s death.”

“But I’m sure she did not know what had happened to the radium,” I said, going hastily on to tell him of her questions concerning it.

“She shows considerable interest, however,” commented O’Leary. “And at an inappropriate time, too. Yes, we must consider Corole.”

“But she⁠—oh, she could not have done that!” I cried, revolted.

“We can’t be sure of anything, Miss Keate, until it is proved,” remarked O’Leary drily. “Then, there is Dr. Hajek; he was like the others, familiar with the circumstances, he had access to the morphine, being a doctor, and his coat was damp when, after some delay, you finally succeeded in rousing him, which, of course, leads one to believe that he was absent from his room and had recently been out in the rain.”

“But,” I objected, “Dr. Hajek was the only one of us who did not admit to wanting money⁠—if we are to consider the radium as the motive.”

“That does not prove anything. Indeed, it was more natural to admit a desire that everybody experiences at one time or another. Then, there was Dr. Balman. He, too, was familiar with the circumstances. Of course there remains the important questions of how Dr. Letheny comes into the puzzle, and whether Dr. Balman could have had time to drive to his apartment in order to be there when the telephone rang to call him back to the hospital.”

“Why, yes,” I said thoughtfully. “He could have done so. You see, just as the storm broke and I was at the south door, closing it, I saw the lights of a car on the lower road. That could have been Dr. Balman. But the idea is absurd. Dr. Balman is too mild, too kind⁠—too⁠—Oh! It is impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible,” commented Lance O’Leary gravely. “But those lights may have belonged to another car. One driven by Jim Gainsay.”

I may have imagined it, but it seemed to me, in view of my guilty knowledge of that cigarette case, that he eyed me rather closely as he spoke. However, if so he gained nothing by it, for I was honestly surprised.

“Jim Gainsay!” I cried.

“Yes,” he answered, going on to explain. “The sedan owned by Dr. Letheny was seen standing in front of the Western Union office at about two o’clock that night. This information was brought to my ears and upon investigation I found that Gainsay took the Doctor’s car⁠—Huldah, in fact, saw him leave⁠—and drove into the city, starting shortly before the storm began. He sent a message, of which I shall have a copy before the day is over. We also know that Gainsay frankly said he intended to get hold of fifty thousand dollars⁠—wasn’t it that?” I nodded dumbly and he went on. “And he intended to go to New York this morning but is still here, work or no work. Also, as with the others, he knew something of the circumstances, and while his being able to obtain and administer morphine is a point to consider, still I understand that engineers almost have to have a practical working knowledge of medicine. But even if we could safely exonerate him from causing Jackson’s death there is still the death of Dr. Letheny, for which somebody is responsible. And this Gainsay is a strong young fellow who looks as if he would stick at little.”

“But he looks honest, too,” I protested.

“They all look honest. Everyone of you.”

“It seems terrible to consider people one knows in such a sordid connection. Why not all the other people in and around the hospital?”

He looked at me as if he were amused.

“But, Miss Keate, is it possible that you do not know that we immediately accounted for every soul in St. Ann’s? And that every nurse and every patient has a perfect alibi, save you and Miss Day, Dr. Balman and Dr. Hajek? In a hospital run with such efficient routine as this one, it is a simple matter. The only person besides those I have mentioned, for whom we can’t be absolutely certain, is Higgins, and that because he sleeps in the basement next to the furnace room and no one saw or heard of him during that night, since no one else sleeps in the basement. Of course, we shall have to include him in our list of suspects, but so far there is nothing but opportunity with which to suspect him.”

“Then Maida and I are the only nurses who cannot prove just where we were between twelve thirty and two o’clock that night?” I asked uneasily.

“We know where you were,” said Lance O’Leary very soberly. “You were both in the south wing.” He paused to look at his watch, a thin, platinum affair that reposed in a pocket of his impeccable vest, and I felt a quite warranted chill creep up my back.

“So you see our paths of search are limited,” he said easily, replacing the watch, and returning to that abominable red pencil.

“Yes,” I agreed weakly. “Limited.” Altogether too limited!

“Of course, there is always what I spoke of as the unknown element. There might have been an outside intruder, but so far nothing has come to light that would indicate that possibility. The use of the radium seems to have been absolutely unknown to all but the hospital staff and the guests at Miss Letheny’s dinner party. Now then, Miss Keate, there are three things that particularly interest me today. One of them is the identity of the man with whom you collided at the corner of the porch. Did you receive any sort of impression that would serve to identify him?”

Nervously I tried to think of something besides the cigarette case.

“He⁠—I think he wore a raincoat. I seem to remember the slippery feeling of rubber. And I think he must have been wearing a dinner-jacket, for I seem to recall feeling his starched shirt front.”

“Then it might have been one of the four men at Corole Letheny’s dinner?”

“It might have been, of course,” I spoke rather irritably, as I foresaw the next questions.

“Was it Dr. Letheny?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t be sure.”

He was surveying me so closely that I found my eyes going toward the floor in spite of myself.

“Was it Dr. Balman?”

“It might have been. Though it seemed he was a little taller than Dr. Balman.” I was studying the roses on the old-fashioned Brussels.

“Was it Dr. Hajek?” he went on mercilessly.

“I⁠—I tell you, I can’t be sure who it was. It might have been anybody.”

He leaned back in his chair and I could feel his smile.

“I’m beginning to understand your⁠—er⁠—temperament,” he said easily. “I suppose it was this Jim Gainsay. Now you may as well tell me what you were doing with his cigarette case in your laundry bag.”

I blinked.

“How did you know it was there?”

“A policeman found it while searching your room.”

“Searching my room!”

“Yes. We have had all the personal belongings of those in whom we are⁠—interested⁠—searched. We were at first surprised to find you were addicted to smoking⁠—and more surprised when we traced its ownership. Now, please, tell me just how you came upon it.”

In as few words as possible I complied.

“Will you hold Jim Gainsay?” I asked finally, as he turned and twisted the stubby red pencil thoughtfully in his hands.

“We shall watch him,” he amended. “So far he has stayed of his own free will, a thing that is in itself strange. Of course, if he should attempt to leave I should be forced to restrain him.”

The dinner bell rang just then and he looked at his watch, again frowning as he noted the time.

“Another thing, Miss Keate. That smell of ether interests me. Especially since to our knowledge ether was not used at all. Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I spoke decidedly. “I am sure now, because of the slicker I wore yesterday afternoon.”

“The slicker?” he inquired. “Yesterday afternoon?” And listened intently while I explained the whole thing.

“And you had no means of identifying it?” he asked, presently.

“No. Everybody wears a yellow slicker. You know how popular they have been the last year or two.”

He nodded.

“I wear one myself,” he said. “Well, thanks a lot, Miss Keate. You are a present help in time of trouble.” He smiled at me with that engagingly warm and youthful look.

I started toward the hall, paused and turned around.

“Didn’t you say there were three things you were particularly interested in right now?” I said. “What is the third one?”

“Oh, yes.” He studied me for a moment as if to see how far the discretion with which he had complimented me might be trusted. Then he drew something from his pocket⁠—something so small that it was hidden in his hand until he held it toward me.

And when I looked, I cried out and shrank back, my heart leaping to my throat. There on his outstretched palm lay a small cuff link; it was a neat square of lapis lazuli, set in engraved white gold.

“I see that you recognize it?”

Speechlessly, I made a motion of assent.

“You need not tell me that it is Miss Day’s. I already know that. One or two of the nurses recognized it as I left it casually on the table in the general office. Oh, I watched it carefully⁠—I suppose they thought she had lost it. They did not know where it was found.”

“Where it was found⁠—” I repeated, huskily, my voice losing itself somewhere in my throat.

“It was found⁠—in Dr. Letheny’s pocket.” He spoke very deliberately, his clear, gray eyes searching mine. Then he turned. “Good night, Miss Keate,” he said courteously and was gone.

As for me, I stood there quite still, staring at the gathering darkness outside the window, and at the slow rivulets of moisture trickling down the glass. Finally I aroused myself, straightened my cap, and moved toward the door. I was late for dinner, of course, and remember that someone was complaining about the steak being burned. It might have been ashes so far as I was concerned. Once I stole a look at Maida, across from me and down the table a few places. She was very white and tired-looking and it seemed to me that she avoided my eyes. I felt rather sick as I noted that, though it was a chilly day, she was wearing a uniform with short sleeves that had no need of cuff links.