she could not define exactly. Strain, perhaps, better than anything else, served as an explanation: an emotional strain.
“How can you tell?” he said.
Miss Murrow smiled a bit superiorly. “It becomes instinct, mostly.”
“Will it be soon?”
“Very soon now. Be careful, please, not to disturb him or make any sudden noise or movement until I come back. I want Dr. Worth to be on hand before the patient actually does regain consciousness.”
“You going up to get him now?”
“Yes.” She went over to the bathroom door and spoke to Cassidy. “You gentlemen will be careful, won’t you, about being seen? I’d stay well back within the doorway, as sometimes a patient is a little, well, wild when he comes to like this, and if he started jerking around at all he might see you.” She smiled engagingly. “What with the uniforms and everything—”
Miss Murrow left implications of the possible fatal consequences hanging in air and returned to Endicott. She examined him critically for another moment, checked his pulse again, and then started for the door. She stopped just before she reached it, and said to Hollander: “I suppose you had better lock the door after me. Lieutenant Valcour placed great stress on the fact that it should be kept locked constantly.”
“I’ll lock it,” said Hollander.
“It does seem kind of foolish, doesn’t it?”
Hollander smiled grimly. “Most foolish.”