“Shall I go and stand by the bathroom door now?” said Dr. Worth.
“If you wish. Don’t make the slightest sound when you’re opening it, and don’t open it more than an inch at the most, please.”
“I won’t, Lieutenant.”
Dr. Worth, feeling very much like one of those fabulous characters he had read about in Fenimore Cooper when a child, went back into Endicott’s room.
Lieutenant Valcour waited another full minute before he opened the door and went inside. He did not look at Mrs. Endicott, but walked softly over to a chair, lifted it, and placed it close beside the bed. He drew the slipper from his pocket and sat down.
There was an utter and complete hush. For three minutes—he timed himself with his wrist watch—he sat motionless and stared at the closed lids of Mrs. Endicott’s eyes.
Then he began to tap the slipper quite softly, but quite persistently and with a rhythmic regularity, upon an arm of the chair.
Tap—tap—tap—tap—tap—
Mrs. Endicott’s face retained the smooth expressionlessness of slumber.
Tap—tap—tap—
Her breathing held the steady depths of sleep.
Tap—tap—tap—tap—
“If you do that much longer,” she said quietly, “I shall go insane.”