2:01 a.m. —Glittering Eyes
Nurse Murrow didn’t slumber, exactly; it was much too slender a lapse from consciousness for that. But it was not until the second gentle rapping that she stood up.
Someone was rapping on the hall door.
She glanced at her wrist watch as she crossed the room, and was glad to note that it was just after two o’clock. Three or four hours, now, and it would be dawn. She’d get some coffee, then, and her work for the night would be almost over.
As she turned the key in the lock she noticed with a sharp thrill of interest that the two policemen, very quiet, very alert, but still sitting on their chairs in the bathroom doorway, had each drawn a gun from its holster and was holding it by his side. She opened the door.
Dr. Worth, his dignity considerably muffled in camel’s hair, stood in the corridor with a stranger.
“Miss Murrow,” he said, “this is Mr. Thomas Hollander, the friend who is going to sit up with Mr. Endicott. He understands everything about the situation, and I have advised him just what to do.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Dr. Worth failed futilely in suppressing a yawn. “Are there any reports?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Then I’ll return to my room. Call me at the slightest indication.”