The ambulance entrance to the Samaritan Hospital was dimly illuminated. Wayland, turning in from Park Avenue, sounded his horn, then scrambled down from the box as an orderly and a watchman appeared under the vaulted doorway. And in a few moments the emergency case had passed out of Miss Erith's jurisdiction.
But as her car turned homeward, upon her youthful mind was stamped the image of a pale, bruised faceof a boyish head reversed upon her kneesof crisp, light-brown hair dusted with particles of snow.
Within the girl's breast something deep was stirringsomething unfamiliarnot painnot pityyet resembling both, perhaps. She had no other standard of comparison.
After she reached home she called up the Samaritan Hospital for information, and learned that the man was suffering from the effects of alcohol and chloralthe latter probably an overdose self-administeredbecause he had not been robbed. Miss Erith also learned that there were five hundred dollars in new United States banknotes in his pockets, some English sovereigns, a number of Dutch and Danish silver pieces, and a new cheque-book on the Schuyler National Bank, in which was written what might be his name.
"Will he live?" inquired Miss Erith, solicitous, as are people concerning the fate of anything they have helped to rescue.
"He seems to be in no danger," came the answer. "Are you interested in the patient, Miss Erith?"
"Nothat isyes. Yes, I am interested."
"Shall we communicate with you in case any unfavourable symptoms appear?"
"Please do!"
"Are you a relative or friend?"
"N-no. I am very slightly interestedin his recovery. Nothing more."
"Very well. But we do not find his name in any directory. We have attempted to communicate with his family, but nobody of that name claims him. You say you are personally interested in the young man?"
"Oh, no," said Miss Erith, "except that I hope he is not going to die. He seems soyoungf-friendless"
"Then you have no personal knowledge of the patient?"
"None whatever. What did you say his name is?"
"McKay."
For a moment the name sounded oddly familiar but meaningless in her ears. Then, with a thrill of sudden recollection, she asked again for the man's name.
"The name written in his cheque-book is McKay."
"McKay!" she repeated incredulously. "What else?"
"Kay."
"WHAT!!"
"That is the name in the cheque-bookKay McKay."
Dumb, astounded, she could not utter a word.
"Do you know anything about him, Miss Erith?" inquired the distant voice.
"Yesyes! I don't know whether I do. I have heard thethat namea similar name" Her mind was in a tumult now. Could such a thing happen? It was utterly impossible!
The voice on the wire continued:
"The police have been here but they are not interested in the case, as no robbery occurred. The young man is still unconscious, suffering from the chloral. If you are interested, Miss Erith, would you kindly call at the hospital to-morrow?"
"Yes. Did you say that there was FOREIGN money in his pockets?"
"Dutch and Danish silver and English gold."
"Thank you. I shall call to-morrow. Don't let him leave before I arrive."
"What?"
"I wish to see him. Please do not permit him to leave before I get there. Itit is very importantvitalin case he is the manthe Kay McKay in question."
"Very well. Good-night."
Miss Erith sank back in her armchair, shivering even in the warm glow from the hearth.
"Such things can NOT happen!" she said aloud. "Such things do not happen in life!"
And she told herself that even in stories no author would darenot even the veriest amateur scribblerwould presume to affront intelligent readers by introducing such a coincidence as this appeared to be.
"Such things do NOT happen!" repeated Miss Erith firmly.
Such things, however, DO occur.
Was it possible that the Great Secret, of which the Lauffer cipher letter spoke, was locked within the breast of this young fellow who now lay unconscious in the Samaritan Hospital?
Was this actually the escaped prisoner? Was this the man who, according to instructions in the cipher, was to be marked for death at the hands of the German Government's secret agents in America?
And, if this truly were the same man, was he safe, at least for the present, now that the cipher letter had been intercepted before it had reached Herman Lauffer?
Hour after hour, lying deep in her armchair before the fire, Miss Erith crouched a prey to excited conjectures, not one of which could be answered until the man in the Samaritan Hospital had recovered consciousness.
Suppose he never recovered consciousness. Suppose he should die
At the thought Miss Erith sprang from her chair and picked up the telephone.
With fast-beating heart she waited for the connection. Finally she got it and asked the question.
"The man is dying," came the calm answer. A pause, then: "I understand the patient has just died."
Miss Erith strove to speak but her voice died in her throat. Trembling from head to foot, she placed the telephone on the table, turned uncertainly, fell into the armchair, huddled there, and covered her face with both hands.
For it was proving worsea little worse than the loss of the Great Secretworse than the mere disappointment in losing itworse even than a natural sorrow in the defeat of an effort to save life.
For in all her own life Miss Erith had never until that evening experienced the slightest emotion when looking into the face of any man.
But from the moment when her brown eyes fell upon the pallid, dissipated, marred young face turned upward on her knees in the carin that instant she had known for the first time a new and indefinable emotionvague in her mind, vaguer in her heartyet delicately apparent.
But what this unfamiliar emotion might be, so faint, so vague, she had made no effort to analyse. It had been there; she had experienced it; that was all she knew.
It was almost morning before she rose, stiff with cold, and moved slowly toward her bedroom.
Among the whitening ashes on her hearth only a single coal remained alive.
CHAPTER III
TO A FINISH
The hospital called her on the telephone about eight o'clock in the morning:
"Miss Evelyn Erith, please?"
"Yes," she said in a tired voice, "who is it?"
"Is this Miss Erith?"
"Yes."
"This is the Superintendent's office, Samaritan, Hospital, Miss Dalton speaking."
The girl's heart contracted with a pang of sheer pain. She closed her eyes and waited. The voice came over the wire again:
"A wreath of Easter lilies with your card came earlythis morning.
I'm very sure there is a mistake"
"No," she whispered, "the flowers are for a patient who died in the hospital last nighta young man whom I brought there in my carKay McKay."
"I was afraid so"
"What!"
"McKay isn't dead! It's another patient. I was sure somebody here had made a mistake."
Miss Erith swayed slightly, steadied herself with a desperate effort to comprehend what the voice was telling her.
"There was a mistake made last night," continued Miss Dalton. "Another patient dieda similar case. When I came on duty a few moments ago I learned what had occurred. The young man in whom you are interested is conscious this morning. Would you care to see him before he is discharged?"
Miss Erith said, unsteadily, that she would.
She had recovered her self-command but her knees remained weak and her lips tremulous, and she rested her forehead on both hands which had fallen, tightly clasped, on the table in front of her. After a few moments she felt better and she rang up her D. C., Mr. Vaux, and explained that she expected to be late at the office. After that she got the garage on the wire, ordered her car, and stood by the window watching the heavily falling snow until her butler announced the car's arrival.