Upon which the throat specialist appeared and inquired if they were all ready for him. In ten minutes’ time the figure of a child was wheeled into the theatre and once again the fumes of anæsthetic rose like incense about the table. In another ten minutes the child was taken away. Nurse Banks and the scally began to clear up again. The throat specialist whistled as he washed up in the anteroom. He thrust his head in at the door, remarked: “No rest for the wicked, nurse,” and took himself off.

The two women worked in silence for a little while. Nurse Banks seemed preoccupied and rather morose.

“Hullo,” said the scally, “there’s Pips growling on the stairs.” (“Pips” was hospital slang for Sir John Phillips.) “And Thomcat. Wonder how he is now. Sir Derek, I mean.”

Nurse Banks did not answer.

“I don’t believe you care.”

“Oh, I’m quite interested.”

The voices grew louder but neither of the two nurses could hear what was said. They stood very still, listening intently.

Presently there seemed to be some kind of movement. A woman’s voice joined in the conversation.

“Who’s that?” asked the scally.

“Sounds like Marigold,” said Banks. “God, that woman infuriates me!”

“Ssh! What’s it all about, I wonder?”

Sir John Phillips’s voice sounded clearly above the others.

“I’d better attend to that,” it said.

“Pips sounds absolutely rampant,” breathed the scally.

“Yes,” said Thoms clearly. “Yes.”

A sound of footsteps. Then suddenly the door into the theatre opened and O’Callaghan’s special nurse burst into the room.

“Isn’t it frightful!” she said. “Oh, isn’t it frightful!”

“What? What’s the matter with you?”

“He’s dead—Sir Derek O’Callaghan’s dead!”

“Nurse!” The scally gazed at her speechless.

“It really is awful,” said Nurse Graham. “Lady O’Callaghan is there now—she wanted to be left alone with him. I felt I simply must tell somebody.”

There was a dead silence and then, prompted perhaps by some kind of mental telepathy, they both turned and stared at Banks.

The older woman’s head was tipped back. She held her arms stiffly at her sides. Her eyes shone and her lips worked convulsively.

“Banks!” said the scally, “Banks! How can you behave like that? I believe you’re glad he’s gone!”

“If I hadn’t cast off the wornout shackles of religion,” said Banks, “I should say ‘Praise the Lord for He hath cast down our Enemy.’”

“You disgusting old horror,” said the special, and went out of the theatre.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lady O’Callaghan Insists

Friday, the twelfth. Afternoon.

“LADY O’CALLAGHAN, I’m terribly sorry to bother, but may I speak to you for a moment?”