Page:Restless Earth.djvu/184

She paused outside a door at the end of the corridor.

“She’s in here.”

Patricia listened to the montonous murmur from behind the closed door, and failed to understand how such a gentle sound could disturb all the other patients. She was about to remark upon it when Buzzy opened the door softly.

“Go and talk to her.”

Patricia hesitated for a moment, then entered the room diffidently. Buzzy watched her approach the bed, then stop as though she had collided with an invisible wall. Patricia reeled back a pace. Her face blanched as her eyes widened with something akin to fear. Her hands clutched at her breast.

The murmur continued, the bandages which swathed the face of the sufferer upon the bed moving very slightly as the head rolled unceasingly from side to side.

Patricia stared and listened for fully a minute, then she turned slowly and faced Buzzy, who was watching her critically.

“Who is it?” she asked in a horrified whisper. “Who is it?”

Buzzy shook her head.

Patricia turned again to the patient. She approached the bed fearfully. She stopped and listened intently.

“Jimmy . . where are you, Jimmy? . . . Jimmy . . . Pat, give him back to me . . . Jimmy . . .”

A weary, hopeless repetition. Over and over again. . . . “Jimmy.”

Patricia sprang upright and wheeled swiftly. Her eyes were starting from her white face. She trembled with painful excitement.

“It’s Grace!” she cried, reeling towards Buzzy. “It’s Grace Harley!”

She clutched at Buzzy’s arms for support.

“That accounts for the ‘G.H.’ on her clothes,” observed Buzzy with professional calm. “After this