Leerie Part 12

"Accuse him of drugs," came the unhesitating answer. "That's the most plausible, and it's what plays havoc with young surgeons quicker than anything else. They feel their nerves going, and they take a hypodermic; it steadies them until--it gets them. If you can make your villain convince the staff that drugs are back of the lost case, you can get your poor devil of a surgeon permanently disposed of."

Peter let out a long-drawn breath. "Thank you, Doc. You've helped me out--considerably."

It does not in the least matter how Peter finished the tale. Before the inevitable conclusion Doctor Dempsy dropped off to sleep, and no one but Peter himself heard the final, "And they married and lived happy ever after. By Jupiter they did!"

He slipped softly out of the room and stood a moment in the corridor, wondering what he would do next. Sleep seemed unnecessary just then, as well as undesirable. And as he stood there, innocent of all intention of eavesdropping, he had that rare experience of hearing history repeat itself. From around the bend of the corridor, out of sight, came the low but distinct whisper of the night nurse's voice at the house 'phone.

"Miss Maxwell, Miss Maxwell, can you hear me? This is Miss Jacobs. Leerie went to Doctor Brainard's room a half-hour ago. She's still there.... All right." And then the soft click of the receiver dropping into place.

Peter stiffened; his hands clenched. His first impulse was to creep 'round and quietly choke the tattle-tale breath out of Miss Jacobs. He knew how the little green-eyed nurse was gloating over this second incrimination of Leerie. But there was something more compelling to do first, something that could not wait. He slipped 'round through the supply-room and down the back stairs. He reached the first floor of the Surgical just as the superintendent of nurses appeared in the entrance.

"You!" demanded Miss Maxwell.

"No one else," agreed Peter. "Suppose we go up together."

Peter could have almost laughed at the look of dumfounded amazement on the superintendent's face. "You mean--Why, that's impossible! It isn't your place--"

Peter cut her short. "Oh yes, it is. Remember the advice you gave me a few hours ago. I'm here to find out what's back of it all, and no one is going to stop me." His jaws snapped with an ominous finality.

Doctor Brainard opened to their knock, but he held the door so that barely a corner of the room was visible, and he blocked the entrance.

"Open it wider!" commanded Peter. "We've come to stay a few minutes and ask Miss O'Leary a few questions," and he thrust the surgeon quickly aside and flung wide the door.

Sheila was sitting by a reading-lamp, an open book on her lap. She looked as Peter had seen her in the early evening, only back of the tiredness and pallor was a strange look of peace. To Peter she seemed a crucified saint who had suddenly discovered that nail wounds were harmless. She smiled faintly at them both. "I'm sorry it's happened again, Miss Maxwell. If you'll just go away and try to forget about it until after the morning, I'll send in my resignation and leave as soon as you can fill my place.

And can't we do it this time without any Board meeting? I'll promise never to come back."

"Then there are going to be no explanations this time--either?" There was pleading in the superintendent's voice, as well as infinite sadness.

The girl shook her head. "There's nothing to explain. I'm just here." She folded her hands quietly on her lap. "Won't you please go?"

"No, we won't!" Peter thundered it forth. Then he turned to the surgeon, and there was no pleading in his voice. "You cur! you cad! What have you got to say?"

Doctor Brainard jumped as if Peter had struck him; for the instant he seemed to find speech difficult. "Why--why, what do you mean? How dare you--"

"I dare you," and Peter shot out each word with the directness of a hand-grenade, "I dare you to stand up like a man and tell why Miss O'Leary came here to-night. You sneaked behind her silence three years ago; don't be a cursed coward and do it again."

The surgeon laughed a dry, unpleasant laugh. "It's easy to call another man names--but it doesn't mean anything. And what right have you to ask me to betray Miss O'Leary's silence?"

"Betray!" Peter fairly howled back the word at him. "Take off your coat.

Take it off, or I'll rip it off. Now roll up your sleeves--no, your left.

There, by Jupiter! Look, Miss Maxwell!"

Peter's demand was unnecessary. The eyes of the superintendent were already fixed on the manifold tiny blue discolorations in the surgeon's bare arm. "Cocaine." She almost whispered it under her breath, and then louder, "How long?"

"Four years, about." The surgeon's voice was quite toneless; he seemed to shrink and grow old while they watched him.

Miss Maxwell looked across at the girl, who was leaning forward, her face in her hands, crying softly. Her eyes were bitterly accusing, and there was abundant scorn in her voice when she spoke again to the surgeon. "So Leerie has been shielding you all along and helping you to fight it. How did she know?"

"I told her. I thought if some one with a courage and trust like hers knew about it it might pull me together. G.o.d! I wish I'd killed myself three years ago."

"Pity you didn't!" There was no mercy in Peter's voice. "But I suppose she wouldn't let you; I suppose she held you together then as she's trying to now. She's trying to save you for to-morrow--seven A.M.--and all the to-morrows coming after. I--I think I'm beginning to understand." His arms dropped dejectedly to his sides. For Peter there could be but one meaning to Sheila's sacrifice and struggle.

But Miss Maxwell was holding fast to her cross-examination. "And I suppose you promised Leerie three years ago if she'd keep silent you would fight it through and break the habit. And that's why you've let no one but Leerie and Miss Jacobs in the operating-room, so no one else would guess.

Did Miss Jacobs find out three years ago?"

Doctor Brainard nodded.

Words failed the superintendent, but her expression boded ill for the little green-eyed nurse. "Well," she said, at length, "there's only one thing that matters right now--are you or are you not going to be in a fit condition to operate to-morrow?"

It was Leerie who answered. She was out of her chair at a bound and beside the surgeon, her hand on his arm. "He's going to operate; he's got to.

There isn't another skilled hand like his nearer than the Dentons, so he's got to bring Doctor Dempsy through. Please, Miss Maxwell, leave him to me. I can manage. He's got four hours to sleep, and then I'll let him have enough cocaine to steady him. Won't you trust me?"

"It's about the only way now."

Peter left unnoticed. He realized, as he had realized in the sanitarium grounds that afternoon, that he counted about as much in this crisis as a part of the inanimate surroundings. Miss Maxwell joined him a moment later, looking outrageously relieved. She flashed Peter an apologetic smile.

"I know it's shameless of me to look glad when you look so miserable. But I can't help feeling that we are going to win. Leerie deserves it after what she's suffered for him. That man couldn't fail her, and her trust is bound to make good. Don't you see?"

Peter's shoulders gave an unconvincing shrug. "I hope so. He ought to--if he's half-way a man." He looked at his watch. "Almost morning now. Guess I'll pack my things and be ready to start as soon as I know Dempsy's all right."

Miss Maxwell held him back for an instant. "I know you're thinking that all's wrong with the world, but I know all's right. Go and pack if you must, but please stay in your room until I send you word. Promise?"

And not caring, Peter promised.

From seven o'clock on Peter paced the room among his packed luggage and counted the minutes. He wondered how long his patience would last and when his misery would stop growing. The burden of both had become unbearable.

At eight-thirty a sharp knock sounded and he sprang to the door. On the threshold stood a nurse in surgical wrappings, with eyes that shone like a whole firmament of stars and a mouth that curved to the gentle demureness of a nun. Peter stood and stared at this unexpected apparition of the old Leerie.

"Well," said the apparition, smiling radiantly as of old, "I'm a messenger of glad tidings. Won't you ask me to come in?"

Peter flushed and drew her to a chair.

"Oh, it was a wonderful operation. It seemed almost like performing a miracle, and that blessed old doctor is coming out of the ether like a baby."

"Maybe it was a miracle--the miracle of a woman's trust."

A look of rare tenderness swept into the girl's face. "Thank you. I wonder if you know how often you say the kindest and most comforting thing." Then she sobered. "He's made a brave fight, and it wasn't easy to pull himself together, in the face of what he knew you were all thinking of him, and do such a tremendous piece of work. I want you to understand. He's a brilliant surgeon; it didn't seem right that he should be lost to himself and the profession. And the best of it is, he isn't going to be. The San is going to stand by him; every doctor on the staff is willing to help him. As soon as Doctor Jefferson is back, Doctor Brainard is to stop work until--until he's fit again. Isn't that splendid! Oh, I could sing! I keep saying over those great Hebrew words of comfort, 'Weeping may tarry through the night, but joy cometh in the morning.'"

"Yes," said Peter, dully. "I'm glad joy has come for you. May I wish you and Doctor Brainard all success and happiness?"

Sheila's eyes looked into Peter's with a sudden intensity. "You may--but not together. Have you actually been thinking that I loved Doctor Brainard?" A hint of the old bitterness crept into her voice. "I can pity a man like that, but love him--love weakness and selfishness--and the willingness to betray a woman's honor--no! Three years ago he killed whatever personal feeling I might have had for him, and he made me hate all men."

"And you're still hating them?" Peter held fast to his rising hopes while he hung eagerly on her answer.

"No. Ever since a fine, strong, unselfish man came into my life it has set me loving all mankind so scandalously that I'm afraid the only way to make me respectable is--for some man to marry me." Leerie's arms went out to Peter in complete surrender. "Oh, Peter--Peter--it's morning!"

But it was almost noon before Peter began to think intelligently again, and then he remembered something, something that ought to be done. "I think," he said, "I think we ought to go out and tell Hennessy and the swans; we sort of owe it to them."

And it all ended even as Peter had prophesied in his yarn by Doctor Dempsy's bedside.