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"Frankly
, Sir Charles, several aspects of this affair baffle, not to say embarrass me," Dr. Farquharson, the Medical Superintendent, greeted him without ceremony on his arrival at the hospital. "Since I called you, I've had the police on the phone. It took me all my time to conceal that I didn't know what they were talking about."

"The police?" A sudden fear gripped him.

"Would it surprise you to learn that both the snowplough men who found her, and the Night Super, thought that she'd been knocked down by a car?"

"A car? But I thought -"

"Exactly. I was given the quite distinct impression from your registrar's report that Dr. Leigh had collapsed and was under observation for this hepatitis thing. No, let me finish." He held up a hand. "I have remembered correctly, haven't I? You do, on rare occasions, get mental confusions, even coma, with acute attacks?" Farquharson looked up. "I see from your face, Sir Charles, that is what you had feared, too."

"Harry's report -?"

"I'm coming to that. But first, perhaps you'll be good enough to explain why, if there was any question of an accident, she was admitted to your ward and not into Casualty?"

"I don't know the answer to that."

"You weren't called?"

"No. I knew nothing about it till you telephoned me at home a short time ago."

"Isn't that unusual where a member of your staff is involved?"

"It's unforgivable." Charles Hope-Moncrieff was tight- lipped and grim.

Farquharson looked at him for a moment. "Just what did happen at Snykes? I understand you took the girl there."

"I had to leave early - a private patient. I specifically asked Dayborough to bring her back."

"I see. Then what they're saying could be true." Farquharson sat down suddenly. "The time has come for plain speaking, Charles." They had never been on first-name terms before. "I've never interfered with your staffing arrangements, though I was well aware that they clashed with my own. A medical superintendent often has to tread a delicate course. With some of you chaps, it's like handling a bunch of temperamental prima donnas." He held the other man's gaze. "I've turned a blind eye to many irregularities in your wards. Let's hope it's not been at the young lady's expense." There was something in Moncrieff's face which made him stop. He should have recognised it before. This wasn't just a chief up against a staff emergency. No wonder Charles Hope-Moncrieff had been less than his usual objective self! His voice was gentler when he resumed. "Anyway, everything that can be done is being done. The police are keeping a lookout on all main roads. I'll let you know as soon as we have any word." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "By the way, Charles, your other candidate was in here earlier this afternoon. He's turned down your job."

"Job? What job?" He brought his mind back from a great distance.

"Young Graham. You might find it enlightening to have another chat with him soon."

"It's Nurse Duncan, isn't it?" The voice was kind.

Jane Duncan clasped and unclasped her hands. She had never before been addressed directly by the Chief. "Yes, sir." Her voice shook. Everyone would think it was all her fault. "I couldn't help it, sir. Really, I couldn't."

"Nobody's blaming you for what happened." He put out his hand to her as though she were a child. "Think carefully, Nurse. It could be very important. I want you to tell me exactly what happened."

The eyes that looked down at her were anxious, not angry. Slowly, and with several false starts, she pieced together for him the earlier events in the ward. When she had reached the bit about Mrs. Brent they were interrupted by a knock. Bell, the night porter, came into the room.

"What is it, Bell? Can't you see that I'm busy?" Sir Charles turned back to her. "That's all right, my dear. You can return to your patients now."

"It has to do with the lady doctor." Bell came straight to the point. He spoke to someone in the corridor and his daughter Carol came into the duty room.

"Staff Nurse Bell?" Sir Charles looked up sharply. "What do you know about this?"

"My father insisted on dragging me over here, sir." Carol Bell's manner was apologetic. This was breaking all the rules.

"I know, strictly speaking, it's none of our business," the man interrupted, "and I've never been one for shoving my oar in, but from what Mrs. Frazer tells me it's time somebody had a word with you about what's going on."

"Out with it, man!" His manner was abrupt.

"Well, Carol here reckons there was no need for this lumbar - whatever you call it."

"Oh, Dad -" the girl started to say.

"It's all right, Staff Nurse. Sister Staines, I understand, was of the same opinion." He saw the girl relax. What a business it was, getting through this cordon of protocol.

"She was afraid of him, sir," she said hesitantly.

"Not without cause," her father put in.

"The thought of the puncture would be the last straw." Sir Charles went on looking at her and she felt compelled to add something more. "Miss Hamilton, sir. I mean, I would have beat it like anything, too, if I'd thought he was going to do one on me." She faltered at the look in his eye.

"You spoke of causes, Bell?" He turned to the porter.

"Being on that switchboard you hear a lot. I'm not making apologies for that." The man looked at him half defiantly. "I can put two and two together as well as the next man. I had my suspicions when I heard him plotting with a technician to fake some blood reports. No, I'm telling a lie." He paused. "I first thought there was something fishy going on the night I couldn't get an answer from his room to a night call. She was desperate to get hold of a senior. Couldn't believe it when I told her he wasn't there. Went over herself to make sure. Thing is, both Mrs. Frazer and me - we were certain he was there all the time. He knew she would get into trouble." He looked at Sir Charles as though he had heard what the outcome to that little lot had been.

("Two months out of college and you think you know it all." "It wasn't like that, sir. Really, it wasn't." The memories that could burn when you looked back.)

"Then there was the Sunday she'd been at the coast. She was that happy, I remember. Afterwards I heard him cursing and threatening her in the corridor." He hesitated. "I don't know if it's got anything to do with it, but I reckon I might as well finish what I came here to say."

"Go on." Sir Charles's voice was low.

"I was on duty that night." He went on to explain which night. "It was me woke young Graham. He's the deepest sleeper I've ever known. You've always got to go right into his room to make sure he's awake." Bell didn't lower his eyes. "There was no one else there, sir, when I went in."

There was a long pause. Bell broke it himself. "If you ask me, sir, he's a man with a grudge. Just lately it seems to have got out of hand." He didn't need to explain that it was Dayborough he was talking about. He turned to his daughter. "Come on, Carol. The Professor's got things on his mind." He lifted his cap.

"Thank you for coming, Bell. I could have wished you had done it sooner."

"Aye, that's as maybe. But, if you don't mind my saying so, you're a formidable character. It's taken some doing as it is. The habits of a lifetime - not squealing - die hard. It was Mrs. Frazer that reckoned I ought to say what I know." He propelled his daughter towards the door.

"Bell."

"Aye?"

"Would you see if Graham is back? I want him over here the minute he gets in."

"I'll see to it, Professor." He paused in the doorway. "If there's anything else we can do, sir?"

"I'll let you know, Bell. I won't forget."

He sat for a moment after the porter had gone. The revelations of the past twenty minutes had shaken him more than he would have thought possible. For weeks he'd been obsessed by the thought of her and Graham. It shattered him now to find what had really been going on under his nose. He put his head in his hands and the redhead with the tears held back swam reproachfully before his eyes. ("Half the students in college would give their eye-teeth to work in one of your wards", she'd said.) All that youthful enthusiasm which had charmed him - he'd told her never to let anyone rob her of it. Into what danger had he unwittingly trapped her now?

It seemed to him, sitting in this claustrophobic little office, that he'd blindly endangered all that he held most dear. It was no longer relevant that she had chosen Graham. He couldn't just sit here doing nothing. He had to find her. Somewhere out there she was alone, exposed and afraid. And Dayborough? Where was he? It wasn't enough that the police of two counties were on the lookout. They didn't know where to begin. Somewhere in this hospital there must be a clue.

Almost as though in answer to his thoughts there was a flurry of footsteps and Angela Bishop burst into the room. She sank back against the door. Her hair was windblown. She hadn't taken time to pull on an overcoat.

"It was Harry," she gasped. "His car. Sister Meryl's just managed to get through from Wilson's farm. The wires from Snykes village itself are all down." She closed her eyes. "Miss Twill saw it happen from her window. She didn't know it was Dr. Leigh, of course. It was too dark for that. She wouldn't have recognised that it was his car either, only she'd been watching it disappear down the road from her cottage. She saw someone caught up in his headlights. The person was sent flying. She had to wait till the bobby came before she could tell anyone. She was in such a state by then that he went for Meryl."

He pulled out a chair and forced her to sit down.

"He's reported it, of course. Sister only phoned me because it was Harry."

She looked physically sick. Automatically he found himself rinsing a glass. She didn't protest as he forced the poison cupboard door and poured a liberal tot from the bottle marked STIM.

"It would have to be me bringing you news like this," she said.

He added some water from the tap. "Drink this. You'll feel better." It was amazing how the discipline of the year took over.

"I should have warned you this morning that he had it in for her. Me, of all people - I should have guessed he could go this far. You never know in the beginning how anything is going to turn out, do you? I should have known all along I couldn't stay uninvolved."

Even in his present state of mind he recognised the wistful note of yearning in her voice. "Drink it, Sister." He pressed the glass into her hand. "Better now?" he asked, when she had swallowed its contents.

She nodded and stood up. "Sorry about that, Sir Charles." She assumed her usual brisk tones. "What do you want me to do now?"

"Do you think you could come with me into the ward?" He looked at her doubtfully. "One of the patients may know where she's gone." Now that he knew the worst he was ready, if necessary, to wrest this place apart to find a clue as to where she might have gone.

The ward was in darkness. He recognised the "waiting" feel. Everyone who wasn't on sedation was awake and listening. His eyes ranged over the expectant beds. Eyelids were closed quickly as he turned their way. Near the foot of the ward Mrs. Brent was sitting up in bed. Her eyes were wide open. She was waiting for him to come to her.

He strode towards her with practised, silent steps, and stood looking down at one of his oldest patients.

"Have you been awake all the time?" he asked.

"Most of the time." Her reply was guarded.

"You saw Dr. Leigh leave?"

"Aye." She was giving nothing away.

"Did she say anything before she left?"

"Would it be likely?" she asked drily. "Yon's not one for roping other folk into her troubles. Might have been better for her all along if she had."

"You could have stopped her - raised the alarm."

"And had that fellow catch up with her? You must have taken leave of your senses." This time Sister Bishop didn't chide her for speaking to the Chief like that.

"She might have been seriously ill," he countered.

The patient looked at him for a moment, her head on one side. "Anyone that got out of that window the way she did hadn't much the matter with her, to my way of thinking."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Sir Charles?" Angela was getting anxious.

"It's a wild night, Mrs. Brent. We're all concerned about her whereabouts."

"Aye, you would be. I'd like to help, Sir Charles, but I can't." Mrs. Brent looked sorry. "She never said anything to anybody. She just grabbed the cape and went over the sill. I thought maybe -" She looked doubtfully at Sister, and Angela Bishop took the hint.

"I'll get my things, Sir Charles. You may be needing me later on. I'll be in the Sisters' Home." She went out of the ward.

When the door had swung shut he turned back to Mrs. Brent.

"It was nothing really, Sir Charles. Just an idea I had. No reason for thinking it - just a feeling, you might say." She hesitated. "Somehow I thought you might guess where she'd go." She was giving him a look that could have only one meaning.

She had known him a long time. Still he hadn't thought he'd been quite so transparent. "Unfortunately, no," he said quietly. "I only wish that were true. Perhaps young Graham will be able to afford some clue."

Why should his heart leap because one shrewd, down-to- earth woman had had a hunch? He knew it was a forlorn hope. Nevertheless, while he waited in the staffroom for Graham, he telephoned his house. But of course she wasn't there. There was no sign of the MG from any of the windows. He even had his housekeeper go out to the driveway to make sure.

"Sorry to be so late, sir. We've only just got back."

"Graham! You've heard? You know she's taken your car?"

The boy nodded. "She had a key. Lesley knew she was welcome to use it any time."

"I see. Look, Graham. You know her better than I do - who her friends were." His voice almost choked on it. "She was under great strain. She had to get away." He no longer questioned that necessity. "Have you any idea to whom she would turn?"

Graham shook his head. "Just lately I feel I've scarcely known her at all. Most of her friends are here. You don't think, sir, she would make for her aunt's at the coast?"