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?"