There was affection and a kind of eager questioning in his face.
Mrs Leidner nodded her head gently.
Presently, her arm through his, they wandered to the far parapet and finally down the steps together.
Hes devoted to her, isnt he? said Mrs Mercado.
Yes, I said.
Its very nice to see.
She was looking at me with a queer, rather eager sidelong glance.
What do you think is really the matter with her, nurse? she asked, lowering her voice a little.
Oh, I dont suppose its much, I said cheerfully.
Just a bit run-down, I expect.
Her eyes still bored into me as they had done at tea.
She said abruptly: Are you a mental nurse?
Oh, dear, no! I said.
What made you think that?
She was silent for a moment, then she said: Do you know how queer shes been?
Did Dr Leidner tell you?
I dont hold with gossiping about my cases.
On the other hand, its my experience that its often very hard to get the truth out of relatives, and until you know the truth youre often working in the dark and doing no good.
Of course, when theres a doctor in charge, its different. He tells you what its necessary for you to know.
But in this case there wasnt a doctor in charge.
Dr Reilly had never been called in professionally.
And in my own mind I wasnt at all sure that Dr Leidner had told me all he could have done.
Its often the husbands instinct to be reticent and more honour to him, I must say.
But all the same, the more I knew the better I could tell which line to take.
Mrs Mercado (whom I put down in my own mind as a thoroughly spiteful little cat) was clearly dying to talk.
And frankly, on the human side as well as the professional, I wanted to hear what she had to say.
You can put it that I was just everyday curious if you like.
I said, I gather Mrs Leidners not been quite her normal self lately?
Mrs Mercado laughed disagreeably.
Normal?
I should say not.
Frightening us to death.
One night it was fingers tapping on her window. And then it was a hand without an arm attached. But when it came to a yellow face pressed against the window and when she rushed to the window there was nothing there well, I ask you, itis a bit creepy for all of us.
Perhaps somebody was playing a trick on her, I suggested.
Oh, no, she fancied it all.
And only three days ago at dinner they were firing shots in the village nearly a mile away and she jumped up and screamed out it scared us all to death.
As for Dr Leidner, he rushed to her and behaved in the most ridiculous way. Its nothing, darling, its nothing at all, he kept saying.
I think, you know, nurse, men sometimes encourage women in these hysterical fancies.
Its a pity because its a bad thing.
Delusions shouldnt be encouraged.
Not if they are delusions, I said dryly.
What else could they be?
I didnt answer because I didnt know what to say.
It was a funny business.
The shots and the screaming were natural enough for anyone in a nervous condition, that is.
But this queer story of a spectral face and hand was different.
It looked to me like one of two things either Mrs Leidner had made the story up (exactly as a child shows off by telling lies about something that never happened in order to make herself the centre of attraction) or else it was, as I had suggested, a deliberate practical joke.
It was the sort of thing, I reflected, that an unimaginative hearty sort of young fellow like Mr Coleman might think very funny.
I decided to keep a close watch on him.
Nervous patients can be scared nearly out of their minds by a silly joke.