"An emergency operation at the hospital," she sighed. "Nice young man—automobile accident. Fracture of the skull, Dr. Amos says. He wouldn't have disturbed you but you're the only brain man in town, with Dr. Hendryx away on vacation."
"I know." He was already in the hall, reaching for his hat. "Man's work is from sun to sun, but a doctor's work is never done," he misquoted.
"I'll drive you." Edith followed him out. "You sit back and relax for another ten minutes...."
Two hours later, as they drove homeward, the traffic was light, which was fortunate. More than once Mark, in a frowning abstraction, found himself on the left of the center line and had to pull back into his own lane.
He had lost patients before, but never without a feeling of personal defeat. Edith said he put too much of himself into every operation. Perhaps he did. And yet—No, there was every reason why the young man should have lived. Yet, just as Mark Williams had felt that he had been successful, the patient had died.
In twenty years of marriage, Edith Williams had learned to read his thoughts at times. Now she put a hand comfortingly on his arm.
"These things happen, darling," she said. "You know that. A doctor can only do so much. Some of the job always remains in the hands of Nature. And she does play tricks at times."
"Yes, confound it, I know it," her husband growled. "But I resent losing that lad. There was no valid reason for it—unless there was some complication I overlooked." He shook his head, scowling. "I ordered an autopsy but—Yes, I'm going to do that autopsy myself. I'm going to turn back and do it now. I have to know!"
He pulled abruptly to the left to swing into a side road and turn. Edith Williams never saw the car that hit them. She heard the frantic blare of a horn and a scream of brakes, and in a frozen instant realized that there had been someone behind them, about to pass. Then the impact came, throwing her forward into the windshield and unconsciousness.
Edith Williams opened her eyes. Even before she realized that she was lying on the ground and that the figure bending over her was a State Trooper, she remembered the crash. Her head hurt but there was no confusion in her mind. Automatically, even as she tried to sit up, she accepted the fact that there had been a crash, help had come, and she must have been unconscious for several minutes at least.
"Hey, lady, take it easy!" the Trooper protested. "You had a bad bump. You got to lie still until the ambulance gets here. It'll be along in five minutes."
"Mark," Edith said, paying no attention. "My husband! Is he all right?"
"Now lady, please. He's being taken care of. You—"
But she was not listening. Holding to his arm she pulled herself to a sitting position. She saw their car on its side some yards away, other cars pulled up around them, a little knot of staring people. Saw them and dismissed them. Her gaze found her husband, lying on the ground a few feet away, a coat folded beneath his head.
Mark was dead. She had been a doctor's wife for twenty years, and before that a nurse. She knew death when she saw it.
"Mark." The word was spoken to herself, but the Trooper took it for a question.
"Yes, lady," he said. "He's dead. He was still breathing when I got here, but he died two, three minutes ago."
She got to her knees. Her only thought was to reach his side. She scrambled across the few feet of ground to him still on her knees and crouched beside him, fumbling for his pulse. There was none. There was nothing. Just a man who had been alive and now was dead.
Behind her she heard a voice raised. She turned. A large, disheveled man was standing beside the Trooper, talking loudly.
"Now listen, officer," he was saying, "I'm telling you again, it wasn't my fault. The guy pulled sharp left right in front of me. Not a thing I could do. It's a wonder we weren't all three of us killed. You can see by the marks on their car it wasn't my fault—"
Edith Williams closed her mind to the voice. She let Mark's hand lie in her lap as she fumbled in her bag, which was somehow still clutched in her fingers. She groped for a handkerchief to stem the tears which would not be held back. Something was in the way—something smooth and hard and cold. She drew it out and heard the thin, sweet tinkle of the crystal bell. She must have dropped it automatically into her bag as they were preparing to leave the house.
The hand in her lap moved. She gasped and bent forward as her husband's eyes opened.
"Mark!" she whispered. "Mark, darling!"
"Edith," Mark Williams said with an effort. "Sorry—damned careless of me. Thinking of the hospital...."
"You're alive!" she said. "You're alive! Oh, darling, darling, lie still, the ambulance will be here any second."
"Ambulance?" he protested. "I'm all right now. Help me—sit up."
"But Mark——"
"Just a bump on the head." He struggled to sit up. The State Trooper came over.
"Easy, buddy, easy," he said, his voice awed. "We thought you were gone. Now let's not lose you a second time." His mouth was tight.
"Hey, I'm sure glad you're all right!" the red-faced man said in a rush of words. "Whew, fellow, you had me all upset, even though it wasn't my fault. I mean, how's a guy gonna keep from hitting you when—when——"
"Catch him!" Mark Williams cried, but the Trooper was too late. The other man plunged forward to the ground and lay where he had fallen without quivering.
The clock in the hall struck two with muted strokes. Cautiously Edith Williams rose on her elbow and looked down at her husband's face. His eyes opened and looked back at her.
"You're awake," she said, unnecessarily.
"I woke up a few minutes ago," he answered. "I've been lying here—thinking."
"I'll get you another phenobarbital. Dr. Amos said for you to take them and sleep until tomorrow."
"I know. I'll take one presently. You know—hearing that clock just now reminded me of something."
"Yes?"
"Just before I came to this afternoon, after the crash, I had a strange impression of hearing a bell ring. It sounded so loud in my ears I opened my eyes to see where it was."
"A—bell?"
"Yes. Just auditory hallucination, of course."
"But Mark—"
"Yes?"
"A—a bell did ring. I mean, I had the crystal bell in my bag and it tinkled a little. Do you suppose—"
"Of course not." But though he spoke swiftly he did not sound convincing. "This was a loud bell. Like a great gong."
"But—I mean, Mark darling—a moment earlier you—had no pulse."
"No pulse?"
"And you weren't—breathing. Then the crystal bell tinkled and you—you...."
"Nonsense! I know what you're thinking and believe me—it's nonsense!"
"But Mark." She spoke carefully. "The driver of the other car. You had no sooner regained consciousness than he—"
"He had a fractured skull!" Dr. Williams interrupted sharply. "The ambulance intern diagnosed it. Skull fractures often fail to show themselves and then—bingo, you keel over. That's what happened. Now let's say no more about it."
"Of course." In the hall, the clock struck the quarter hour. "Shall I fix the phenobarbital now?"
"Yes—no. Is David home?"
She hesitated. "No, he hasn't got back yet."
"Has he phoned? He knows he's supposed to be in by midnight at the latest."
"No, he—hasn't phoned. But there's a school dance tonight."
"That's no excuse for not phoning. He has the old car, hasn't he?"
"Yes. You gave him the keys this morning, remember?"
"All the more reason he should phone." Dr. Williams lay silent a moment. "Two o'clock is too late for a 17-year-old boy to be out."