pended in mid-air. I knew that I was not alone! One—two—three—four! Drip—drip—drip—drip! All doors were locked. The dead were—dead. Yet I knew that I was not alone. Close upon the conviction came the sound of footsteps in the corridor, of short, labored breathing, of heavy bodies zig-zagging, it seemed to me, now to one side of the corridor, now to another.
What could I do? I slipped the heart into my coat pocket. Where could I hide! I did not believe in spectacular heroics. When I learned the purpose of the intruders there would be time enough to sound the alarms. I slunk into the only shadowed and sheltered corner of the morgue.
The footsteps, close upon me, halted. Voices:
"She's mine, I'm tellin' yuh!"
"The devil she is!"
"We'll see."
Over the autopsy table the two men leaned with ghastly unconcern. I could not see them well, but their necks, red, thick and dirty, told the story of their faces. The first speaker opened his mouth, The smell of whisky reached me. His tongue bunched and stumbled.
"All dressed up, ain't yuh darlin?" he whined, fingering the spattered bow. "All dressed up and waitin for me, eh?"
I fancied his voice, clouded though it was, boasted a tinge of triumph. The other fellow's head rolled unsteadily.
"I got pictures," he mumbled. "Pictures 'n everything. You ain't gonna—I tell yuh what!"
Something, at the moment incomprehensible to me, passed between the two sotted figures. In a trice they were kneeling. The table cut them from my view. The rattle of small objects, perhaps buttons or stones, rose sharply above their asthmatic wheezing. Buttons, or stones? Curiosity made me bold. I took a step out of my corner. Neither man noticed me. I took another, then another. I was behind them!
Drip—drip—drip—drip! One—two—three—four! Under the very pendant hand of the woman, the two men were shooting dice!
I fingered the heart in my pocket. Through a lifetime it had been the physical symbol of what these men desired. Over and again the dice fell sharply on cement. Now one man leered with approaching victory. Now the other snatched it from his grasp. Oaths filled the gaps. The ring of metal startled them. They looked around, fortunately not in my direction. The bit of imitation jade set in gold dropped from the woman's finger!
"You talkin', babe?" the loquacious one laughed raucously at his own humor. He gave the hanging hand a generous squeeze. Once more their heads swayed toward each other. More desperate rattling of dice! The game resumed!
I have no standard to judge the passing of time. The far-off rattle of dishes announced preparations for the last meal of the retiring night-staff. A bus bell clanged. A light in the maternity operating room blazed. I turned up the collar of my meager twill coat. The tension became unbearable.
Slowly, cautiously, a half-foot at a time, I edged toward the door. Concentration engulfed the men.
One—two—three—four. Drip—drip—drip—drip! It struck me that the joy of the winner would be an unholy sight. I could not stay.
My fellow internes, I think I've told you, accuse me of unscientific reactions.
SOLUTION
The ghostly fire that walks the fen,
Tonight thine only light shall be;
On lethal ways thy soul shall pass,
And prove the stealthy, coiled morass,
With mocking mists for company.
On roads thou goest not again,
To shores where thou hast never gone,—
Fare onward, though the shuddering queach
And serpent-rippled waters reach
Like seepage-pools of Acheron,
Beside thee; and the twisten reeds,
Close-raddled as a witch's net,
Enwind thy knees, and cling and clutch
Like wreathing adders; though the touch
Of the blind air be dank and wet,
As from a wounded Thing that bleeds
In cloud and darkness overhead—
Fare onward, where thy dreams of yore
In splendour drape the fetid shore
And pestilential waters dead.
And though the toads' irrision rise,
As grinding of Satanic racks,
And spectral willows, gaunt and grey,
Gibber along thy shrouded way,
Where vipers lie with livid backs,
And watch thee with their sulphurous eyes—
Fare onward, till thy feet shall slip
Deep in the sudden pool ordained,
And all the noisome draught be drained,
That turns to Lethe on the lip.
