shan’t keep you long,’ said Phillips and opened the door.
Ruth, with a distracted and guilty look at her brother, gathered herself up and blundered out of the room.
O’Callaghan had relapsed into unconsciousness. Nurse Graham uncovered the abdomen and Phillips with his long inquisitive fingers pressed it there—and there—and there. His eyes were closed and his brain seemed to be in his hands.
‘That will do,’ he said suddenly. ‘It looks like peritonitis. He’s in a bad way. I’ve warned them we may need the theatre.’ The nurse covered the patient and in answer to a nod from Phillips fetched the two women. As soon as they came in, Phillips turned to Lady O’Callaghan but did not look at her. ‘The operation should be performed immediately,’ he said. ‘Will you allow me to try to get hold of Somerset Black?’
‘But you, Sir John, won’t you do it yourself?’
Phillips walked over to the window and stared out.
‘You wish me to operate?’ he said at last.
‘Of course I do. I know that sometimes surgeons dislike operating on their friends, but unless you feel—I do hope—I beg you to do it.’
‘Very well.’
He returned to the patient.
‘Nurse,’ he said, ‘tell them to get Dr Thoms. He’s in the hospital and has been warned that an operation may be necessary. Ring up Dr Grey and arrange for the anæsthetic—I’ll speak to him myself. Tell the theatre sister I’ll operate as soon as they are ready. Now, Lady O’Callaghan, if you don’t mind leaving the patient, Nurse will show you where you can wait.’
The nurse opened the door and the others moved away from the bed. At the threshold they were arrested by a kind of stifled cry. They turned and looked back to the bed. Derek O’Callaghan had opened his eyes and was staring as if hypnotized at Phillips.
‘Don’t—’ he said. ‘Don’t—let—’
His lips moved convulsively. A curious whining sound came from them. For a moment or two he struggled for speech and then suddenly his head fell back.
‘Come along, Lady O’Callaghan,’ said the nurse gently. ‘He doesn’t know what he is saying, you know.’
In the anteroom of the theatre two nurses and a sister prepared for the operation.
‘Now you mustn’t forget,’ said Sister Marigold, who was also the matron of the hospital, ‘that Sir John likes his instruments left on the tray. He does not like them handed to him.’
She covered a tray of instruments and Jane Harden carried it into the theatre.
‘It’s a big responsibility,’ said the sister chattily, ‘for a surgeon, in a case of this sort. It would be a terrible catastrophe for the country if anything happened to Sir Derek O’Callaghan. The only strong man in the Government, in my opinion.’
Nurse Banks, an older woman than her superior, looked up from the sterilising apparatus.
‘The biggest tyrant of the lot,’ she remarked surprisingly.
‘Nurse! What did you say?’
‘My politics are not Sir Derek O’Callaghan’s, Matron, and I don’t care who knows it.’
Jane Harden returned from the theatre. Sister Marigold cast an indignant glance at Nurse Banks and said briefly:
‘Did you look at the hyoscine solution, Nurse, and the anti-gas ampoule?’
‘Yes, Matron.’
‘Gracious, child, you look very white. Are you all right?’
‘Quite, thank you,’ answered Jane. She busied herself with tins of sterilized dressings. After another glance at her, the matron returned to the attack on Nurse Banks.
‘Of course, Nurse, we all know you are a Bolshie. Still, you can’t deny greatness when you see it. Now Sir Derek is my idea of a big—a really big man.’
‘And for that reason he’s the more devilish,’ announced Banks with remarkable venom. ‘He’s done murderous things since he’s been in office. Look at his Casual Labour Bill of last year. He’s directly responsible for every death from undernourishment that has occurred during the last ten months. He’s the enemy of the proletariat. If I had my way he’d be treated as a common murderer or else as a homicidal maniac. He ought to be certified. There is insanity in his blood. Everybody knows his father was dotty. That’s what I think of your Derek O’Callaghan with a title bought with blood-money,’ said Banks, making a great clatter with sterilized bowls.
‘Then perhaps’—Sister Marigold’s voice was ominously quiet—‘perhaps you’ll explain what you’re doing working for Sir John Phillips. Perhaps his title was bought with blood-money too.’
‘As long as this rotten system stands, we’ve got to live,’ declared Banks ambiguously, ‘but it won’t be for ever and I’ll be the first to declare myself when the time comes. O’Callaghan will have to go and all his blood-sucking bourgeois party with him. It would be a fine thing for the people if he went now. There, Matron!’
‘It would be a better thing if you went yourself, Nurse Banks, and if I had another theatre nurse free, go you would. I’m ashamed of you. You talk about a patient like that—what are you thinking of?’
‘I can’t help it if my blood boils.’
‘There’s a great deal too much blood, boiling or not, in your conversation.’
With the air of one silenced but not defeated, Banks set out a table with hypodermic appliances and wheeled it into the theatre.
‘Really, Nurse Harden,’ said Sister Marigold, ‘I’m ashamed of that woman. The vindictiveness! She ought not to be here. One might almost think she would—’ Matron paused, unable to articulate the enormity of her thought.
‘No such—thing,’ said Jane. ‘I’d be more likely to do him harm than she.’
‘And that’s an outside chance,’ declared matron more genially. ‘I must say, Nurse Harden, you’re the best theatre nurse I’ve had for a long time. A real compliment, my dear, because I’m very particular. Are we ready? Yes. And here come the doctors.’
Jane put her hands behind her back and stood to attention. Sister Marigold assumed an air of efficient repose. Nurse Banks appeared for a moment in the doorway, seemed to recollect something, and returned to the theatre.
Sir John Phillips came in followed by Thoms, his assistant, and the anæsthetist. Thoms was fat, scarlet-faced and industriously facetious. Dr Roberts was a thin, sandy-haired man, with a deprecating manner. He took off his spectacles and polished them.
‘Ready, Matron?’ asked Phillips.
‘Quite ready, Sir John.’
‘Dr Roberts will give the anæsthetic. Dr Grey is engaged. We were lucky to get you, Roberts, at such short notice.’
