As I say, one gets all worked up to imagine all sorts of foolishness sometimes.
I prowled round the room uneasily, touching this and that. But, of course, there wasn’t anything in the room but bare furniture. There was nothing slipped behind drawers or tucked away. I couldn’t hope for anything of that kind.
In the end (it sounds rather batty, but as I say, one gets worked up) I did rather a queer thing.
I went and lay down in the bed and closed my eyes.
I deliberately tried to forget who and what I was. I tried to think myself back to that fatal afternoon. I was Mrs Leidner lying here resting, peaceful and unsuspicious.
It’s extraordinary how you can work yourself up.
I’m a perfectly normal matter-of-fact individual—not the least bit spooky, but I tell you that after I’d lain there about five minutes I began to feel spooky.
I didn’t try to resist. I deliberately encouraged the feeling.
I said to myself: ‘I’m Mrs Leidner. I’m Mrs Leidner. I’m lying here—half asleep. Presently—very soon now—the door’s going to open.’
I kept on saying that—as though I were hypnotizing myself.
‘It’s just about half-past one…it’s just about the time…The door is going to open…the door is going to open…I shall see who comes in…’
I kept my eyes glued on that door. Presently it was going to open. I should see it open. And I should see the person who opened it.
I must have been a little over-wrought that afternoon to imagine I could solve the mystery that way.
But I did believe it. A sort of chill passed down my back and settled in my legs. They felt numb—paralysed.
‘You’re going into a trance,’ I said. ‘And in that trance you’ll see…’
And once again I repeated monotonously again and again:
‘The door is going to open—the door is going to open…’
The cold numbed feeling grew more intense.
And then, slowly, I saw the door just beginning to open.
It was horrible.
I’ve never known anything so horrible before or since.
I was paralysed—chilled through and through. I couldn’t move. For the life of me I couldn’t have moved.
And I was terrified. Sick and blind and dumb with terror.
That slowly opening door.
So noiseless.
In a minute I should see…
Slowly—slowly—wider and wider.
Bill Coleman came quietly in.
He must have had the shock of his life!
I bounded off the bed with a scream of terror and hurled myself across the room.
He stood stock-still, his blunt pink face pinker and his mouth opened wide with surprise.
‘Hallo-allo-allo,’ he said. ‘What’s up, nurse?’
I came back to reality with a crash.
‘Goodness, Mr Coleman,’ I said. ‘How you startled me!’
‘Sorry,’ he said with a momentary grin.
I saw then that he was holding a little bunch of scarlet ran unculus in his hand. They were pretty little flowers and they grew wild on the sides of the Tell. Mrs Leidner had been fond of them.
He blushed and got rather red as he said: ‘One can’t get any flowers or things in Hassanieh. Seemed rather rotten not to have any flowers for the grave. I thought I’d just nip in here and put a little posy in that little pot thing she always had flowers in on her table. Sort of show she wasn’t forgotten—eh? A bit asinine, I know, but—well—I mean to say.’
I thought it was very nice of him. He was all pink with embarrassment like Englishmen are when they’ve done anything sentimental. I thought it was a very sweet thought.
‘Why, I think that’s a very nice idea, Mr Coleman,’ I said.
And I picked up the little pot and went and got some water in it and we put the flowers in.
I really thought much more of Mr Coleman for this idea of his. It showed he had a heart and nice feelings about things.
He didn’t ask me again what made me let out such a squeal and I’m thankful he didn’t. I should have felt a fool explaining.
‘Stick to common sense in future, woman,’ I said to myself as I settled my cuffs and smoothed my apron. ‘You’re not cut out for this psychic stuff.’