He did indeed look tired and pale, so she hurried him
back to bed. The next day and the next this was repeated. Then
came his chance. His nurse was going to a lecture in the
assembly room on the first floor. She would be gone a couple of
hours.
She placed the Wolf in his chair by the window, looked at his
bandages, set a bell beside him, and left a pile of magazines on
the wide window sill at his elbow. Then, with repeated warnings
to rest and not overdo, she left him.
As soon as he heard the last light pad-pad of the girl's
rubber-heeled shoes, the Wolf stood up. He stood firmly. He
tied the bathrobe about him and went to the door. There he
waited, listening. All was quiet. He opened the door a little.
As he did so, a nurse and a doctor came out of the Weasel's room,
went slowly down the ball, and turned into a room at the corner.
The Wolf listened more intently still, and went out into the
hall. Between the room occupied by the Wolf and the one where
the Weasel lay, there was a space. A table and a chair stood
there. It was where the night nurse sat. On it was a writing
tablet, pens, ink, and a couple of little bottles. One of them
caught the eye of the Wolf. The blue color of the glass told him
that it was a deadly poison even before lie read the label.
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