Read Online A Puzzle for fools by Patrick Quentin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Quentin
Tags: Crime
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As Moreno crossed to my side, I couldn't help wondering at his eagerness to get me out of the room. And that wasn't the only thing that puzzled me. Lenz knew as well as I that strange things had been going on in the sanitarium. He himself had first called my attention to them. And yet he seemed to have made no attempt to tell Green.
Moreno conducted me to the door and paused on the threshold.
"Of course," he said curtly, "you will tell none of the other patients about this, Mr. Duluth. And you mustn't think too much about it yourself. You are not a normal man yet, you know."
10
AS I stepped out into the corridor, I heard Dr. Stevens* voice from the room behind me.
"If you gentlemen can do without me, I'll be getting back to surgery. I'll be there if you need me."
He hurried out of the room and joined me in the passage. As we walked away in silence, I had the distinct impression that he wanted to ask me something. He proved me right by exclaiming with rather forced heartiness:
"Well, Duluth, that's a bad way to begin the day, but the old schedule must go on. How about coming to the surgery with me? We can get your daily check-up done."
I agreed and followed him to the surgery, one of those gleaming, hygienic places with white painted closets and glass-topped tables. There's something about a surgery that always intimidates me. The smell of antiseptic, the gleaming knives in the glass cabinets, the rolls of bandages, remind one with unpleasant force of one's inevitable exit. I sat down in a hard shiny chair and watched Stevens pace restlessly up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. With his plump pink cheeks and china blue eyes he looked like a large cherub giving an impudent imitation of an agitated doctor.
Erratically he ran through his regular questionnaire and made the correct hieroglyphics on my chart. Then, instead of dismissing me, he sat down and stared at me over the instruments and bandages.
"What do you think about all this?" he asked bluntly.
By now I had grown used to being treated like a prison trusty. Apparently there's no one who inspires more gratuitous confidences than an alcoholic in a mental home.
"I don't think anything in particular," I replied wearily.
"But that Green fellow," persisted the anxious cherub, "he won't even consider the possibility of an accident. Do you think it's murder?"
"My stage training has taught me that people who are found trussed up in grotesque positions are always the victims of some dastardly crime," I said, trying out of sheer self-preservation to take the whole business flippantly. "There seems no motive, but then you don't need motives in a place like this."
"That's exactly the point." Stevens rose to his feet, crossed aimlessly to a closet and sat down again. "Listen, Duluth, I want to ask you something in confidence. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm just a plain medical man whose business is to keep tabs on your bowels and bellyaches. But I'm particularly interested in this beastly affair and I'd like to know whether you, as an inmate, have any suspicions. Of course, I've no right to ask, but even so ..."
"I'm afraid I haven't a single idea," I put in quickly. "And I'd let you know if I did. From what I see of my fellow sufferers, they're a pretty harmless lot and I, for one, wouldn't expect any of them to murder me."
Stevens picked up his stethoscope and started to toy with it nervously. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Duluth. And there's a special reason. You see, I have a relative who's a patient here in the sanitarium. He's my half-brother, in fact. He got into quite a nasty mess, and I persuaded him to come all the way from California because I thought so highly of Lenz. You can understand my problem. I wouldn't want him to stay if I felt there was any real danger. And yet I don't want to send him away unless it's absolutely necessary. They've been decent to me here and as a resident member of the staff I have a financial interest in the sanitarium.
Moreno conducted me to the door and paused on the threshold.
"Of course," he said curtly, "you will tell none of the other patients about this, Mr. Duluth. And you mustn't think too much about it yourself. You are not a normal man yet, you know."
10
AS I stepped out into the corridor, I heard Dr. Stevens* voice from the room behind me.
"If you gentlemen can do without me, I'll be getting back to surgery. I'll be there if you need me."
He hurried out of the room and joined me in the passage. As we walked away in silence, I had the distinct impression that he wanted to ask me something. He proved me right by exclaiming with rather forced heartiness:
"Well, Duluth, that's a bad way to begin the day, but the old schedule must go on. How about coming to the surgery with me? We can get your daily check-up done."
I agreed and followed him to the surgery, one of those gleaming, hygienic places with white painted closets and glass-topped tables. There's something about a surgery that always intimidates me. The smell of antiseptic, the gleaming knives in the glass cabinets, the rolls of bandages, remind one with unpleasant force of one's inevitable exit. I sat down in a hard shiny chair and watched Stevens pace restlessly up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. With his plump pink cheeks and china blue eyes he looked like a large cherub giving an impudent imitation of an agitated doctor.
Erratically he ran through his regular questionnaire and made the correct hieroglyphics on my chart. Then, instead of dismissing me, he sat down and stared at me over the instruments and bandages.
"What do you think about all this?" he asked bluntly.
By now I had grown used to being treated like a prison trusty. Apparently there's no one who inspires more gratuitous confidences than an alcoholic in a mental home.
"I don't think anything in particular," I replied wearily.
"But that Green fellow," persisted the anxious cherub, "he won't even consider the possibility of an accident. Do you think it's murder?"
"My stage training has taught me that people who are found trussed up in grotesque positions are always the victims of some dastardly crime," I said, trying out of sheer self-preservation to take the whole business flippantly. "There seems no motive, but then you don't need motives in a place like this."
"That's exactly the point." Stevens rose to his feet, crossed aimlessly to a closet and sat down again. "Listen, Duluth, I want to ask you something in confidence. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm just a plain medical man whose business is to keep tabs on your bowels and bellyaches. But I'm particularly interested in this beastly affair and I'd like to know whether you, as an inmate, have any suspicions. Of course, I've no right to ask, but even so ..."
"I'm afraid I haven't a single idea," I put in quickly. "And I'd let you know if I did. From what I see of my fellow sufferers, they're a pretty harmless lot and I, for one, wouldn't expect any of them to murder me."
Stevens picked up his stethoscope and started to toy with it nervously. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Duluth. And there's a special reason. You see, I have a relative who's a patient here in the sanitarium. He's my half-brother, in fact. He got into quite a nasty mess, and I persuaded him to come all the way from California because I thought so highly of Lenz. You can understand my problem. I wouldn't want him to stay if I felt there was any real danger. And yet I don't want to send him away unless it's absolutely necessary. They've been decent to me here and as a resident member of the staff I have a financial interest in the sanitarium.
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