Read Online Stranger in Town by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Halliday
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from Shayne to the nurse, and then back to the patient whom he was just ushering out, and ended in a quieter, more professional voice, “Slow down a little, Ed, and don’t worry. Call me in a day or so after I’ve had a chance to go over the results of the test.”
He turned about abruptly and pulled the door of the reception room shut behind him.
Shayne moved forward in a long, unhurried stride, and reached the closed door just as the nurse stepped in front of it and faced him with an embarrassed flush coloring her cheeks.
“I’m sorry but the doctor can’t see you now.”
Shayne looked down at her quizzically. “I told you it was extremely urgent and I’ll be only a few minutes.”
“I’m sorry, but he told me…”
“To explain that he was too busy to see anyone?” The quizzical smile stayed on Shayne’s face and he kept his voice deceptively gentle. “Although he has got time on his hands for a Mint Julep.”
Shayne put a big hand on the nurse’s shoulder and firmly moved her aside. “How does he know I’m not a salesman for bonded Old Racehorse?” He opened the door and strode into a small room outfitted as an office with typewriter desk and filing cases.
The redheaded nurse followed him protesting weakly as he crossed to another closed door marked PRIVATE. He opened it without knocking into another small room that contained a bare mahogany desk, a thick rug on the floor, three deep comfortable chairs, and a swivel chair behind the desk.
Dr. Philbrick stood with his back to him, leaning over the desk with a telephone to his ear. He turned his head to look at Shayne, and his ruddy face was no longer beaming. He replaced the telephone slowly and straightened to face the detective. “This is a private office, sir, and you are intruding.”
Shayne said, “I think there’s some mistake. I telephoned and your nurse made an appointment for me to see you. The name is Shayne.”
“I judged it was,” said the doctor coldly, “when I saw you in the outer office. My nurse had been instructed not to admit you.”
“Why, doctor? You don’t even know what I want.”
“I saw this morning’s Courier. You’re a private detective from Miami who was arrested last night for common drunkenness and disorderly conduct. I can’t conceive what you have to say that could possibly interest me.”
Shayne grinned and said lightly, “I see. I didn’t realize that little affair had made the front pages. I want to ask you some questions about Miss Buttrell, doctor. I represent her father who has asked me to investigate.” He uttered the lie coolly, turning as he did so to an upholstered chair directly in front of the desk.
A change of expression came over the doctor’s face the moment he mentioned Miss Buttrell’s name. It was a curious look, and one that Shayne could not interpret. He couldn’t tell whether it was fear or relief.
Dr. Philbrick hesitated a moment, then seated himself stiffly in the swivel chair. His ruddy face was bland again, though no longer beaming. “Miss Buttrell?” he repeated. “The young girl who lost her memory. Why didn’t you tell my nurse you were an authorized representative of her father?”
Shayne shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me it was necessary to spread the news around that I’m in Brockton investigating the affair. One of the jobs of a private detective is to keep his business as private as possible.”
“Ah… I see.” The doctor’s smile was frosty. “Now that you are here, Mr. Shayne, how can I help you? And how is the child, by the way? Did she respond to treatment and familiar surroundings?”
“Not too well. Not to the extent of recovering her memory. What, in your professional opinion, caused her condition?”
Dr. Philbrick frowned and carefully placed the tips of five fingers against the tips of five others before replying. “Do you mean the precise cause of amnesia, or my opinion as to how she suffered the injury?”
“Both. You see we
He turned about abruptly and pulled the door of the reception room shut behind him.
Shayne moved forward in a long, unhurried stride, and reached the closed door just as the nurse stepped in front of it and faced him with an embarrassed flush coloring her cheeks.
“I’m sorry but the doctor can’t see you now.”
Shayne looked down at her quizzically. “I told you it was extremely urgent and I’ll be only a few minutes.”
“I’m sorry, but he told me…”
“To explain that he was too busy to see anyone?” The quizzical smile stayed on Shayne’s face and he kept his voice deceptively gentle. “Although he has got time on his hands for a Mint Julep.”
Shayne put a big hand on the nurse’s shoulder and firmly moved her aside. “How does he know I’m not a salesman for bonded Old Racehorse?” He opened the door and strode into a small room outfitted as an office with typewriter desk and filing cases.
The redheaded nurse followed him protesting weakly as he crossed to another closed door marked PRIVATE. He opened it without knocking into another small room that contained a bare mahogany desk, a thick rug on the floor, three deep comfortable chairs, and a swivel chair behind the desk.
Dr. Philbrick stood with his back to him, leaning over the desk with a telephone to his ear. He turned his head to look at Shayne, and his ruddy face was no longer beaming. He replaced the telephone slowly and straightened to face the detective. “This is a private office, sir, and you are intruding.”
Shayne said, “I think there’s some mistake. I telephoned and your nurse made an appointment for me to see you. The name is Shayne.”
“I judged it was,” said the doctor coldly, “when I saw you in the outer office. My nurse had been instructed not to admit you.”
“Why, doctor? You don’t even know what I want.”
“I saw this morning’s Courier. You’re a private detective from Miami who was arrested last night for common drunkenness and disorderly conduct. I can’t conceive what you have to say that could possibly interest me.”
Shayne grinned and said lightly, “I see. I didn’t realize that little affair had made the front pages. I want to ask you some questions about Miss Buttrell, doctor. I represent her father who has asked me to investigate.” He uttered the lie coolly, turning as he did so to an upholstered chair directly in front of the desk.
A change of expression came over the doctor’s face the moment he mentioned Miss Buttrell’s name. It was a curious look, and one that Shayne could not interpret. He couldn’t tell whether it was fear or relief.
Dr. Philbrick hesitated a moment, then seated himself stiffly in the swivel chair. His ruddy face was bland again, though no longer beaming. “Miss Buttrell?” he repeated. “The young girl who lost her memory. Why didn’t you tell my nurse you were an authorized representative of her father?”
Shayne shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me it was necessary to spread the news around that I’m in Brockton investigating the affair. One of the jobs of a private detective is to keep his business as private as possible.”
“Ah… I see.” The doctor’s smile was frosty. “Now that you are here, Mr. Shayne, how can I help you? And how is the child, by the way? Did she respond to treatment and familiar surroundings?”
“Not too well. Not to the extent of recovering her memory. What, in your professional opinion, caused her condition?”
Dr. Philbrick frowned and carefully placed the tips of five fingers against the tips of five others before replying. “Do you mean the precise cause of amnesia, or my opinion as to how she suffered the injury?”
“Both. You see we
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