Randall brought in the glasses, put them down, then went into the bedroom, opening the door for the purpose just enough to let him slip in. Cynthia was just as he had come to expect her to be. He shifted her position a trifle, in the belief that any position grows tiring even to a person unconscious, then smoothed the coverlet. He looked at her and thought about Hoag and Potbury’s warnings against Hoag. Was Hoag as dangerous as the doctor seemed to think? Was he, Randall, even now playing into his hands?
No, Hoag could not hurt him now. When the worst has happened any change is an improvement. The death of both of them — or even Cyn’s death alone, for then he would simply follow her. That he had decided earlier in the day — and he didn’t give a damn who called it cowardly!
No — if Hoag were responsible for this, at least he had shot his bolt. He went back into the living room.
Hoag’s beer was still untouched. “Drink up,” Randall invited, sitting down and reaching for his own glass. Hoag complied, having the good sense not to offer a toast nor even to raise his glass in the gesture of one. Randall looked him over with tired curiosity. “I don’t understand you, Hoag.”
“I don’t understand myself, Mr. Randall.”
“Why did you come here?”
Hoag spread his hands helplessly. “To inquire about Mrs. Randall. To find out what it is that I have done to her. To make up for it, if I can.”
“You admit you did it?”
“No, Mr. Randall. No. I don’t see how I could possibly have done anything to Mrs. Randall yesterday morning — ”
“You forget that I saw you.”
“But — What did I do?”
“You cornered Mrs. Randall in a corridor of the Midway-Copton Building and tried to choke her.”
“Oh, dear! But — you saw me do this?”
“No, not exactly. I was — ” Randall stopped, realizing how it was going to sound to tell Hoag that he had not seen him in one part of the building because he was busy watching Hoag in another part of the building.
“Go on, Mr. Randall, please.”
Randall got nervously to his feet. “It’s no use,” he snapped. “I don’t know what you did. I don’t know that you did anything! All I know is this: Since the first day you walked in that door, odd things have been happening to my wife and me — evil things — and now she’s lying in there as if she were dead. She’s — ” He stopped and covered his face with his hands.
He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Mr. Randall…please, Mr. Randall. I’m sorry and I would like to help.”
“I don’t know how anyone can help — unless you know some way of waking up my wife. Do you, Mr. Hoag?”
Hoag shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid I don’t. Tell me — what is the matter with her? I don’t know yet.”
“There isn’t much to tell. She didn’t wake up this morning. She acts as if she never would wake up.”
“You’re sure she’s not…dead?”
“No, she’s not dead.”
“You had a doctor, of course. What did he say?”
“He told me not to move her and to watch her closely.”
“Yes, but what did he say was the matter with her?”
“He called it lethargica gravis.”
“Lethargica gravis! Was that all he called it?”
“Yes — why?”
“But didn’t he attempt to diagnose it?”
“That was his diagnosis — lethargica gravis.”
Hoag still seemed puzzled. “But, Mr. Randall, that isn’t a diagnosis; it is just a pompous way of saying ‘heavy sleep.’ It really doesn’t mean anything. It’s like telling a man with skin trouble that he has dermatitis, or a man with stomach trouble that he has gastritis. What tests did he make?”
“Uh…I don’t know. I — ”
“Did he take a sample with a stomach pump?”
“No.”
“X ray?”
“No, there wasn’t any way to.”
“Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Randall, that a doctor just walked in, took a look at her, and walked out again, without doing anything for her, or applying any tests, or bringing in a consulting opinion? Was he your family doctor?”