“You’ve got a very sick woman on your hands, Mr. Randall.”
“Yes, I know she is-but what’s the matter with her?”
“Lethargica gravis, brought on by psychic trauma.”
“Is that-serious?”
“Quite serious enough. If you take proper care of her, I expect she will pull through.”
“Anything, doctor, anything. Money’s no object. What do we do now? Take her to a hospital?”
Potbury brushed the suggestion aside. “Worst thing in the world for her. If she wakes up in strange surroundings, she may go off again. Keep her here. Can you arrange your affairs so as to watch her yourself?”
“You bet I can.”
“Then do so. Stay with her night and day. If she wakes up, the most favorable condition will be for her to find herself in her own bed with you awake and near her.”
“Oughtn’t she to have a nurse?”
“I wouldn’t say so. There isn’t much that can be done for her, except to keep her covered up warm. You might keep her feet a little higher than her head. Put a couple of books under each of the lower feet of the bed.”
“Right away.”
“If this condition persists for more than a week or so, we’ll have to see about glucose injections, or something of the sort.” Potbury stooped over, closed his bag and picked it up. “Telephone me if there is any change in her condition.”
“I will. I-” Randall stopped suddenly; the doctor’s last remark reminded him of something he had forgotten. “Doctor-how did you find your way over here?”
Potbury looked startled. “What do you mean? This place isn’t hard to find.”
“But I didn’t give you the address.”
“Eh? Nonsense.”
“But I didn’t. I remembered the oversight just a few minutes later and called your office back, but you had already left.”
“I didn’t say you gave it to me today,” Potbury said testily; “you gave it to me yesterday.”
Randall thought it over. He had offered Potbury his credentials the day before, but they contained only his business address. True, his home telephone was listed, but it was listed simply as a night business number, without address, both in his credentials and in the phone book. Perhaps Cynthia-
But he could not ask Cynthia and the thought of her drove minor considerations out of his mind. “Are you sure there is nothing else I should do, doctor?” he asked anxiously.
“Nothing. Stay here and watch her.”
“I will. But I surely wish I were twins for a while,” he added emphatically.
“Why?” Potbury inquired, as he gathered up his gloves and turned toward the door.
“That guy Hoag. I’ve got a score to settle with him. Never mind-I’ll put somebody else on his tail until I have a chance to settle his hash myself.”
Potbury had wheeled around and was looking at him ominously. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Your place is here.”
“Sure, sure-but I want to keep him on ice. One of these days I’m going to take him apart to see what makes him tick!”
“Young man,” Potbury said slowly, “I want you to promise me that you will have nothing to do in any way with . . . with this man you mentioned.”
Randall glanced toward the bed. “In view of what has happened,” he said savagely, “do you think I’m going to let him get away scot-free?”
“In the name of- Look. I’m older than you are and I’ve learned to expect silliness and stupidity. Still-how much does it take to teach you that some things are too dangerous to monkey with?” He gestured toward Cynthia. “How can you expect me to be responsible for her recovery if you insist on doing things that might bring on a catastrophe?”
“But-listen, Dr. Potbury, I told you that I intended to follow your instructions about her. But I’m not going to just forget what he has done. If she dies . . . if she dies, so help me, I’ll take him apart with a rusty ax!”
Potbury did not answer at once. When he did all he said was, “And if she doesn’t die?”
“If she doesn’t die, my first business is here, taking care of her. But don’t expect me to promise to forget Hoag. I won’t-and that’s final.”