"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 312 - Murder in White" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

who remained on the white bed looked around him carefully. So far so good. But
what lay ahead?
The door re-opened and the resident physician, Dr. Arnold Bennit came in.
He was in his middle forties and his bedside manner was not of the best. His
face was drawn in a tight-mouthed sour line. His narrow, intellectual forehead
was creased. Aside from that he was as anonymous as is anyone who wears a long
white jacket.
He walked to the side of the bed and said, "Thank God . . . or
Aesculapius, you are here. I'm just about really to burst at the seams. I'm
depending on you."
"The first step I should think," said the man on the bed, and if he was
in any pain it certainly didn't show in his strong features, "is to transfer
me into the men's ward. I'm completely isolated from the life of the hospital
here."
"I think you're right. I'll have it done. Have you decided what the
extent of your injuries is?"
"Why, doctor," the man on the bed grinned, "isn't that a rather
remarkable question to ask a patient?"
"You know what I mean... by the way, are you sure the accident went off
all right?"
 "I'm quite sure no one knew it was a fake, if that's what you mean."
"Good enough. But you still haven't answered my question."
"I think a broken arm will be all right, if you'll go to my clothes and
get the gun that you'll find there."
Minutes later the man on the bed had his left arm strapped up in approved
hospital style. The bandages were, perhaps to the discerning eye, a little
bulky around the hand, but there certainly was little chance that anyone
except someone with x-ray eyes would be able to see the hunk of blue steel
that was responsible for the bulge.
Dr. Bennit looked at his peculiar patient and said, "How much do you know
about this mess?"
"I know that you are being held morally responsible for the death of a
patient on the operating table."
"Ummmm." Bennit said and his face became even more sour. "Almost right,
but he died after he left the table and I'm being accused of faulty asepsis. I
swear to you that I observed all the many necessary requirements. I was as
germ-free as it is humanly possible to be... and yet Thomas Melltin, man about
town and prominent industrialist died from an operation that was a hundred to
one in his favor."
The man with the bandaged arm moved it slightly in its sling and said,
"That's all you have to tell me, doctor?"
The doctor ran his hands down the sides of his white smock and his face
was bitter. "I have no idea how much you really know. You're as poker-faced as
that young lad we have down in the dispensary. What do you know?"
"I know that you were involved in some kind of business transaction with
Melltin before his death."
"Then you know that besides everything else I have a motive... a money
motive. For we had an agreement among the three of us that if one of us died
the others would divvy up the dead man's share."
"Who is the other survivor?''