A moment later the surgeon came into the debriefing room, still wearing his surgical gown. He was a thin man with a placid face, probably the best surgeon in all of England, and selected for this job on a need to know basis. At the moment he was dying of curiosity which neither J nor Lord L intended to satisfy. Lord L had tossed a cover over the bloody lance on the table.
'He'll do,' the surgeon said. 'Do very well, though it will take time. I'd like him kept in the intensive care unit for a week or so. I'll see him every day, of course, but recovery should be routine. Amazing man. Built like an ox and with the constitution of one. Lost nearly all his blood, still survived. Looks like he has been through a meat grinder, though. Old, partly healed wound in the thigh, any number of lesser cuts and abrasions, but it was the damage in the region of the axilla that nearly did for him. Terrible wound. I've seen bayonet wounds like it. Damned near thing, too, for the weapon, whatever it was, stopped just short of the lobar region. Another half inch and - well, no point in discussing that. It didn't happen.'
J broke into the machine gun delivery. 'So he is going to be all right? Recover? As good as new?'
Bates-Denby smiled. 'Outlive us all.'
Lord L said, 'Thank you, doctor. We're very grateful.'
The surgeon understood the dismissal, but lingered. He looked wistful. 'I don't suppose you chaps are going to tell me anything? I am a bit curious about the weapon, you know. Terrible wound. Ripped out a good two or three pounds of flesh.'
They gazed at him in silence. Bates-Denby shook his head. 'No? I didn't suppose so, really. Well then, cheerio. I'll be on my way - got a thing at Barts in half an hour.'
At the door the surgeon turned back a moment. 'Oh, yes. He did say a funny thing just as he went under. Thought it might mean something to you chaps.'
J and Lord Leighton said it in unison: 'What did he say?'
Bates-Denby shook his head. 'Made no sense at all to me, naturally. He said. 'Maybe the Russian was right.''
They waited. The surgeon shrugged his shoulders.
J said, 'That was all?'
'That was all. Just that - 'Maybe the Russian was right.''
When the surgeon had gone J and Lord Leighton stared at each other. Lord L spoke first. 'So he found your man, J. And must have killed him. Now you can rest a little easier. Sleep better tonight.'
J didn't, of course. He rolled and tossed all night long.
'Maybe the Russian was right.'
What could Blade have meant?
