preferred death to defeat; in other words, he’d have explained my choice of Adams, the mission itself, in terms of a Freudian death wish. You can bet that’s what he would have said. But who cares. Asking for this Frenchman’s help was tantamount to violating the mountain climber’s code: I was giving him the lead so he could pull me up on the rope. But better that than total disaster: I had no intention of winding up a loser.
“Let’s talk about methodology.” Barth’s voice roused me from my thoughts. “First of all, the class of victims, the mode of differentiation. In this regard you proceeded far too arbitrarily.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The fact that the incidents didn’t form categories of their own but were arbitrarily categorized as relevant or irrelevant. Your criteria were death and insanity, or at least insanity, even when the latter failed to result in death. Compare the behavior of Swift and Adams. Swift, you might say, went publicly insane, whereas if it hadn’t been for Adams’s letter to his wife, you never would have found out about his hallucinations. And there’s no telling how many other cases there were like that.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “but that’s inevitable. What you’ve just accused us of is the classic dilemma of every investigation into the unknown. Before its limits can be defined the agent of causality must be identified, but before the agent of causality can be identified one must first of all define the subject under investigation.”
He looked at me with undisguised approval.
“Well, well, I see you’re well versed in the language, too. But it surely wasn’t the detectives who taught it to you, now was it?”
I said nothing in reply. He sat rubbing his chin.
“Yes, that is indeed the classic dilemma of induction. But let’s turn to some of the discarded facts, to the false clues. Were there any promising leads that in the end proved useless?”
Now it was my turn to look at him with approval.
“Yes, one very interesting one. We really had our hopes pinned on it. Before leaving for Italy all of the American victims had been patients at one of Dr. Stella’s clinics. You’ve heard of Dr. Stella, I suppose?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“People say different things about him—some consider him to be one of the best, others claim he’s a quack. Whenever one of his patients was suffering from rheumatism, he would prescribe the mineral baths in Naples.”
“What!”
“I jumped, too, when I heard that, but it turned out to be a false lead. He considered the baths around Vesuvius to be far and away the best, even though we have more than our share in the States. The ones who were talked into making the trip were in the minority, for it isn’t true that all Americans are spendthrifts. If a patient said he couldn’t afford a trip to Vesuvius, Stella would send him to an American health spa. We tracked down these people—they numbered about a hundred—and found them all safe and sound. Some of the patients were just as handicapped as before, but in any case we didn’t come across a single fatality of the Italian type. Most of them died of natural causes—heart disease, cancer…”
“I assume they were married, had families of their own,” said Barth, distracted by some thought or other.
I couldn’t help smiling.
“Doctor, now you’re resorting to the same kind of crazy parlance, the same cliches, as those people in the agency… As a matter of fact, most of them did have families, but then there was no shortage of widowers and old bachelors among them, either. Besides, since when are wives and children an antidote? And an antidote against what?”
“You can’t reach the truth without crossing a sea of mistakes,” Barth said sententiously but with a wry look in his eye. “And do you happen to know how many patients this Dr. Stella sent to Naples?”
“Yes, I do know. And this is one of the most bizarre coincidences of all. Every time I think about it I feel like I’m on the verge of cracking the case. Altogether he sent twenty-nine rheumatic patients, including five of our Americans: Osborn, Brunner, Coburn, Heyne, and Swift.”
“Five of the seven Americans?”
“That’s right. Neither Emmings nor Adams had gone to Stella’s clinic for treatment. Nor had Brigg, but then, as you know, he was never classified as a victim.”
“This is all extremely relevant. And the other twenty-four patients?”
“I know the statistics by heart. Sixteen of them had been sent before any of the incidents in question had taken place. All returned safely to the States. Last year he sent thirteen. Five of the victims came from this group.”
“Five of the thirteen? And of the eight who survived, were there any conforming to the ‘model victim’?”
“Three of them, in fact. All single men, financially well off, and in their fifties. All safely returned. All alive.”
“Only men? Didn’t Stella ever treat women?”
“He did treat women. Prior to the deaths in question he sent four women to Italy, two just last year. None this year.”
“How do you explain this disproportion between the sexes?”
“Stella’s clinics first became famous as treatment centers for men. Potency disorders, falling hair… Later this was played down, but Stella still has the image of being a man’s doctor. So there’s a very logical explanation for the disproportion.”
“Still, the fact remains… not a single woman was included among the victims, even though Europe has its share of elderly ladies, too. Does Stella operate any clinics in Europe?”
“No. The European victims never came into contact with Stella. That’s pretty safe to assume, since none of them had visited the States within the previous five years.”
“Did you ever consider the possibility that there might be two separate operations—one for the Americans, another for the Europeans?”
“We did consider that. We compared both groups within the same set, but nothing came of it.”
“Why did he insist on sending his patients to Naples and not somewhere else?”
“Very simple. He’s a second-generation Italian, Ms family comes from somewhere around Naples, and he probably stood to make a profit through his connections with some of the local balneologists, such as Dr. Giono. Medical confidentiality prevented our gaining access to the correspondence, but it’s only logical that a doctor on the other side of the ocean would recommend patients to Ms Italian colleagues. At any rate, we didn’t uncover anything suspicious in their relationship. I suppose that for every patient he recommended he received a certain percentage.”
“How do you explain that mysterious blank letter delivered after Mittelhorn’s death?”
“I suspect it was sent by a member of Mittelhorn’s own family, someone who was familiar with the circumstances of his death and who was as eager as Mrs. Barbour to see the investigation continued but who, for one reason or another, couldn’t or didn’t want to intervene as openly as she did. Someone who had good reason to believe a crime had been committed and was trying to stir up suspicion so the police would keep the case open. The letter was postmarked Switzerland, where Mittelhorn had a number of relatives…”
“Were there any drug addicts among Dr. Stella’s patients?”
“Two, neither of them heavy users and both of them elderly men—one a widower, the other a bachelor. Arrived last year around the end of May, beginning of June, took the baths, sunbathed regularly—in short, did everything that according to the statistics should have exposed them to the maximum danger. But the fact is both returned safe and sound. And I shouldn’t forget to mention that one was allergic to pollen and the other to strawberries!”
“How disastrous!” exclaimed Barth, but neither of us was in the mood to laugh.
“You figured it was the allergy, didn’t you? So did I.”
“What kind of drugs were they taking?”
“Marijuana in the case of the one with the strawberry allergy. The one with hay fever was taking LSD, but only once in a while. His supply ran out just before he flew back to the States; that’s probably why he quit the baths and left ahead of schedule. In Naples he couldn’t get Ms hands on the stuff. The police had just busted up a huge Middle Eastern ring based in Italy, trafficking had stopped, and the suppliers who hadn’t been arrested were lying low.”
“And the one with the strawberry allergy…” mumbled Barth. “Well, that takes care of that. What about those
