Brennan received this interpretation coldly. “They are gestures that help to maintain good will between one profession and another, that is all.”
“Rather expensive gestures,” Purbright remarked. He was looking closely at the stethoscope he had kept in his hand after dropping the others back in the case. “I don’t know much about these things, but this seems to be of fairly advanced design.”
“Oh, it is. This type is extremely sensitive. Electronics, of course.”
Brennan moved close. He held the black box lightly in his open palm.
“In here are the transistors, battery, and so forth. It is a very small radio set, in fact.” His fingers, the inspector noticed, bore several black grease smears. “You simply press this switch and you can hear a heart making a noise like an ocean liner.”
Purbright gave the switch experimental pressure, but Brennan shook his head.
“No, no—it is designed to work only when the earpieces are extended in use. To prevent accidental battery wear, you see.”
“And what’s this?” The inspector peered at the lettering he indicated with one finger immediately below the switch.
“
For some time Purbright continued to stare at the tiny moulded letters. Then, without taking his eyes off them, he beckoned.
“Sergeant...”
Love, who had been stooping to look under the car, stood upright and came to Purbright’s side.
“Read that out loud, will you.” Purbright told him.
“Vurze...” He hesitated, and made a second attempt. “Vurzetarker...” He looked inquiringly at the inspector. “Is that right?”
“It will do, sergeant. It will do very nicely.”
Love withdrew and resumed his painstaking scrutiny of the car’s underbelly, watched impassively by Miss Teatime.
“Did Dr Meadow,” Purbright asked Brennan, “possess one of these stethoscopes?”
“No. They are a completely new line. As a matter of fact, I intended to give him one that day when he collapsed. If you remember, I was waiting to see him.”
“And you had it on you, did you?”
Brennan agreed, almost eagerly, that he had indeed been carrying the instrument intended for Dr Meadow.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “This lady must have noticed it sticking from my pocket and concluded that I had stolen it!”
“That could be the explanation, sir.”
“Could? It must be. Does a man with a case full of beautiful instruments like this steal an old stethoscope from some little country doctor?”
Purbright smilingly conceded that such behaviour was most unlikely. He was sorry that Mr Brennan—or Dr Brunnen, rather—had been subjected to inconvenience.
Brennan (or Brunnen) bowed. Not at all. These little misunderstandings did arise from time to time. He quite understood. Perhaps now that the matter had been cleared up, however...
In the midst of this mutual affability, Purbright had been keeping a wary eye on the progress of Sergeant Love. By now, he had methodically worked round to the front of the car and had just raised the lid of the engine compartment.
“Excuse me a moment, sir,” Purbright said to Brennan. “We might as well finish the formalities.”
He casually walked over to join Love and leaned with him over the engine.
“If it’s anywhere,” he murmured very softly, “it’s in here. He’s still got oil on his hands.”
Both men peered intently into every recess, every conceivable hiding place from end to end of the engine compartment. Love probed beneath the cylinder block and behind the clutch housing and would have unscrewed both the radiator and oil filler caps had not Purbright dissuaded him.
The search revealed nothing.
Purbright was the first to straighten up. He took care not to sigh too obviously. The sergeant remained dutifully inclined over the engine for a few minutes more. Then he, too, stepped back.
Purbright looked towards Brennan.
“That appears to be all, then, sir,” he said. He motioned Love to close the lid.
“Excuse me, inspector.”
Purbright turned to find beside him the small figure of Miss Teatime. She was gazing pensively at the car.
“That model, if I remember rightly,” she said, “is fitted with a one-and-a-half litre engine.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Purbright, more abruptly than he had intended.
