“What goes with Earl?” I asked him. “He think he’s Valentino or something?”
He made with the eyebrows again. They fascinated me. Parts of them curled off all by themselves as much as an inch and a half. He shrugged his meaty shoulders.
“Earl is quite harmless, Mr. Marlowe. He is—at times—a little dreamy. Lives in a play world, shall we say?”
“You say it, Doc. From where I stand he plays rough.”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Marlowe. You exaggerate surely. Earl likes to dress himself up. He is childlike in that respect,”
“You mean he’s a nut,” I said. “This place some kind of sanitarium, isn’t it? Or was?”
“Certainly not. When it was in operation it was an artists’ colony. I provided meals, lodging, facilities for exercise and entertainment, and above all seclusion. And for moderate fees. Artists, as you probably know, are seldom wealthy people. In the term artists I of course include writers, musicians, and so on. It was a rewarding occupation for me—while it lasted.”
He looked sad when he said this. The eyebrows drooped at the outer corners to match his mouth. Give them a little more growth and they would be in his mouth.
“I know that,” I said. “It’s in the file. Also the suicide you had here a while back. A dope case, wasn’t it?”
He stopped drooping and bristled. “What file?” he asked sharply.
“We’ve got a file on what we call the barred-window boys, Doctor. Places where you can’t jump out of when the French fits take over. Small private sanitariums or what have you that treat alcoholics and dopers and mild cases of mania.”
“Such places must be licensed by law,” Dr. Verringer said harshly.
“Yeah. In theory anyway. Sometimes they kind of forget about that.”
He drew himself up stiffly. The guy had a kind of dignity, at that. “The suggestion is insulting, Mr. Marlowe. I have no knowledge of why my name should be on any such list as you mention. I must ask you to leave.”
“Let’s get back to Wade. Could he be here under another name, maybe?”
“There is no one here but Earl and myself. We are quite alone. Now if you will excuse me—”
“I’d like to look around.”
Sometimes you can get them mad enough to say something off key. But not Dr. Verringer. He remained dignified. His eyebrows went all the way with him. I looked towards the house. From inside there came a sound of music, dance music. And very faintly the snapping of fingers.
“I bet he’s in there dancing,” I said. “That’s a tango. I bet you he’s dancing all by himself in there. Some kid.”
“Are, you going to leave, Mr. Marlowe? Or shall I have to ask Earl to assist me in putting you off my property?”
“Okay, I’ll leave. No hard feelings, Doctor. There were only three names beginning with V and you seemed the most promising of them. That’s the only real clue we had—Dr. V. He scrawled it on a piece of paper before he left: Dr. V.”
“There must be dozens,” Dr. Verringer said evenly.
“Oh sure. But not dozens in our file of the barred-window boys. Thanks for the time, Doctor. Earl bothers me a little.”
I turned and went over to my car and got into it. By the time I had the door shut Dr. Verringer was beside me. He leaned in with a pleasant expression.
“We need not quarrel, Mr. Marlowe. I realize that in your occupation you often have to be rather intrusive. Just what bothers you about Earl?”
“He’s so obviously a phony. Where you find one thing phony you’re apt to expect others. The guy’s a manic- depressive, isn’t he? Right now he’s on the upswing.”
He stared at me in silence. He looked grave and polite. “Many interesting and talented people have stayed with me, Mr. Marlowe. Not all of them were as levelheaded as you may be. Talented people are often neurotic. But I have no facilities for the care of lunatics or alcoholics, even if I had the taste for that sort of work. I have no staff except Earl, and he is hardly the type to care for the sick.”
“Just what would you say he is the type for, Doctor? Apart from bubble-dancing and stuff?”
He leaned on the door. His voice got low and confidential. “Earl’s parents were dear friends of mine, Mr. Marlowe. Someone has to look after Earl and they are no longer with us, Earl has to live a quiet life, away from the noise and temptations of the city. He is unstable but fundamentally harmless. I control him with absolute ease, as you saw.”
“You’ve got a lot of courage,” I said.
He sighed. His eyebrows waved gently, like the antennae of some suspicious insect. “It has been a sacrifice,” he said. “A rather heavy one. I thought Earl could help me with my work here. He plays beautiful tennis, swims and dives like a champion, and can dance all night. Almost always he is amiability itself. But from time to time there were—incidents.” He waved a broad hand as if pushing painful memories into the background. “In the end it was either give up Earl or give up my place here.”
He held both hands palms up, spread them apart, turned them over and let them fall to his sides. His eyes looked moist with unshed tears.
“I sold out,” he said. “This peaceful little valley will become a real estate development. There will be sidewalks and lampposts and children with scooters and blatting radios. There will even”—he heaved a forlorn sigh—”be Television.” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture. “I hope they will spare the trees,” he said, “but I’m afraid they won’t. Along the ridges there will be television aerials instead. But Earl and I will be far away, I trust.”
