'Maybe you're right,” Abe said meekly, and Gideon looked at him with a stab of concern. Docility wasn't exactly his style.
'Abe, I don't think it would be a bad idea to have the hotel doctor take a look at you.'
Abe dismissed this with a flap of his hand. “No, no. I'll drink liquids; I'll rest.” He closed his eyes again and settled himself down to sleep. “You'll see. I'll be fine.'
'All right,” Gideon said uneasily and stood up. “I'll drop by later and tell you how it goes with Worthy.'
'Check up on me, you mean,” Abe said wearily. “All right, thank you.'
Gideon had reached the door when Abe called. “Gideon?'
'Yes?'
Abe's hands were clasped tranquilly on his chest. His eyes were still closed. “If you brought another bowl of chicken soup I wouldn't say no.'
* * * *
'Oh, all right,” Worthy said peevishly, “I'm the criminal; I admit it. I put the miserable beast in the work shed. It was just a
He dabbed his gleaming forehead with a handkerchief. “Couldn't we continue this later? I'm really not feeling my usual self.'
'None of us are, Worthy. That's why I'm talking to you.'
Worthy eyed him mutely across the table in his room.
'How much does a coati cost?” Gideon asked.
Worthy shrugged. “It was fifty-five dollars American.'
'That's a lot of money to spend on a joke.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Not that it wasn't funny.'
Worthy seemed gratified by this, and even smiled faintly himself. “Well, I
Gideon sat back and studied him. There was quite a bit more to discuss: Had Worthy been making any other subtle points? Like putting something nasty in the apple juice? (Who, after all, would know more about laxatives?) Digging in the temple when he wasn't supposed to? Slipping death threats under doors? Skulking around Chichen Itza with a pipe wrench?
He decided to lay at least part of it on the line. “I was wondering if you had anything to do with this problem we're all having today.'
'If I...why would...” He stared at Gideon.
'You're saying someone did this to us on purpose? Poisoned our food?'
'Well, ‘poison’ is a little strong, but I think so, yes. I wondered if it was another little joke.'
'But that's...that's monstrous!” Worthy cried sincerely. The sweat had sprung out on his pale forehead again. Fooling around with the digestive system was no joke to Worthy Partridge. “And you think that
Gideon didn't know whether to believe him or not. Worthy was an intelligent, subtle man; Gideon didn't doubt his ability to dissemble. He had denied the coati incident convincingly enough on the morning it had happened. Still, his outrage seemed like the real thing.
'Gideon, how can you say this?” he cried. “Do you really think I'd do such a thing? I'm as sick as anyone else. My God, sicker, sicker!'
'Everybody's sick, Worthy. Whoever did it is smart enough to realize he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he was the only healthy one.'
Worthy twisted his gangling, sandy-haired legs around each other, left knee behind the right, right ankle behind the left; an arrangement most men's pelvic anatomy made impossible.
'No,” he said after a moment, “I wouldn't say that'
'Wouldn't say what?'
'Wouldn't say we're all sick.'
They had looked sick enough to Gideon. “What do you mean? Who isn't sick?'
'Stanley Ard,” Worthy said evenly.
'Stanley Ard?'
'The reporter.'
'Yes, I know, but why would—” But of course he knew very well why. It just hadn't occurred to him before. As Abe had implied, Ard wasn't the kind of reporter who would have scruples about manufacturing events when it came to improving a story. And if it meant bellyaches for a few others, well, that was a price that just might have to be paid.
'Worthy,” he said, “that's an interesting thought.'
'Yes,” Worthy said, and wiped his forehead again. “And now I really think I should lie down.'
* * * *
When Julie awakened at five-thirty she was hungry and cheerful. They ate omelets for dinner (Julie having
