beyond that a large room with a window just below the ceiling. This contained a bed, a gas-stove, a washstand, and a table covered with dirty plates and empty Guinness bottles. Grimsdyke was in his pyjamas, with his hair dangling over his face.
'I thought you'd gone up north, old lad,' he said in surprise.
'So I had. Now I'm back again.'
'Forgive this squalor-' He waved a hand round the room. 'Fact is, I took these rooms-there's a lot more at the back-to oblige some friends, rather messy people-'
'I wondered if you could let me have my ten quid back?'
Grimsdyke sat on the edge of the bed suddenly. 'Surely you can't have spent the other ninety? In two days?
That's certainly some going! You must have had a hell of a good time.'
'I bought a car.'
'What, that ruddy great thing that's blocking out the daylight? I thought the coal had arrived. A bit on the posh side, isn't it?'
'I felt a big car would be a good investment-to impress the patients.'
He nodded. 'It's the only way the blasted public chooses its doctors. Did I tell you about a pal of mine called Rushleigh? Good scout, he qualified right at the end of the war, when you couldn't get cars for love, money, or blackmail. Unless you were a doctor, of course. So he filled in the forms, and got a nice new little family bus for about three hundred quid. He'd happened to pal up with a Free French bloke who'd been in the orthopaedic wards, and when this fellow went home with a couple of bone grafts Rushleigh got an invitation to stay at his place down at Nice, buckshee. So he set off in his car, but he'd only got as far as Rouen when it conked out. You know what cars were like after the war. He went to a French garage, where they mumbled a bit about spare parts and so forth, and told him it would take at least a month to get anything to patch it up. However, the British being considered good chaps in France at the time, they sportingly offered to lend him a very old aristocratic English car they had in the back, which hadn't been used for seven years and then only for funerals.
'Rushleigh proceeded towards the sunny south, feeling he was driving a greenhouse. But he got there all right, and a month later showed up at Rouen. This put the garage in a bit of a fix, because there were apparently no spare parts anywhere. So they suggested to Rushleigh they did a straight swap. They could fix up his little family bus some time or other, and such vehicles sold like _gateaux chauds._ Hot cakes, old lad.'
I sat down on the bed myself and asked, 'Did he agree?'
'You bet he did. He'd quite taken to the old hearse. One of the garage bloke's brothers was in the Customs and Rushleigh wasn't averse to a spot of fiddling, so off he went. When he was safely back in England he thought he'd send the thing up to the makers in Derbyshire somewhere and have her done up. A few days later he got a letter from the managing director asking him to come at once and enclosing first-class ticket with cheque for incidental expenses and loss of valuable time. Rushleigh went up there preparing to be led away by the police, but instead he was given a ruddy great lunch and asked what he'd sell the old conservatory for. Apparently this firm had a museum of all its old crocks, and the one he'd picked up in Rouen was the only model of its type ever made, for some millionaire or other in Cannes in 1927. Fortified by the directors' brandy, Rushleigh said he didn't see the point of selling, because where would he get another car to continue his life-saving work? 'My dear sir,' said the managing director, 'if you prefer, we should be delighted to give you one of our brand-new Golden Sprites instead.' Rushleigh now drives round his practice in one of these; and the old devil's worth an easy five thousand a year.'
'How about my tenner?' I said.
'Would you like a cup of tea? Virginia will make some.'
Virginia was standing with one foot on the table painting her toe-nails.
'No, thanks. I've just had a pint of beer.'
'Is it as late as that? I must be getting a move on. I've a good many appointments in the City. So if you'll excuse me-'
'At the moment I face bankruptcy, disgrace, and starvation,' I said. 'If you've got any of that ten quid left, I'd regard it as an act of charity if you'd let me have it. I owe Lord knows how much to that agency-'
'I can't exactly give you the cash, old lad, because I haven't got it. The market's been very sluggish of late. But I will tell you what I'll do-Would you like a job?'
'As long as it isn't like the one I got from Wilson and Willowick.'
'This is _bona fide_ and real McCoy. Have you heard of Dr Erasmus Potter-Phipps?'
I shook my head.
'He's about the most posh G.P. in England-high class stuff, you know, none of this bob on the bottle and sawdust on the waiting-room floor.'
'Where's he hang out?'
'Park Lane, of course.'
'What's his wife like?'
'He isn't married.'
I felt encouraged for the first time since driving out of range of Dr Hockett in the middle of the night. 'The only fishy thing that strikes me is-I mean, I've the highest regard for your friendship and integrity, but why haven't you grabbed it yourself?'
'Long-term planning. I'll tell you in confidence-don't breathe it to a soul, particularly anyone in the district-I'm leaving for the country. Big opening. I shall settle down scratching pigs with walking-sticks-'
'Is Miss Virginia coming too?' She had taken no more notice of me and was leaning on the table among the plates plucking her eyebrows.
'No. She's psychologically unsuited for the country. I've found that out-I've been psychoanalysing her for the last few weeks. That's why she's here. You can't psychoanalyse anyone competently if you're not with them day and night. Jung and Adler, and all that. She's got a jolly interesting little ego.'
'I'm sure she has.'
Grimsdyke got up and felt in his jacket pocket. 'Here's the address. Give me half an hour and I'll speak to him on the blower first.
'But how about references? A G.P. like that wouldn't take an assistant out of the blue.'
'Leave it to me,' he said confidently. 'It's all part of the Grimsdyke service.'
9
Dr Potter-Phipps practised in Park Lane from the first floor of a large modern block of flats, though the only indication of this was a small silver plate with his name on the door, as discreet as the single hat in a Bond Street milliner's window. Downstairs I was saluted by the doorman, bowed to by the porter, and grinned at by the lift boy; upstairs, the door was opened by a butler. Dr Potter-Phipps himself, who sat in a consulting-room like a film- producer's office, was a slim, good-looking, fair-haired, middle-aged man wearing a grey suit with narrow trousers, a red carnation in his buttonhole, a fawn waistcoat, a white stiff collar, and an Old Etonian tie.
'A frightful tragedy, dear boy,' he said languidly, offering me a gold cigarette-case. 'My partner's perforated his duodenal ulcer, poor fellow. Operated on by old Sir James last night. He'll be away a good three months. It's so terribly difficult to get a suitable man to replace him. This is a rather special practice, you understand.' He held his cigarette with his finger-tips and waved it airily. 'We have rather special patients. To some people the National Health Service did not come quite as the crowning gift of parliamentary democracy. They still like manners with their medicine.'
'I'd certainly be pleased to meet some of them, sir,' I said feelingly.
'Of course, you've been out of the country a good time,' he went on. 'You must have found that Himalayan expedition quite fascinating. Grimsdyke told me about it when he rang up. I met him at the races last week-end, and rather hoped he could help us when this disaster occurred. A remarkable young man.'
'Oh, remarkable.'
'I must be getting old, dear boy, but I find most young doctors today are terribly dull. And they
