Free Not Quite Dead by John MacLachlan Gray Page B

possibly lesions as well. He is in critical condition. He cannot receive visitors under any circumstance.”
    “Mr. Neilson Poe is paying for the room, Doctor. It would be respectful if you would at least speak to him.” Nurse Slatin scarcely moved her lips while talking. Whether in the interest of efficiency or from pure laziness, she uttered words without moving a muscle of her face. Or perhaps it was a result of her calm confidence; for it is a fact of institutional life that minor officials who physically put their hands upon cash, in however small amounts, wield an authority far out of proportion to their station.
    “Excuse me, nurse, I should like to get dressed.” I said, and gently closed the door.
    “Very good, Doctor,” came the muffled monotone.
    I mopped my face with my handkerchief, crossed the floor to thewashbasin, performed my toilet, put on my suit and coat, and checked my pocket watch: ten minutes had passed.
    I opened the door. As expected, Nurse Slatin stood rooted to the spot.
    “What are your instructions, Doctor?”
    “I shall look in on the patient at once. Inform Mr. Neilson Poe that I shall see him shortly in the waiting room. Tell him it must be very quick, for his cousin is a sick man and requires constant supervision.”
    I headed downstairs, the picture of a harried, concerned physician, while a hollow voice in my mind shrieked: What have you done? What are you going to do?
    I N EVERY ENCOUNTER, there is a time to sit back, and a time to take the initiative. In dealing with Eddie’s cousin Neilson, since there were any number of questions I did not wish to answer, I chose the former approach.
    “Sir, am I to understand that you are Mr. Neilson Poe, the patient’s cousin?”
    “Second cousin, as a matter of fact. And you would be Dr. Chivers, sir?”
    “I am , sir” we said simultaneously, both sides having failed to establish the upper hand.
    I shook hands with a gentleman somewhat older than Eddie, about the same height, with a similar expanse of brow and black eyes that must also run in the family.
    There, however, the similarity ended.
    Neilson Poe was obviously the more respectable of the two cousins, albeit with dirty fingernails and a suit that had not seen a brush in some time. However, he had augmented his appearance in a number of odd ways. Whereas Eddie’s chin was clean-shaven, Neilson sported an almost oriental wisp of a goatee. While Eddie grew his dark hair in Byronic curls, the pennant that swept across Neilson’s head with the aid of a good deal of pomade had been dyed a sort of purplish auburn.
    For several moments, neither of us spoke. The toe of his highly polished walking shoe began tapping the floor, signaling impatience.I refused to break the pause, for to do so would be to establish subservience. Instead, I pretended to study my notebook, then reached for my pencil and pretended to make a correction, while arranging my features in an expression that suggested deep thinking on an important matter.
    “I am sure you understand that the family is extremely concerned about Edgar,” he said, at length. “What is your prognosis, Doctor?”
    I emitted a troubled sigh. “I am afraid that I cannot be overly encouraging, Mr. Poe. Your cousin is not a well man.”
    “Second cousin, don’t you know?” he said, a point he wished to make clear.
    “I shall make a note of that,” I replied. “In any case, to be frank, the chances are against him.”
    “I see.” Mr. Poe did not seem overly affected by the bad news.
    “The patient has a swelling on the brain—a condition we call lobar pneumonia—complicated by transient retardation. I can hardly recommend a visit at this time. Your cousin is not conscious, and there is some risk to yourself, until we know the precise cause of the malady …”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t think of it.” he replied quickly, as though I had invited him into a snake pit. “We were never close, my second cousin and I. Quite the opposite,