Free Cards on the Table by Agatha Christie Page A

relations,” said Miss Burgess. “I always think there’s nothing like death for bringing out the meanness of human nature. Squabbling over who’s to have what before the body’s cold. Luckily, Dr. Roberts has never had any trouble of that kind. He always says he hopes his patients won’t leave him anything. I believe he once had a legacy of fifty pounds and he’s had two walking sticks and a gold watch, but nothing else.”
    â€œIt’s a difficult life, that of a professional man,” said Battle with a sigh. “He’s always open to blackmail. The most innocent occurrences lend themselves sometimes to a scandalous appearance. A doctor’s got to avoid even the appearance of evil—that means he’s got to have his wits about him good and sharp.”
    â€œA lot of what you say is true,” said Miss Burgess. “Doctors have a difficult time with hysterical women.”
    â€œHysterical women. That’s right. I thought in my own mind, that that was all it amounted to.”
    â€œI suppose you mean that dreadful Mrs. Craddock?”
    Battle pretended to think.
    â€œLet me see, was it three years ago? No, more.”
    â€œFour or five, I think. She was a most unbalanced woman! I was glad when she went abroad and so was Dr. Roberts. She told her husband the most frightful lies—they always do, of course. Poor man, he wasn’t quite himself—he’d begun to be ill. He died of anthrax, you know, an infected shaving brush.”
    â€œI’d forgotten that,” said Battle untruthfully.
    â€œAnd then she went abroad and died not long afterwards. But I always thought she was a nasty type of woman—man-mad, you know.”
    â€œI know the kind,” said Battle. “Very dangerous, they are. A doctor’s got to give them a wide berth. Whereabouts did she die abroad—I seem to remember.”
    â€œEgypt, I think it was. She got blood poisoning—some native infection.”
    â€œAnother thing that must be difficult for a doctor,” said Battle, making a conversational leap, “is when he suspects that one of his patients is being poisoned by one of their relatives. What’s he to do? He’s got to be sure—or else hold his tongue. And if he’s done the latter, then it’s awkward for him if there’s talk of foul play afterwards. I wonder if any case of that kind has ever come Dr. Roberts’ way?”
    â€œI really don’t think it has,” said Miss Burgess, considering. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
    â€œFrom the statistical point of view, it would be interesting to know how many deaths occur among a doctor’s practice per year. For instance now, you’ve been with Dr. Roberts some years—”
    â€œSeven.”
    â€œSeven. Well, how many deaths have there been in that time offhand?”
    â€œReally, it’s difficult to say.” Miss Burgess gave herself up to calculation. She was by now quite thawed and unsuspicious. “Seven, eight—of course, I can’t remember exactly—I shouldn’t say more than thirty in the time.”
    â€œThen I fancy Dr. Roberts must be a better doctor than most,” said Battle genially. “I suppose, too, most of his patients are upper class. They can afford to take care of themselves.”
    â€œHe’s a very popular doctor. He’s so good at diagnosis.”
    Battle sighed and rose to his feet.
    â€œI’m afraid I’ve been wandering from my duty, which is to find out a connection between the doctor and this Mr. Shaitana. You’re quite sure he wasn’t a patient of the doctor’s?”
    â€œQuite sure.”
    â€œUnder another name, perhaps?” Battle handed her a photograph. “Recognize him at all?”
    â€œWhat a very theatrical-looking person. No, I’ve never seen him here at any time.”
    â€œWell, that’s that.”