Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Buried Clock

“No.”

“And when you left your office, looking for Milicent, you knew that she was up at the cabin?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned that certain sources of information advised you on that point?”

“Well, yes. I secured that information.”

“How?”

“I can’t make any statement as to that.”

“Why?”

“It would be betraying a confidence.”

“Whose?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“A patient’s?”

Dr. Macon thought over the question. A little gleam flashed in his eye, then disappeared. “Yes. The information came from a patient.”

“And you realized that because Mrs. Hardisty was up at the cabin and because Jack Hardisty was up there, there was a certain element of danger involved.”

“What do you mean by danger? You must be more explicit, Counselor. You may mean danger to my patient’s health, or physical danger, or—”

“That it was dangerous to the health of your patient to be up at the cabin.”

“Yes.”

“Then,” Mason said with a smile, “how did it happen that immediately after you found her in Kenvale, in place of getting her as far away from the cabin as you could, you transported her right back up to that cabin?”

Dr. Macon’s lips tightened. “I didn’t say that.”

“ I’m saying it.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair inference from what I said.”

“It’s not only a fair inference from what you said, but it’s definitely indicated by your tire marks. Your automobile was up at that cabin.”

“You haven’t identified my tire marks. You haven’t even seen my machine.”

Mason said wearily, “Quit stalling. Did you or did you not take your car up to that cabin? Did you or did you not take Milicent up to that cabin after you found her in Kenvale?”

“I don’t have to answer that question.”

“You don’t have to answer any of my questions,” Mason said. “But those questions are going to be asked you by the police.”

“There’s a good chance the police may not even come to me.”

“About one chance in a million.”

“I don’t agree with you.”

“It doesn’t make any difference whether you agree with me or not. You’re going to be called on to answer that question. You’re dead right in saying I have no authority to make you answer it. Does that mean you’re afraid to answer it here and now?”

“I simply refuse to answer that question.”

“Why? Because the answer might incriminate you?”

“I give you no reason. I just don’t have to answer that question, and I refuse to, that’s all.”

“No argument about that. Naturally, when you become afraid to answer questions, I am free to draw my own conclusions.”

Dr. Macon stroked his chin nervously. “I took Milicent up there for certain reasons — connected with her health. It was a part of the treatment I had worked out for her. And I think you will agree with me, Counselor, that the minute I say that, no authority on earth can make me divulge what that treatment was or why I knew it was indicated.”

“I don’t think your medical exemption is that broad,” Mason said, “but we’ll let the answer stand for the minute. It is, of course, predicated upon the fact that you are her physician and that you are making that statement in that capacity.”

“Certainly.”

“How long have you been in love with her?” Mason asked.

Dr. Macon winced perceptibly, then said, as he made an attempt to regain his composure, “I suppose there is no limit to the insinuating, insulting questions—”

“You are in love with her, aren’t you?”

“That is neither here nor there.”

Mason said patiently, “It’s very pertinent, Doctor. You tell a story which gets you into a position where you have to rely on your professional immunity to keep from answering interrogations. In other words, you have to show that what you did was done as a physician.

“Now, as the character of the physician merges into that of the lover, the immunity of the physician vanishes.”

“That is a matter we will leave with the police,” Dr. Macon said with dignity.

“All right,” Mason went on, “we’ll get back to your story and my probing. You state that you gave Mrs. Hardisty a hypodermic which would put her to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“How soon would it take effect?”

“Within a very few minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“An effect would be noticeable within that time, yes.”

“She’d be asleep within half an hour?”

“Definitely.”

“She couldn’t have pretended to go to bed and then got up, taken a good strong cup of coffee or a caffein capsule and—”

“Definitely not,” Dr. Macon interrupted.

“And you gave her that hypodermic just before she entered her house?”

“Yes.”

“Acting as her physician?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Not as her lover?”

“Mr. Mason, I’ll thank you to—”

Mason silenced him with an upraised hand.

“You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to, Doctor. Just don’t get steamed up about it.”

“It’s an insulting question, and I refuse to answer it on that ground — and on that ground alone.”

“All right. You gave that hypodermic while she was sitting in the automobile and before she entered the house.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been practicing, Doctor?”

“Something over twenty years.”

“And during that time, have you ever given any other patient a hypodermic under similar circumstances?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were acting as her physician, and solely in that capacity, you would naturally have gone into the house with the patient. You would have ordered her to prepare herself for bed. After she had got in bed, you would have administered a hypodermic. Then you would have waited a few minutes to make certain the hypodermic had taken effect, and then left the house, leaving instructions with whoever was in the house as to the care of the patient.”

Dr. Macon’s eyes avoided those of the lawyer.

“This business of sitting out in front of a house giving a woman a hypodermic, telling her to go in and put herself to bed, and then driving off, smacks of something furtive, something secretive, something that is highly irregular.”

“Under the circumstances, I thought it was best to administer the hypodermic in that way. I reached that decision as a physician because of her symptoms, and I refuse to be questioned on that point.”

“There was no reason why you weren’t welcome in Mr. Blane’s house?”

“Well... I don’t think Mr. Blane approved of me as a physician for his daughter.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

“It wasn’t because he had some doubt as to your professional qualifications?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then it must have been because of the personal relationship which was being built up.”

“I prefer not to go into that.”

“I can see that you might... Well, there you are, Doctor. There are enough holes in your story right now to start you sweating, and I can think up a dozen more angles of attack.”

“Then you don’t believe my story?”

“It’s incredible. It’s unconvincing. It’s contradictory. You can’t make it stand up. You can’t explain why you took her to the cabin, or why you gave her that hypodermic out in the car.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Not to me, perhaps, but if you’re telling a story to protect Milicent, it’s something that has to stand up.”

“What makes you think I am telling this to protect Milicent?”