Donald Hamilton - The Poisoners

Mac drew a long breath. "It's another interesting theory. A blow on the head seems to stimulate your imagination, Eric. I'll notify the head of the agency…"

"No," I said. "Let's heap some coals on the fire, sir. Let's notify Charlie, herself, to stand by for Warfel's next trip; he's not going to leave two million bucks lying by the seashore any longer than he has to." I grinned. "Whether or not she meant to be, she was a big help, sir. We can afford to give her a hand, the vicious little idealist."

"Very well, Eric." Mac studied me thoughtfully. "You do seem to get considerable assistance from the ladies, one way or another. What about the girl who was shot? The circumstances, as reported by the police, seem to indicate that her position was rather ambiguous, too. If the organization owes her a debt of any kind, you'd better tell me now, so I can take the proper steps to repay-" He stopped. "What's the matter?"

I was staring at him. I cleared my throat and said, "Bobbie Prince? She isn't dead?"

"Why, no," Mac said calmly. "Apparently it was close and she is still on the critical list, but barring complications she should be all right." He was watching me rather narrowly. After a moment, he said, "I see. You thought you had sacrificed Miss Prince's life to our duty. That's why you set off on that quixotic charge back up the mountainside, which you have now conveniently forgotten."

I said politely, "Be so good as to go to hell, sir." It was all coming back, and of course he was perfectly right, damn him.

He ignored my remark. "You haven't said whether or not we owe the girl anything."

"Yes, sir, we do," I said, "like my life. And I promised her a clean slate in return."

"Whatever her record may be, within limits of course, it shall be officially cleansed." He frowned. "Would you consider her a potential prospect, Eric? There is a vacancy, as you may recall."

It took me a moment to catch his meaning; then I said quickly, "No, damn it! You're not going to recruit this one, at least not through me. Anyway, she wouldn't work for us. She's the non-violent type. That's what got her a.44 bullet in the back." After a little silence, I asked, "Where is she? Not that it matters. I'm probably the last person she wants to see."

"She is two doors down the hail. You will be informed when she can have visitors. And judging by the few words she spoke on the operating table, before the anesthesia took effect, I would not worry about my welcome." He was looking out the window as he spoke. Then he sighed. "Well, I see a delegation of intellectuals approaching with briefcases and tape recorders. I will leave you to them and trust to your discretion. Oh, and Eric-"

"Yes, sir."

"I will not insist on your attending the ranch when you are well again," he said, walking towards the door. "Not if you should happen to find a more relaxing way of spending a month's convalescent leave, in more pleasant company."

I did.