“That’s all right, doc,” I said. “Well, thanks. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. But you know how it is. I just wanted to put my mind at rest. I liked that girl.”
He didn’t say anything, but continued to back away towards the rose beds.
“There’s just one other thing, doc,” I said. “How was it that Dr. Salzer signed Macdonald Crosby’s certificate when he was accidentally shot? Wasn’t that unethical for a non-qualified quack to do that?”
He looked at me the way you look at a big spider that has fallen into your bath.
“Don’t worry me,” he said in a quavering voice. “Ask him : don’t bother me.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s a good idea. Thank you, doc. I will.”
He turned and moved off down the path towards his roses. From the back he looked even older than he was. I watched him pick off a dead rose and noticed his hand was very shaky. I was afraid I had spoilt his afternoon.
The small bird-like woman was standing on the porch of the front door, hopefully, when I arrived back at the house. She pretended not to see me.
“I’m afraid I’ve taken up a lot of the doctor’s time,” I said, raising my hat. “He tells me it is valuable. Would five dollars cover it?”
The tired eyes brightened. The thin face lit up.