"Doctors?" Lester said, then decided to let it go; the hospital had became a dark and mysterious place. He leaned down and kissed Ginny lightly on the lips. "Get some rest, dear," he murmured.
There were six doctors in the little office, an assorted half dozen of varying sizes and ages. The white-coated oath-taker with whom Lester had shared the cryptic conversation in the hall presided over the gathering from behind a desk at the far side of the room. The others sat in chairs that had been arranged against the walls. All of them eyed Lester with something like grave wonder as he moved forward and took his seat in front of the desk. Lester looked hopefully from one to the other, then cleared his throat. The small doctor to his left jumped.
"I realize," Lester said, "that I'm not acquainted with hospital routine. This is the first time...."
"Of course, Mr. Holmes," the pinkish doctor put in quickly, with a sort of reverent horror. "And I must confess that procedures have necessarily been a trifle irregular in this case...."
"Case?" Lester said. "What's wrong, doctor? Why won't you tell me?"
The doctor folded his pale, slender hands before him with intricate care. "Mr. Holmes," he said gently, "have you ever taken an I.Q. test?"
Lester stared at him blankly for a moment. He was conscious of a sinking sensation, much as though he were a cake in an oven and someone had slammed a door somewhere. "Yes, I have," he said cautiously. "I don't remember the score exactly. They said I was average. Is there something wrong with my son, doctor?"
Again the doctor avoided a direct reply. "How about your wife, has she ever had an intelligence test?"
"I don't know," Lester answered truthfully. "She's mentioned several times that she only graduated from school by the skin of her teeth. But what has that got to do with...."