“Since he is my patient,” returned Doctor Barstead, with frigid reproach, “and since I have taken no steps to sequester him, I consider your question an impertinence.”
Markham leaned over and spoke peremptorily.
“We haven’t time to mince words, doctor. We’re investigating a series of atrocious murders. Mr. Drukker is involved in those murders—to what extent we don’t know. But it is our duty to find out.”
The doctor’s first impulse was to combat Markham; but he evidently thought better of it, for when he answered, it was in an indulgently matter-of-fact voice.
“I have no reason, sir, to withhold any information from you. But to question Mr. Drukker’s responsibility is to impute negligence to me in the matter of public safety. Perhaps, however, I misunderstand this gentleman’s question.” He studied Vance for a brief moment. “There are, of course, degrees of responsibility,” he went on, in a professional tone. “Mr. Drukker’s mind is overdeveloped, as is often the case with kyphotic victims. All mental processes are turned inward, as it were; and the lack of normal physical reactions often tends to produce inhibitions and aberrancies. But I’ve noted no indications of this condition in Mr. Drukker. He is excitable and prone to hysteria; but, then, psychokinesia is a common accompaniment of his disease.”
“What form do his recreations take?” Vance was politely casual.
Doctor Barstead thought a moment.
“Children’s games, I should say. Such recreations are not unusual with cripples. In Mr. Drukker’s case it is what we might term a waking wish-fulfilment. Having had no normal childhood, he grasps at whatever will give him a sense of youthful rehabilitation. His juvenile activities tend to balance the monotony of his purely mental life.”
“What is Mrs. Drukker’s attitude toward his instinct for play?”
“She very correctly encourages it. I’ve often seen her leaning over the wall above the playground in Riverside Park watching him. And she always presides at the children’s parties and dinners which he holds in his home.”