“To what am I indebted for the honor of this call?” he asked in a studiously melodious voice, lingering over each word caressingly. “You are most fortunate to have found me in,” he added, before Markham could speak. “I confer with patients only by appointment.” One felt that he experienced a certain humiliation at having received us without elaborate ceremonial preliminaries.
Markham, whose nature was opposed to all circumlocution and pretense, came direct to the point.
“This isn’t a professional consultation, doctor; but it happens that I want to speak to you about one of your former patients—a Miss Margaret Odell.”
Doctor Lindquist regarded the gold paper-weight before him with vacantly reminiscent eyes.
“Ah, yes. Miss Odell. I was just reading of her violent end. A most unfortunate and tragic affair. . . . In just what way can I be of service to you?—You understand, of course, that the relationship between a physician and his patient is one of sacred confidence——”
“I understand that thoroughly,” Markham assured him abruptly. “On the other hand, it is the sacred duty of every citizen to assist the authorities in bringing a murderer to justice. And if there is anything you can tell me which will help toward that end, I shall certainly expect you to tell me.”
The doctor raised his hand slightly in polite protestation.
“I shall, of course, do all I can to assist you, if you will but indicate your desires.”
“There’s no need to beat about the bush, doctor,” said Markham. “I know that Miss Odell was a patient of yours for a long time; and I realize that it is highly possible, not to say probable, that she told you certain personal things which may have direct bearing on her death.”
“But, my dear Mr.—”—Doctor Lindquist glanced ostentatiously at the card—“ah—Markham, my relations with Miss Odell were of a purely professional character.”