“That won’t be necessary,” said Markham. He paused, and regarded the doctor with a look of disarming affability. “And was this last visit a paternal or merely a professional one?”
“Professional, of course.” Doctor Lindquist’s eyes were impassive and only mildly interested; but his face, I felt, was by no means the unedited reflection of his thoughts.
“Did the meeting take place here or at her apartment?”
“I believe I called on her at her home.”
“You called on her a great deal, doctor—so I am informed—and at rather unconventional hours. . . . Is this entirely in accord with your practice of seeing patients only by appointment?”
Markham’s tone was pleasant, but from the nature of his question I knew that he was decidedly irritated by the man’s bland hypocrisy, and felt that he was deliberately withholding relevant information.
Before Doctor Lindquist could reply, however, the butler appeared at the door, and silently indicated an extension telephone on a taboret beside the desk. With an unctuously murmured apology, the doctor turned and lifted the receiver.
Vance took advantage of this opportunity to scribble something on a piece of paper and pass it surreptitiously to Markham.
His call completed, Doctor Lindquist drew himself up haughtily, and faced Markham with chilling scorn.
“Is it the function of the District Attorney,” he asked distantly, “to harass respectable physicians with insulting questions? I did not know that it was illegal—or even original, for that matter—for a doctor to visit his patients.”