“Good! Just one other thing. You can’t see her face, and there can’t be any talking, not one word. You understand?”
Carlson felt that the time had come for him to say something, and he said it:
“You damned fool! What kind of an examination do you think a doctor can make if he can’t see his patient or hear her talk? Have you never been to a doctor yourself?”
The man hesitated, fingering his automatic.
“Open that door!” he commanded, after a pause. Carlson did as he was told.
“Teresa!”
She appeared so quickly that Carlson was sure that she had been listening behind the door.
“The doctor will have to ask her a few questions, and she will have to answer. Go and tell her. And tell her from me—that if she says anything she doesn’t have to say—T. N. T. for her! Do you get me?”
“All right, Boss, I’ll tell her.”
She spoke with a cruel chuckle that all but made Carlson shudder. While he waited for further orders from his captor, he tried to get a line on the mystery he was involved in. But nothing came to him. Was the sick woman he was about to visit a fugitive or a captive? Probably the latter; and if so, why?