note 7 ! we get his block of our stock back. We fire all the directors and put in new management at once, we double our money and I'd leave a lasting legacy to the bank forever. That's what we're here for—to make money for our bank and for our shareholders! I've always considered your friend Dunross a very high risk and now he's going to the wall. And if I can help hang him I will!"
The doctor was counting Fleur Marlowe's pulse beats against his old-fashioned, gold fob watch. One hundred and three. Too many, he thought sadly. Her wrist was delicate. He laid it back on the bedcovers, his sensitive fingers aware of the fever. Peter Marlowe came out of the small bathroom of their apartment."Not good, eh?" Tooley said gruffly.Peter Marlowe's smile was weary. "Rather tedious actually. Just cramps and not much coming out, just a little liquid." His eyes rested on his wife who lay wanly in the small double bed. "How're you, pet?""Fine," she said. "Fine thank you, Peter."The doctor reached for his old-fashioned bag and put his stethoscope away. "Was, er, was there any blood, Mr. Marlowe?"Peter Marlowe shook his head and sat tiredly. Neither he nor his wife had slept much. Their cramps had begun about 4:00 A.M. and had continued since then with ever-increasing strain. "No, at least not yet," he said. "It feels rather like an ordinary bout of dysentery —cramps, a lot of palaver and very little to show for it.""Ordinary? You've had dysentery? When? What kind of dysentery?"