‘I won’t stay now,’ Ismi said, uneasy and afraid. ‘It is getting late, but I’ll come tomorrow.’
Max’s lips moved as he tried to say something, but no sound came from them.
‘You mustn’t talk,’ Ismi said. ‘They told me you must keep very quiet.’ He was surprised to feel a tear run down his fleshy cheek. He was remembering Max when he was a little boy. He had had great hopes of him then.
Max’s lips moved again. They formed the words ‘Get out!’ but Ismi didn’t realize what he was trying to say.
Nurse Hennekey, who was watching, read the words as they were formed by Max’s lips and she signalled Ismi to go.
‘I’ll be back,’ Ismi promised, touched the tear away with his finger. ‘Don’t worry about anything.’ He hesitated, added: ‘Don’t worry about money. I have enough. I’ve saved...’
Nurse Hennekey touched his arm, led him to the door.
‘Look after him please, nurse,’ he said. ‘He’s my son.’
She nodded briefly, looked away so he couldn’t see her little frown of distaste. She felt there was something horrible about Max; hated him for no reason at all; had a creepy sensation when she touched him.
Ismi walked slowly along the corridor with its double line of doors on each side of him. On each door was a small name-plate, and Ismi paused to read one of them. Then he turned back to satisfy himself that Max was receiving similar treatment. He wanted his son to have the best of everything. Yes, there was his son’s name printed on the plate. How quick and efficient these people were, he thought. The boy hadn’t been in the hospital more than a few hours and they had his name already on the door.
He heard footsteps, and glancing round saw a tall young fellow and a pretty girl coming along the corridor. They paused at a door opposite, knocked softly and waited.
Ismi liked the look of them, and he continued to watch until they entered the room and closed the door behind them. Curious, he went over to read the name-plate, and when he saw the name he started back with a shudder as if he had trodden on a snake.
Veda and Magarth stood looking down at Carol as she lay, white and unconscious, in the hospital bed. The resident doctor, Dr. Cantor, had his fingers on her pulse.
‘I hope I did right in sending for you,’ he was saying to Magarth. ‘I’ve read about Miss Blandish, of course, and when we found out who she was, I remembered you had been appointed her business executive and thought I’d better put a call through to you right away.’
Magarth nodded.
‘She’s pretty bad, isn’t she?’
‘I would have said her case was hopeless,’ Cantor returned, ‘but by the luckiest chance Dr. Kraplien, the greatest brain specialist in the country, visiting us at the moment, and he has decided to operate. He thinks he can save her.’
Veda gripped Magarth’s hand.
‘Dr. Kraplien doesn’t think any serious damage has been done to the brain,’ Dr. Cantor went on. ‘The fracture is severe, of course, but we believe the brain itself is uninjured. There is pressure there, due probably to the injury she received in the truck accident. If the operation is successful, the patient’s memory will be restored.’ Dr. Cantor gave Magarth a significant glance. ‘That will mean she will have no knowledge at all of what has happened to her since the truck accident occurred.’
Magarth looked startled.
‘You mean she won’t even remember me?’ he asked.
‘She’ll remember no one nor any event that happened after the truck accident,’ Dr. Cantor said. ‘Dr. Kraplien has taken a great interest in the case. He has spoken to Dr. Travers of the Glenview Mental Sanatorium, and has gone into Miss Blandish’s case history with him. He thinks her condition may be entirely due to cerebral compression, and that he may be able to cure her of these fits of violence.’
‘I do hope he does. She’s been through so much,’ Veda said, and bent and kissed Carol’s still white face. ‘But is it possible?’
Cantor lifted his shoulders. It was rather obvious that he wasn’t optimistic.
‘The operation will be in less than half an hour now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps, when you have seen the police, you’ll come back? I should have news for you.’
Many odd visitors have come to Santo Rio at one time or another. Old Joe, who sells newspapers at the entrance to the railway station, has seen them all. Old Joe is an authority on the visitors to Santo Rio. He remembers the old lady with the three Persian cats walking sedately behind her, the pretty actress who arrived very drunk and hit a red-cap over the head with a bottle of gin. He remembers the rich and the sly, the innocent and the evil, but he will tell you that the most extraordinary visitor of them all was Miss Lolly Meadows.
Miss Lolly arrived at Santo Rio on the same train that brought Veda and Magarth to this pacific coast town. It had taken considerable courage for Miss Lolly to have made the journey, but make it she did.
Ever since Carol had visited her, and she had shown Carol the photograph of Linda Lee, Miss Lolly had been uneasy in her conscience. She felt it was disgraceful that she had allowed a young girl like Carol to go off on her own to tackle two such dangerous brutes as the Sullivans. Carol wanted to avenge herself on them, but so did Miss Lolly. Then why had Miss Lolly let her go off by herself? Why hadn’t she, at least, offered to go with her?
After three or four days of this kind of thinking Miss Lolly had decided to go to Santo Rio and see if she could find Carol. The decision was made not without a great deal of misgivings and fear, for it was many years since Miss Lolly had travelled in a train, had mixed with strangers and had felt curious, morbid eyes staring at her.
Old Joe will tell you that he saw Miss Lolly as she came out of the railway station in her black shabby dress that she had worn last some twenty years ago and on her head a vast black hat trimmed with artificial cherries and grapes. The close-trimmed beard, of course, completed the picture and startled Old Joe half out of his senses.
Miss Lolly stood close to Old Joe and surveyed the teeming traffic, the pushing crowds, the languid and scantily dressed young women in their beach suits, and was horrified.
Old Joe had a kind nature, and although a little embarrassed to be seen talking to such an odd freak, he asked her if he could help her in any way, and Miss Lolly, recognizing kindness in his face, told him she had come to find Carol Blandish.
For a moment or so Old Joe eyed her doubtfully. He decided she was crazy but harmless, and without a word he handed her the midday newspaper, pointed to the paragraph that told of the finding of the famous heiress unconscious in her car outside the Santo Rio Memorial Hospital, and that an operation was to be performed on her immediately.
Miss Lolly had scarcely time to absorb this item of news when, looking up, she saw, walking on the other side of the street, the limping figure of Ismi Geza.
Miss Lolly recognized Ismi immediately although she hadn’t seen him for more than fifteen years. She realized at once that where Ismi was, Max was most likely to be, and thanking Old Joe for his kindness, she hurried after Ismi, overtook him easily enough, touched his arm.
Ismi stared at her for several seconds before clasping her hand. This meeting between the bearded lady and the circus clown practically disorganized the traffic and caused a vast crowd to collect; and realizing the sensation they were causing, Ismi hurriedly hailed a taxi, pushed Miss Lolly in and bundled himself in beside her.
The crowd raised a cheer as the taxi drove away.
Max lay in his bed, his cruel twisted mind a torment of pain and frustrated fury. That this could have happened to him, he thought. To be struck down; to be helpless; paralysed for life. And Carol Blandish was responsible! It was she who had killed Frank! She who had taken their money! She who had turned him into a helpless cripple! He snarled to himself as he realized that he could do nothing to her now. She was out of his reach.