Mr. Fortune's PracticeBailey, H. C. (Henry Christopher)
General
Mr. Fortune's Practice
Bailey, H. C. (Henry Christopher)
Detective and mystery stories; Forensic scientists -- Fiction
“Bell’s coming to be a policeman and appear when it’s all over. I’m
going in to Dr. Jerdan who isn’t on the register. And I don’t like
it, Lomas. Bell shall stay outside. And if I don’t come out
again--well, then you’ll have evidence, Lomas.”
Neither Reggie Fortune nor his chauffeur knew the way about in
Millfield. They sat together and Mr. Fortune with a map of London
exhorted Sam at the wheel and behind them Superintendent Bell held
tight and thought of his sins.
The car came by many streets of little drab houses to a road in which
the houses were large and detached, houses which had been rural
villas when Victoria was queen. “Now go easy,” Reggie Fortune said.
“Chatham Park Road, Bell. Quiet and respectable as the silent tomb.
My God, look at that! Stop, Sam.”
What startled him was a hospital nurse on a doorstep.
“Who is she, sir?” Bell asked.
“She’s Demetrius Jacob’s friend and George Coppett’s friend--and now
she’s Dr. Jerdan’s friend and in nurse’s rig. Keep the car back here.
Don’t frighten them.”
He jumped out and hurried on to the Ferns. “I don’t like it, young
fellow, and that’s a fact,” said Bell, and Sam nodded.
The woman had been let in. Mr. Fortune stood a moment surveying the
house which was as closely curtained as all the rest and like them
stood back with a curving drive to the door. He rang the bell, had no
answer, rang again, knocked and knocked more loudly. It sounded
thunderous in the heavy quiet of the Chatham Park Road.
At last the door was opened by a man, a lanky powerful fellow who
scowled at Mr. Fortune and said, “We ain’t deaf.”
“I have been kept waiting,” said Reggie. “Dr. Jerdan, please.”
“Not at home.”
“Oh, I think so. Dr. Jerdan will see me.”
“Don’t see anyone but by appointment.”
“Dr. Jerdan will see me. Go and tell him so.” The door was shut in
his face. After a moment or two he began knocking again. It was made
plain to all the Chatham Park Road that something was happening at
the Ferns and here and there a curtain fluttered.
Superintendent Bell got out of the car. “You stay here, son,” he
said. “Don’t stop the engine.”
But before he reached the house, the door was opened and Reggie
Fortune saw a sleek man who smiled with all his teeth. “So sorry you
have been waiting,” he purred. “I am Dr. Jerdan’s secretary. What can
I do for you?”
“Dr. Jerdan will see me.”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid not. Dr. Jerdan’s not at home.”
“Why say so?” said Reggie wearily. “Dr. Jerdan, please.”
“You had better tell me your business, sir.”
“Haven’t you guessed? Lord Tetherdown.”
“Lord who?” said the sleek man without a check. “I don’t know
anything about Lord Tetherdown.”
“But then you’re only Dr. Jerdan’s secretary,” Reggie murmured.
Something of respect was to be seen in the pale eyes that studied
him, and, after a long stare, “I’ll see what I can do. Come in, sir.
What’s your name?” He thrust his head forward like an animal
snapping, but still he smiled.
“Fortune. Reginald Fortune.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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