He moved vaguely, his eyes still sunken and sad.
Maybe youve got another buzzer under the carpet, I said. Maybe it rings in the Chiefs office down at headquarters. Dont use it. Just for an hour Im a very tough guy. Anybody comes in that door is walking into a coffin.
There is no buzzer under the carpet, he said. His voice had the slightest possible foreign accent.
I got his magazine out and my empty one and changed them. I ejected the shell that was in the chamber of his gun and let it lie. I jacked one up into the chamber of mine and went back to the other side of the desk again.
There was a spring lock on the door. I backed towards it and pushed it shut and heard the lock click. There was also a bolt. I turned that.
I went back to the desk and sat in a chair. It took my last ounce of strength.
Whiskey, I said.
He began to move his hands around.
Whiskey, I said.
He went to the medicine cabinet and got a flat bottle with a green revenue stamp on it and a glass.
Two glasses, I said. I tried your whiskey once. I damn near hit Catalina Island with it.
He brought two small glasses and broke the seal and filled the two glasses.
You first, I said.
He smiled faintly and raised one of the glasses.
Your health, sir what remains of it. He drank. I drank. I reached for the bottle and stood it near me and waited for the heat to get to my heart. My heart began to pound, but it was back up in my chest again, not hanging on a shoelace.
I had a nightmare, I said. Silly idea. I dreamed I was tied to a cot and shot full of dope and locked in a barred room. I got very weak. I slept. I had no food. I was a sick man. I was knocked on the head and brought into a place where they did that to me. They took a lot of trouble. Im not that important.
He said nothing. He watched me. There was a remote speculation in his eyes, as if he wondered how long I would live.
I woke up and the room was full of smoke, I said. It was just a hallucination, irritation of the optic nerve or whatever a guy like you would call it. Instead of pink snakes I had smoke. So I yelled and a toughie in a white coat came and showed me a blackjack. It took me a long time to get ready to take it away from him. I got his keys and my clothes and even took my money out of his pocket. So here I am. All cured. What were you saying?
I made no remark, he said.
Remarks want you to make them, I said. They have their tongues hanging out waiting to be said. This thing here I waved the blackjack lightly, is a persuader. I had to borrow it from a guy.
Please give it to me at once, he said with a smile you would get to love. It was like the executioners smile when he comes to your cell to measure you for the drop. A little friendly, a little paternal, and a little cautious at the same time. You would get to love it if there was any way you could live long enough.
I dropped the blackjack into his palm, his left palm.
Now the gun, please, he said softly. You have been a very sick man, Mr. Marlowe. I think I shall have to insist that you go back to bed.
I stared at him.
I am Dr. Sonderborg, he said, and I dont want any nonsense.
He laid the blackjack down on the desk in front of him. His smile was as stiff as a frozen fish. His long fingers made movements like dying butterflies.
The gun, please, he said softly. I advise strongly
What time is it, warden?
He looked mildly surprised. I had my wrist watch on now, but it had run down.
It is almost midnight. Why?
What day is it?
Why, my dear sir Sunday evening, of course.
I steadied myself on the desk and tried to think and held the gun close enough to him so that he might try and grab it.
Thats over forty-eight hours. No wonder I had fits. Who brought me here?
He stared at me and his left hand began to edge towards the gun. He belonged to the Wandering Hand Society. The girls would have had a time with him.
Dont make me get tough, I whined. Dont make me lose my beautiful manners and my flawless English, Just tell me how I got here.
He had courage. He grabbed for the gun. It wasnt where he grabbed. I sat back and put it in my lap.
He reddened and grabbed for the whiskey and poured himself another drink and downed it fast. He drew a deep breath and shuddered. He didnt like the taste of liquor. Dopers never do.
You will be arrested at once, if you leave here, he said sharply. You were properly committed by an officer of the law
Officers of the law cant do it.
That jarred him, a little. His yellowish face began to work.
Shake it up and pour it, I said. Who put me in here, why and how? Im in a wild mood tonight. I want to go dance in the foam. I hear the banshees calling. I havent shot a man in a week. Speak out, Dr. Fell. Pluck the antique viol, let the soft music float.
You are suffering from narcotic poisoning, he said coldly. You very nearly died. I had to give you digitalis three times. You fought, you screamed, you had to be restrained. His words were coming so fast they were leap-frogging themselves. If you leave my hospital in this condition, you will get into serious trouble.
Did you say you were a doctor a medical doctor?
Certainly. I am Dr. Sonderborg, as I told you.
You dont scream and fight from narcotic poisoning. You just lie in a coma. Try again. And skim it. All I want is the cream. Who put me in your private funny house?
But
But me no buts. Ill make a sop of you. Ill drown you in a butt of Maimsey wine. I wish I had a butt of Malmsey wine myself to drown in. Shakespeare. He knew his liquor too. Lets have a little of our medicine. I reached for his glass and poured us a couple more. Get on with it, Karloff.
The police put you in here.
What police?
The Bay City police naturally. His restless yellow fingers twisted his glass. This is Bay City.
Oh. Did this police have a name?
A Sergeant Galbraith, I believe. Not a regular patrol car officer. He and another officer found you wandering outside the house in a dazed condition on Friday night. They brought you in because this place was close. I thought you were an addict who had taken an overdose. But perhaps I was wrong.
Its a good story. I couldnt prove it wrong. But why keep me here?
He spread his restless hands. I have told you again and again that you were a very sick man and still are. What would you expect me to do?
I must owe you some money then.
He shrugged. Naturally. Two hundred dollars.
I pushed my chair back a little. Dirt cheap. Try and get it.
If you leave here, he said sharply, you will be arrested at once.
I leaned back over the desk and breathed in his face. Not just for going out of here, Karloff. Open that wall safe.
He stood up in a smooth lunge, This has gone quite far enough.
You wont open it?
I most certainly will not open it.
This is a gun Im holding.
He smiled, narrowly and bitterly.
Its an awful big safe, I said. New too. This is a fine gun. You wont open it?
Nothing changed in his face.
Damn it, I said. When you have a gun in your hand, people are supposed to do anything you tell them to. It doesnt work, does it?
He smiled. His smile held a sadistic pleasure. I was slipping back. I was going to collapse.
I staggered at the desk and he waited, his lips parted softly.
I stood leaning there for a long moment, staring into his eyes. Then I grinned. The smile fell off his face like a soiled rag. Sweat stood out on his forehead.
So long, I said. I leave you to dirtier hands than mine.
I backed to the door and opened it and went out.
The front doors were unlocked. There was a roofed porch. The garden hummed with flowers. There was a white picket fence and a gate. The house was on a corner. It was a cool, moist night, no moon.