“So I understand.”
“You were wise to call him in. I gather that he’s generally considered to be the best.”
He spoke complacently, success condescending to recognize success. His criteria were hardly subtle, thought Dalgliesh. Money, prestige, public recognition, power. Yes, Courtney-Briggs would always demand the best for himself, confident of his ability to pay for it.
Dalgliesh said: “She was pregnant. Did you know?”
“So Honeyman told me. No, I didn’t know. These things happen, even today when birth control is reliable and easily obtained. But I should have expected a girl of her intelligence to be on the Pill.”
Dalgliesh remembered the scene that morning in the library when Mr. Courtney-Briggs had known the girl’s age to a day. He asked his next question without apology.
“Did you know her well?”
The implication was plain and the surgeon did not reply for a moment Dalgliesh had not expected him to bluster or threaten and he did neither. There was an increased respect in the sharp look which be gave his interrogator.
“For a time, yes.” He paused. “You could say I knew her intimately.”
“Was she your mistress?”
Courtney-Briggs looked at him, impassive, considering. Then he said:
That’s putting it rather formally. We slept together fairly regularly during her first six months here. Are you objecting?“
“It’s hardly for me to object if she didn’t. Presumably she was willing?”
“You could say that.”
“When did it end?”
“I thought I told you. It lasted until the end of her first year. That’s a year and a half ago.”
“Did you quarrel?”
“No. She decided she’d, shall we say, exhausted the possibilities. Some women like variety. I do myself. I wouldn’t have taken her on if I’d thought she was the type to make trouble. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t make it a practice to sleep with student nurses. I’m reasonably fastidious.”
“Wasn’t it difficult to keep the affair secret? There’s very little privacy in a hospital.”
“You have romantic ideas, Superintendent We didn’t kiss and cuddle in tile sluice room. When I said I slept with her I meant just that I don’t use euphemisms for sex. She came to my Wimpole Street flat when she had a night off and we slept there. I haven’t a resident man there and my house is near Selborne. The porter at Wimpole Street must have known, but he can keep his mouth shut There wouldn’t be many tenants left in the building if he couldn’t. There wasn’t any risk, provided that she didn’t talk, and she wasn’t a talker. Not that I would have minded particularly. There are certain areas of private behavior in which I do as I like. You too no doubt”
“So it wasn’t your child?”
“No. I’m not careless. Besides the affair was over. But if it hadn’t been I should hardly have killed her. That kind of solution causes more embarrassment than it prevents.”
Dalgliesh asked: “What would you have done?”
“That would have depended on the circumstances. I should have had to be sure it was my child. But this particular problem is hardly uncommon and not insoluble if the woman is reasonable.”
“I’ve been told that Miss Fallon planned to get an abortion. Did she approach you?”
“No.”
“She might have done?”
“Certainly she might have done. But she didn’t.”
“Would you have helped her if she had?”
The surgeon looked at him.
“That question is hardly within your terms of reference, I should have thought.”
Dalgliesh said: “That’s for me to judge. The girl was pregnant; she apparently intended to get an abortion; she told a friend that she knew someone who would help her. I’m naturally interested to know who she had in mind.”
“You know the law. I’m a surgeon not a gynecologist. I prefer to stick to my own specialty and to practice it legally.”
“But there are other kinds of help. Referring her to an appropriate consultant, helping with the fees.”
A girl with £, 16,000 to bequeath was hardly likely to want help with the fees for an abortion. But Miss Goodale’s legacy was not being made public and Dalgliesh was interested to learn whether Courtney-Briggs knew about Fallon’s capital. But the surgeon gave no sign.
“Well, she didn’t come to me. She may have bad me in mind but she didn’t come. And if she had, I wouldn’t have helped. I make it my business to assume my own responsibilities; but I don’t take on other people’s. If she chose to look elsewhere for her satisfaction she could look elsewhere for her help. I didn’t impregnate her. Someone did. Let him look after her.”
“That would have been your response?”
“Certainly it would. And rightly.”
His voice held a note of grim satisfaction. Looking at him, Dalgliesh saw that his face was flushed. The man was controlling his emotion with difficulty. And Dalgliesh had little doubt of the nature of that emotion. It was hate. He went on with his interrogation.
“Were you in the hospital last night?”
“Yes. I was called to operate on an emergency. One of my patients relapsed. It wasn’t altogether unexpected, but very serious. I finished operating at eleven forty-five p.m. The time will be noted in the theatre register. Then I rang Sister Brumfett at Nightingale House to ask her to be good enough to return to her ward for an hour or so. My patient was a private patient After that I rang my home to say that I would be returning that night instead of sleeping here in the medical officers’ quarters as I do occasionally after a late operation. I left the main building shortly after twelve. I intended driving out by the Winchester Road gate. I have my own key. However, it was a wild night as you probably noticed, and I discovered that there was an elm down over the path. I was lucky not to drive into it I got out of the car and knotted my white silk scarf, round one of the branches to warn anyone else who might be driving that way. It wasn’t likely that anyone would, but the tree was an obvious danger and there was no chance of getting it moved before daylight I reversed the car and left by the main entrance, reporting the fallen tree to the gate porter on my way out”
“Did you notice the time then?”
“I didn’t He may have done. But at a guess, it was probably about twelve fifteen, maybe later. I wasted a bit of time at the tree.”
“You would have had to drive past Nightingale House to reach the back gate. You didn’t go in?”
“I had no reason to go in and I didn’t go in, either to poison Nurse Fallon or for any other reason.”
“And you saw no one in the grounds?”
“After midnight and in the middle of a storm? No, I saw no one.”
Dalgliesh switched his questioning.
“You saw Nurse Pearce die, of course. I suppose there was never a real chance of saving her?”
“Never, I should say. I took pretty vigorous measures, but it isn’t easy when you don’t know what you’re treating.”
“But you knew it was poison?”
“Pretty soon. Yes. But I didn’t know what Not that it would have made any difference. You’ve seen the post-mortem report You knew what that stuff did to her.”
Dalgliesh asked: “You were in Nightingale House from eight o’clock onwards on the morning that she died?”
“You know perfectly well that I was if, as I assume, you’ve taken the trouble to read my original statement. I arrived in Nightingale House shortly after eight My contract here is for six notional halfdays a week; I’m in the hospital all day on Monday, Thursday and Friday; but if’s not uncommon for me to be called in to operate on an emergency, particularly if it’s a private patient, and I occasionally do a Saturday morning session in the theatre if the lists are long. I’d been called out shortly after eleven o’clock on Sunday night for an emergency appendicectomy-one of my private patients-and it was convenient to spend the night in the medical officers’ quarters.”