With true dramatic flair, Daranyi was saving his bombshell, acquired from Hammarlund’s secretary, for the last. ‘As you doubtless know,’ Daranyi was saying, ‘Mr. Hammarlund gave a dinner for the laureates-Miss Märta Norberg was his hostess-on the evening of December sixth. There was a cocktail period before the dinner, and here the antagonism between Dr. Garrett and Dr. Farelli came to a head. They went into the garden, for privacy, and there Dr. Garrett accused Dr. Farelli of pirating his medical discovery. Harsh words-curses even-were exchanged. During the fracas, Dr. Farelli knocked Dr. Garrett down. Further violence was halted by the intervention of Mr. Craig, the literary laureate.’
Daranyi stopped and looked up, pleased, expecting an exclamation of congratulations from Krantz for this deplorable and scandalous detail. Krantz was hunched over his pad, writing, and he said nothing. Daranyi’s disappointment was keen.
‘Interesting, is it not?’ he asked hopefully.
Krantz glanced up with annoyance. ‘Yes-yes-what are you waiting for? Is there anything more on Garrett?’
Daranyi wanted to counter by saying: is this not enough? But he could not afford insolence. And then the thought struck him that Krantz’s lack of enthusiasm about the Garrett and Farelli fight was an indication that Krantz either knew about it, or was not really interested in Garrett or Farelli. This was of some value to Daranyi. He could eliminate both of them, and he was closer to the truth of his assignment.
‘More on Garrett?’ repeated Daranyi. ‘Nothing significant, except his activity today. This morning at nine-twenty, he received a telephone call from your Foreign Office requesting him to appear in the Audience Chamber of the Royal Palace at eleven o’clock. I was unable to learn why he had been summoned or by whom.’ Daranyi looked up apologetically. ‘Reliable informants who are highly placed inside the Palace are, you will acknowledge, difficult to come by.’
Krantz took out a handkerchief and blew his nose and scowled over the fern.
‘Well-well-?’
Daranyi returned to his jottings. ‘At any rate, for whatever it means to you, Dr. Garrett arrived at the Palace at five minutes to eleven this morning, and was welcomed by the equerry…’
The equerry, impressive in his regimental uniform, had departed, and now, at 10.59 in the morning, John Garrett was briefly alone in the Audience Chamber of the Royal Palace, and gratified to the point of self-complacency. He wandered about the resplendent and baroque room, hearing his heels on the floor, and wishing that Dr. Keller and Adam Ring and his friends at the Medical Centre and Carlo Farelli, above all Carlo Farelli, could see him now.
Garrett touched the magnificent tapestries on the walls, executed in Delft for Queen Christina, examined the oil portraits done by Frans Hals, gazed up at the angel above the dazzling chandelier, and then he stood on the carpet before the gold-and-velvet throne-an actual kingly throne!-and then he inspected the canopy high above the throne.
At His Majesty’s request, the Foreign Office spokesman had told him earlier, on a matter of business personal to the King, could Dr. Garrett appear in the Audience Chamber for a private meeting at eleven o’clock? The meeting, the spokesman promised, would be of short duration, so as not to disturb Dr. Garrett’s schedule, but it was on a matter of great concern to the King.
Garrett had been elated and was still elated. He was tempted to sit on the throne, for this was the way he felt, but he restrained himself for fear of being so discovered by the monarch. He wondered what the Swedish ruler wanted of him. It did not matter, actually. All that mattered-and this he had ascertained on the telephone-was that he, alone, had been called to the Audience Chamber at eleven o’clock, and now his ego puffed and strutted inside him. Poor, poor Farelli, he thought-to see the Italian’s face when he read the story of this…
Lost, as he was, in his reverie, Garrett did not hear the heavy carved oak door of the Audience Chamber as it was opened and closed behind him. What he heard, after, were the footsteps, and he swung around, erect as possible, to meet the King man to man.
‘Good morning, Dr. Garrett. It is gracious of you to come so promptly.’
It was not the King of Sweden who spoke to him, and now approached him, but a shorter, stockier man, in his sixties, wearing a disappointing dark blue business suit.
He shook Garrett’s hand. ‘I do not know if you remember me,’ he was saying. ‘I am the Baron Johan Stiernfeldt. We were introduced at Mr. Hammarlund’s dinner.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Garrett. ‘The Foreign Office phoned this morning-’
‘At my urgent request,’ said the Baron. ‘I am really acting, as so often I do, on behalf of His Majesty. I will detain you but a minute or two. Shall we be seated?’
There were two low velvet stools, with crossed gold legs, against the tapestry that depicted a pastoral scene, several feet to the right of the throne. They walked to the stools and sat, the Baron Johan Stiernfeldt easily, Garrett uncomfortably and still chagrined by the absence of the one whom he had expected.
‘It is my understanding,’ said the Baron, ‘that you are a close acquaintance of Dr. Erik Öhman, our cardiac specialist at the Caroline Institute, who has followed in your footsteps. He has spoken highly of you and gratefully of your contribution to his own work.’
‘I’ve been only too glad to be of some small assistance to him,’ said Garrett modestly, his ego rising once more.
‘Perhaps it is presumptuous of us, then, when you are a guest of our nation and here on pleasure, to request your assistance in a personal matter. His Majesty was troubled about the propriety of this, and Dr. Öhman was consulted at length, and at last it was decided that we might take the liberty of hoping for one more favour from you.’
Unconsciously, Garrett preened. ‘I certainly don’t know what favour I can do for a King, but whatever is commanded, I am at His Majesty’s service.’ He liked the gracious roll of his reply, and hoped that he would remember it for Sue Wiley.
‘Excellent! In advance, we thank you,’ said the Baron. ‘Now to the favour. Dr. Öhman informs us that he has already spoken to you of his next transplantation case.’
Garrett tried to remember. ‘There was a Count, if I recall-’ He gave up. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to refresh my memory.’
‘The patient is Count Rolf Ramstedt, a distant relation to His Majesty and a relation for whom His Majesty has the deepest affection. Count Ramstedt is seventy-two, an athletic person of strong constitution and in the finest health-that is, until recently when he was stricken by an incurable heart ailment. I am a layman and cannot properly explain his illness, but I am told that it is grave and his situation critical. Perhaps you will remember the case from widespread newspaper accounts recently when Dr. Farelli, accompanied by an American newspaperwoman, visited the patient and gave an interview on the possibilities.’
Garrett’s face constricted. ‘Yes, I remember now.’
‘Dr. Öhman has been the soul of candour with His Majesty. For reasons beyond my comprehension, the case provides certain difficulties-’
‘Yes, so Dr. Öhman told me.’
‘-but, nevertheless, Dr. Öhman feels, after numerous tests, that Count Ramstedt qualifies for transplantation surgery, that organ transplantation can be successfully effected because the patient’s immunity mechanism will respond to the serum. With this assurance, the King has seen fit to allow Dr. Öhman to proceed with surgery tomorrow morning. However, His Majesty feels that as if by some kind fate, the world’s two foremost authorities-the discoverers, in fact-of this heart transplantation happen to be in Stockholm to reap the rewards of their genius. The King would like to avail himself of the knowledge that you and Dr. Farelli possess. Since the operation is one that involves him emotionally, and beyond that will be widely reported in the world press, His Majesty feels a responsibility to see that the patient has every advantage. As much as he has faith in Dr. Öhman-and he has absolute faith in that young man-he would feel more secure if you could attend the surgery tomorrow morning, stand by, so to speak, in order that Dr. Öhman may draw upon your assistance and experience if necessary.’