Bear Island by Alistair MacLean Page B

but not noticeably suffering, largely, it seemed very likely, because Mary Stuart, who was just as pale as he was, was sitting by his bedside and holding his far from reluctant hand. I was beginning to think that perhaps she had more friends than either she or I thought she had.
        "Good lord!" I said. "You still here?”
        “Didn't you expect me to be? You asked me to stay and keep an eye on him. Or had you forgotten?”
        “Certainly not," I lied. "Didn't expect you to remain so long, that's all. You've been very kind." I looked down upon the recumbent Duke. "Feeling a bit better?”
        “Lots, Doctor. Lots better." With his voice not much more than a strained whisper he didn't sound it but, then, after what he'd been through in the past hour I didn't expect him to.
        "I'd like to have a little talk with you," I said. "Just a couple of minutes. Feel up to it?"
        He nodded. Mary dear said: "I'll leave you then," and made to rise but I put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
        "No need. The Duke and I share no secrets." I gave him what I hoped would be translated as a thoughtful look. "It's just possible, though, that the Duke might be concealing a secret from me.”
        “Me? A-a secret?" Cecil was genuinely puzzled.
        "Tell me. When did the pains start?”
        “The pains? Half-past nine. Ten. Something like that, I can't be sure." Temporarily bereft of his quick wit and chirpy humour, the Duke was a very woebegone Cockney sparrow indeed. "When this thing hit me I Wasn't feeling much like looking at watches.”
        “I'm sure you weren't," I said sympathetically. "And dinner was the last bite you had tonight?”
        “The last bite." His voice even sounded firm.
        "Not even another teeny-weeny snack? You see, Cecil, I'm puzzled. Miss Stuart has told you that others have been ill, too?" He nodded. "Well, the odd thing is that the others began to be ill almost at once after eating. But it took well over an hour in your case. I find it very strange. You're absolutely sure? You'd nothing?"
        “Doctor!" He wheezed a bit. "You know me.”
        “Yes. That's why I'm asking." Mary dear was looking at me with coolly appraising and rather reproachful brown eyes, any moment now and she was going to say didn't I know Cecil was a sick man. "You see, I know that the others who were sick were suffering from some kind of food poisoning that they picked up at dinner and I know how to treat them. But your illness must have had another cause, I've no idea what it was or how to treat it and until I can make some sort of diagnosis I can't afford to take chances. You're going to be very hungry tomorrow morning and for some time after that but I have to give your system time to settle down: I don't want you to eat anything that might provoke a reaction so violent that I mightn't be able to cope with it this time. Time will give the all clear."
        “I don't understand, Doctor.”
        “Tea and toast for the next three days."
        The Duke didn't turn any paler than he was because that was impossible: he just looked stricken.
        "Tea and toast?" His voice was a weak croak. "For three days!”
        “For your own good, Cecil." I patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and straightened, preparing to leave. "We just want to see you on your feet again."
        I was feeling peckish, like," the Duke explained with some pathos.
        "When?"
        “Just before nine."
        “Just before--half an hour after dinner?”
        “That's when I feel the most peckish. I nipped up into the galley, see, and there was this casserole on a hot plate but I'd only time for one spoonful when I heard two people coming so I jumped into the cool room."
        "And waited?"
        I had to wait." The Duke sounded almost virtuous. "If I'd opened the door even a crack they'd have seen me."
        "So they didn't see you. Which means they left.