The Devil's Making by Seán Haldane Page B

more shirts, trousers, jackets and coats, and a dozen or so pairs of high quality shoes. The bed was neatly made. A dressing table had a triple looking glass – an innovation I had never seen. My face looked uncouth in profile, my beard scruffy above the unbuttoned neck of my police tunic.
    There was a wash-stand with the usual accoutrements: beard-trimmer, brushes, and a hair-catcher made by female hands – the kind of thing wives or daughters gave as presents. I began going through the chest of drawers beside the bed. Underclothes. A pistol: Colt 45, heavy as a rock, loaded but with the chamber opposite the breech empty and the safety catch on. A box of cartridges. He presumably had not felt he needed this on his excursions to Cormorant Point to pick herbs with.…
    I closed the drawers, then went over to the window and looked out at the trees across the road. Downstairs I had glanced into the kitchen, laundry room, and the waiting room, which was normal enough, with American reviews and the usual American pirated issues of the Quarterly and Blackwoods. What sorts of patients did the alienist receive?
    â€˜Why no appointment book?’ I said.
    â€˜Appointment book?’
    â€˜Book with list of patients. Where book?’ Oh God, I was now talking a kind of pidgin English to Lee.
    â€˜No book.’
    â€˜How did he see patients then? How many a day?’
    â€˜Patients?’
    â€˜Look, Mr Lee, I don’t want to waste my time. You’ll come to the police station with me anyway, and make a deposition. If necessary we shall find an interpreter. Don’t pretend you know less English than you do.’ I was surprised at my own rudeness, but told myself that I was tired from my long walk the night before.
    â€˜Lee not pretend,’ the man said, still smiling. ‘Lee do best. Dr McCrory not keep appointment book. He see two patients, three patients a day. He know when they come. He keep all in head.’ Lee tapped his temple.
    â€˜Why no appointment book?’
    â€˜Lee not know.’
    â€˜Why no letters from patients, no medical notes? Have you tidied these up?’
    â€˜Naw. Lee not tidy up. Lee leave everything exactly as is. Doctor not keep notes. Not like paper.’
    â€˜Doctor receive letters?’
    â€˜Not many letters. After reading, burn them.’
    â€˜Burn them? All?’
    â€˜Doctor not like paper. Doctor alienist, ’ Lee said carefully. ‘ Phrenologist. Doctor see people privately, very privately.’
    â€˜You know the names of any patients?’
    â€˜Lee never say. Strictly confidential. But not know. Doctor never say names to Lee.’
    â€˜But would you recognise them? Know their faces?’
    â€˜Lee easily confused white people faces.’
    I almost laughed. ‘Woman? Man?’ I asked.
    â€˜Some women. Some men.’
    I felt hot and bothered standing in a dead man’s bedroom talking to this Chinaman. I turned and left the room. Lee followed me downstairs. I went back into the consulting room for a final look. Nothing much I had not noticed. As before, Lee stood just inside the doorway.
    â€˜You liked Dr McCrory?’ I hazarded.
    â€˜Like? Not like, like – no difference. Good master. Pay four dollahs a day.’
    Somewhat more than my own salary. And why not?
    â€˜You went to the Indian camp with the doctor?’
    â€˜One time.’
    â€˜You walked, or took horses?’
    â€˜Walk. Nice day, not far.’
    â€˜And why did the doctor visit the Indians? Or, first, how did he know they were there?’
    â€˜Everybody know Indians at Cormorant Point. Often Indians come down. Trade. Doctor interested in medicines, herbs, plants. He look for Indian medicine man.’
    â€˜How about Chinese medicine?’ I interrupted, trying to put Lee off balance. ‘He was interested in that too?’
    â€˜Of course. He come with Lee to Chinatown, buy medicine. Seahorse, jellyfish, ginseng,