be some bored female who just wants her hand held. If I want to hold a hand, I'll hold yours."
She would let him, too, Simone knew. He was a really marvelous man, even if he was too old for her.
9
L ouis Clermont had been called to the Azagon a few times when it was a hotel, but not since it had become a retreat for alcoholics. As a hotel the place had seemed to him a stupid idea and a waste of money. As a retreat it interested him more—he had patients of his own who drank too much—but, sensing a certain indifference toward him on the part of the staff, he had kept his distance.
The staff at the Azagon considered him a country bumpkin, he supposed. They probably found it difficult to accept that a man with a medical education as good as that of most American doctors—in some cases perhaps better—could be content to serve in a town that hadn't even a paved street.
Having rung the Azagon bell he waited patiently, hands in his pockets, until the door was opened by a maid. She was a Dame Marie girl and flashed him a bright smile.
"Ah, Dr. Clermont! Mr. Henninger is expecting you. But Dr. Spence would like it if you would see him first. Will you come with me, please?"
Clermont hesitated. Paul Henninger, not Spence, was the one who had phoned him. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to the new man in charge. Not before seeing his patient, at least. But, oh, well—
With a shrug, he trailed the girl across the lobby, where she halted before a closed door.
When the maid knocked, Steve Spence was seated at his desk, poring over a list of food expenses supplied by the man in charge of the kitchen, Ti-Jean Lazaire. "Just a minute, please," he responded without looking up.
His scrutiny of the figures finished, he slid the paper into a drawer and voiced a grunt of satisfaction at having completed a tedious chore. After all, this was really the manager's job, not his, but Henninger was not up to it at present. Or up to much of anything else, for that matter.
"All right. Come in, please."
It surprised him to see a black Abraham Lincoln slouch in behind the maid.
"Dr. Spence, this is our Dr. Clermont." The girl's voice rang with pride.
Steve rose and offered a firm, friendly hand while looking his caller over. "Thanks for coming, Doctor. Shall I take you to Henninger's room at once, or would you rather hear what I know first?"
"Depends on how sick he is," Clermont said. "By the way, I hope he told you he's been to see me several times, and that's why he sent for me. I believe he didn't want anyone here to know he had problems."
Steve nodded. "I understand. And he was sleeping when I looked in on him a few minutes ago."
"Suppose we talk, then." Clermont seated himself on one of two straight-backed chairs Steve had provided for visitors.
Steve sent a glance of dismissal at the maid, and she quietly withdrew, closing the door behind her. Before speaking, he propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his laced fingers in unconscious imitation of the very man he was frowning at.
"I think I'd better fill you in on what happened here last night, Doctor," he said then.
Beginning with the knock on his door by Tom Driscoll, he kept his account of the night's events as brief as possible. "But I ought to tell you, too, that one of our patients here, a young doctor named Juan Mendoza whom I've known for years, followed Paul and says he didn't go to Anse Douce at all. He went to the town's red-light district, Juan insists."
"The Hounfor? Then what about the fish that attacked him?"
"Yes, of course. If he didn't go for his long-distance swim, how do we explain the fish?" Steve shrugged with his hands. "Anyway, I ought to tell you, too, that Paul Henninger and Lawton Lindo are not the only ones here with problems. There are several others."
"Patients, you mean? Or staff?"
"I don't think the list includes any staff yet, other than Henninger."
"What do you make of Paul, Dr. Spence? Do you really believe he
She would let him, too, Simone knew. He was a really marvelous man, even if he was too old for her.
9
L ouis Clermont had been called to the Azagon a few times when it was a hotel, but not since it had become a retreat for alcoholics. As a hotel the place had seemed to him a stupid idea and a waste of money. As a retreat it interested him more—he had patients of his own who drank too much—but, sensing a certain indifference toward him on the part of the staff, he had kept his distance.
The staff at the Azagon considered him a country bumpkin, he supposed. They probably found it difficult to accept that a man with a medical education as good as that of most American doctors—in some cases perhaps better—could be content to serve in a town that hadn't even a paved street.
Having rung the Azagon bell he waited patiently, hands in his pockets, until the door was opened by a maid. She was a Dame Marie girl and flashed him a bright smile.
"Ah, Dr. Clermont! Mr. Henninger is expecting you. But Dr. Spence would like it if you would see him first. Will you come with me, please?"
Clermont hesitated. Paul Henninger, not Spence, was the one who had phoned him. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to the new man in charge. Not before seeing his patient, at least. But, oh, well—
With a shrug, he trailed the girl across the lobby, where she halted before a closed door.
When the maid knocked, Steve Spence was seated at his desk, poring over a list of food expenses supplied by the man in charge of the kitchen, Ti-Jean Lazaire. "Just a minute, please," he responded without looking up.
His scrutiny of the figures finished, he slid the paper into a drawer and voiced a grunt of satisfaction at having completed a tedious chore. After all, this was really the manager's job, not his, but Henninger was not up to it at present. Or up to much of anything else, for that matter.
"All right. Come in, please."
It surprised him to see a black Abraham Lincoln slouch in behind the maid.
"Dr. Spence, this is our Dr. Clermont." The girl's voice rang with pride.
Steve rose and offered a firm, friendly hand while looking his caller over. "Thanks for coming, Doctor. Shall I take you to Henninger's room at once, or would you rather hear what I know first?"
"Depends on how sick he is," Clermont said. "By the way, I hope he told you he's been to see me several times, and that's why he sent for me. I believe he didn't want anyone here to know he had problems."
Steve nodded. "I understand. And he was sleeping when I looked in on him a few minutes ago."
"Suppose we talk, then." Clermont seated himself on one of two straight-backed chairs Steve had provided for visitors.
Steve sent a glance of dismissal at the maid, and she quietly withdrew, closing the door behind her. Before speaking, he propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his laced fingers in unconscious imitation of the very man he was frowning at.
"I think I'd better fill you in on what happened here last night, Doctor," he said then.
Beginning with the knock on his door by Tom Driscoll, he kept his account of the night's events as brief as possible. "But I ought to tell you, too, that one of our patients here, a young doctor named Juan Mendoza whom I've known for years, followed Paul and says he didn't go to Anse Douce at all. He went to the town's red-light district, Juan insists."
"The Hounfor? Then what about the fish that attacked him?"
"Yes, of course. If he didn't go for his long-distance swim, how do we explain the fish?" Steve shrugged with his hands. "Anyway, I ought to tell you, too, that Paul Henninger and Lawton Lindo are not the only ones here with problems. There are several others."
"Patients, you mean? Or staff?"
"I don't think the list includes any staff yet, other than Henninger."
"What do you make of Paul, Dr. Spence? Do you really believe he
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