Doctor On Toast (5 page)

‘Officer, take this man in charge. A very serious crime has been committed.’

The little man cried, ‘I confess everything,’ and burst into tears. The children gave another roar of laughter. Their uncle had finally come up to scratch on the afternoon’s entertainment.

‘Name and address, please, sir,’ said the policeman, reaching for his notebook.

‘My dear good man! Don’t stand there taking names and addresses as though he’d parked on the wrong side of the street. I tell you that something of the utmost seriousness has been committed. Do you know who I am? I am a surgeon. Indeed, I am the consultant surgeon to the Police Welfare Club, and I demand to be taken to your superior officers immediately. Ah, a police car! I am glad somebody had the intelligence to reach for the telephone. Grimsdyke!’

‘Sir?’

‘You will kindly take the children home in my Rolls. The scene is far too painful for their eyes.’

‘What’s going on here?’ called a policeman from the car.

‘Let us all go to the nearest police station and find out,’ said Sir Lancelot.

Our return minus Sir Lancelot caused quite a stir in Harley Street.

‘Not an accident!’ exclaimed the Bishop, I fancied a shade too hopefully.

‘No, not an accident,’ I assured him, while everyone seemed to be talking at once. ‘But it is rather complicated–’

‘Oh, dear,’ exclaimed Lady Spratt.

‘You see, the police–’

‘The police?’ murmured the Bishop. ‘Horror!’

‘And I’d better not discuss it in front of the children–’

‘Mummy,’ said Hilda, ‘Sir Lancelot called me an ugly little moron.’

The brats were smartly removed by the Bishop’s eldest daughter, and I led the others into the drawing-room.

‘We had a rather odd experience,’ I started. I shifted a bit, what with everyone staring at me. ‘Fact is, we witnessed the aftermath of a murder.’

‘Murder!’ gasped the Bishop.

‘Lancelot wasn’t involved – ?’ cried Lady Spratt.

‘Only in nabbing the criminal,’ I reassured her quickly.

‘It is really most unfortunate that we should become mixed up in such matters,’ remarked the Bishop’s wife.

‘But Gaston, what on earth happened?’ demanded Lady Spratt.

‘We were all in the lion house.’ It really was dashed difficult knowing exactly how to put it. ‘And there was the murderer chap, tossing great chunks of meat through the bars from his suitcase. You see, we were actually watching him disposing of the body.’

The Bishop’s wife gave a scream, and fainted again.

‘Horror upon horror!’ cried the Bishop.

There was naturally a good deal of confusion, even though we’d already established the drill for this situation. But what with carting his wife to the sofa and the smelling salts and the brandy and the Bishop fanning her with his apron, I couldn’t get any further with the story before Sir Lancelot appeared himself in a police car, looking pleased with life.

‘Lancelot! What on earth have you been up to?’ insisted Lady Spratt at once.

‘Furthering the ends of justice, my dear. Where are our guests?’

‘Charles is just upstairs helping his wife. She was taken ill again.’

‘Really? Something’s constitutionally wrong with that woman. It might not be a bad idea if I had a look at her. There you are, Grimsdyke. You’ll stay for tea?’

‘Tea!’ Lady Spratt started to get cross. ‘How you have the nerve to talk about tea when we are all of us in a state of utter emotional exhaustion–’

‘You really must try and keep calm, my dear. Once I get this beastly wet overcoat off I shall give you the full story. Meanwhile, I see no reason whatever why I should forgo my usual tea.’

And a pretty dramatic story it was, too.

When Sir Lancelot had arrived at the police station, where he was lucky to find he’d once repaired the sergeant’s hernia, the little man was incapable of anything except loud sobs.

‘Aware that vital evidence was rapidly disappearing in the gastric juices of lions,’ Sir Lancelot explained, as the pretty little Italian maid wheeled in the tea-trolley, ‘I immediately directed the police to telephone McFiggie. McFiggie naturally grasped the point at once, and agreed that the animals should have an emetic, which has already been administered. Once the stomach contents are under his microscope he will be able to tell if there is any trace of human flesh remaining undigested. Elementary, my dear Grimsdyke.’

He then settled down to his usual Sunday spread of hot buttered crumpets and dundee cake.

Fact is, I fancied Lady Spratt now felt as proud of the old boy as I did myself. For all that chasing round the penguins, the quick-wittedness which had pulled off so many tricky surgical diagnoses in the wards at St Swithin’s had copped the perpetrator of a particularly crafty and messy murder. It just proved again how Sir Lancelot made a resounding success of anything he happened to take an interest in, from surgery to snipe shooting and collecting rare diseases to collecting rare china.

‘Lancelot, how provident to see you safe and sound.’ The Bishop appeared in the doorway, looking flustered. ‘I fear that my wife–’

‘My dear feller, take a seat. I have a most interesting story to tell.’

‘My poor wife…not very well.’

‘Indeed? I’m extremely sorry to hear it.’

‘Thank you, thank you. The London air… I don’t think it quite suits her. It would perhaps be for the best if we all shortly returned home again.’

‘Very wise of you,’ agreed Sir Lancelot, swallowing half a crumpet. ‘As for my adventures today, you can read all about them in the morning papers.’

‘Papers!’ The Bishop went pale. ‘If you wouldn’t mind…no abuse of your kind hospitality…we shall be on our way quite early tomorrow.’

‘I’ll give instructions for Maria to call you at six.’ Sir Lancelot glanced through the window. ‘Ah, the police again. My former patient, Sergeant Griffin, I see.’

The Bishop stared at the black saloon outside. ‘Perhaps, Lancelot, if it wouldn’t seem impolite, we had better leave tonight. The traffic on the roads tomorrow, you understand–’

‘Then I shall give Maria instructions to help you with the packing straight away. Come in, Sergeant, come in.’ The Bishop bumped into the policeman in his hurry to be out of sight. ‘Cup of tea? Cigarette?’

‘No thank you, Sir Lancelot. Good afternoon, madam. Good afternoon, sir,’ the Sergeant added to me. He put his helmet on a handy occasional table. ‘Well, Sir Lancelot,’ he began, ‘you’ve done a fine job of work for us, and no mistake.’

‘I am always delighted to be of assistance to the police,’ declared the surgeon, munching a slice of cake.

‘We’ve been after that chap for quite a time.’

‘Good heavens! You mean he’s committed a number of murders?’

The sergeant smiled. ‘Very droll of you to put it like that, sir. I suppose he did murder the poor things.’

‘No two ways about it, I should think,’ remarked Lady Spratt sharply.

‘We’ve got the report from Dr McFiggie, and the CID have searched the fellow’s premises up at Crouch End. Quite a bit of evidence they found there. He’d have made a good many visits to the Zoo before he finished the job. Could have cost him a small fortune in admission fees in the end.’

‘You couldn’t possibly get a whole body in an attaché case,’ Sir Lancelot agreed.

‘There were a good many bodies. His refrigerator was packed with them.’

‘Ugh!’ cried Lady Spratt. I must admit a shiver went up and down my own spine.

‘How dastardly!’ exclaimed Sir Lancelot.

‘I agree, sir. I fancy the RSPCA will have charges to bring as well.’

Sir Lancelot stared. ‘The RSPC what?’

‘The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals–’

‘Yes, yes! I know, I know–’

‘Some of them poor things must have been killed very carelessly.’

Sir Lancelot rose.

‘One moment, Sergeant. You will kindly explain yourself?’

The policeman looked surprised.

‘Doesn’t seem much to explain, sir. I’ve got Dr McFiggie’s phone message here.’ He pulled a scrap of paper from his tunic pocket. ‘It says, “Microscopical examination of stomach contents from lions A, B, and C shows large masses of undigested muscular tissue, probably originating from cat or dog”. The fellow you caught runs a small pork-pie business,’ he explained. ‘We’ve suspected for months he was putting bits of stray dogs and cats in his stuff, and once he got wind we were on his trail he tried to get rid of the evidence. Ah, well – crime doesn’t pay in the end, sir, does it?’

There was a silence.

‘No,’ said Sir Lancelot shortly. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘Sergeant, are you
sure
you won’t have a cup of tea?’ asked Lady Spratt.

A few minutes later I was alone with Sir Lancelot in his study.

‘Grimsdyke–’

‘Sir?’

‘Grimsdyke, you will not utter a word of the true story of this afternoon.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.’

‘I think I can silence that legalised Burke and Hare, McFiggie. I never did like the feller much, anyway. I shall have to resign from the Police Welfare Club, of course. But that was an intolerable waste of time. For the rest, I must rely on your discretion, or I shall be unable to take luncheon in the hospital refectory again if there happens to be steak pie on the menu.’

‘Believe me, sir, I’d do anything for you,’ I told him stoutly.

‘Thank you, Grimsdyke. You are a damned chatterbox, but this time I believe you. And – and I sincerely appreciate it,’ he added quickly. Sir Lancelot paused. ‘If there is anything I might do in return…?’

‘Do you think you could give me an introduction to your brother, sir?’ I asked at once. ‘The sailor chap? I was thinking of taking a little paid holiday while getting on with your memoirs.’

‘Ship’s doctor, you mean? Assuredly I shall give you a reference.’ He sat at the desk. ‘Just tell me what to write. From long experience on appointment boards I know that no testimonial is the slightest use unless written by the applicant.’

‘That’s jolly decent of you, sir.’

‘I am more than happy to be of assistance.’ Sir Lancelot took the cap off his fountain pen. He paused, and gave a smile. ‘And there’s one thing, my boy. At least I managed to get rid of the blasted Bishop.’

‘Enter!’

It was the next morning, and that voice was chillingly familiar.

‘Yes?’

‘Er – Dr Grimsdyke, sir. They just sent in a letter about me.’

‘Sit.’

Captain George Spratt, wearing a plain blue serge suit in an office filled with rather pleasant models of ships, took a silver box from his pocket and whisked a pile of black snuff into each nostril.

‘So you want a voyage, eh?’

‘That was the general idea, sir.’

He sat glaring at me for half a minute. I’d always felt that Sir Lancelot himself wouldn’t have looked out of place pacing the poop of the
Bounty
, but his brother George resembled Blackbeard the Pirate after a heavy night on the rum trying to decide whether to flay the captives alive or have them boiled slowly in oil.

‘Very convenient for you medical gentlemen, isn’t it?’ he began, as though hailing something through fog. ‘Walking about with a built-in steamship ticket? Eh? Though my brother seems to write very highly of you.’ The Captain paused. ‘I don’t suppose he mentions me much, does he?’

As a matter of fact, Sir Lancelot did keep pretty quiet about his brother George, but I tried to indicate in a few words that he was always being held up as embodying the best nautical qualities of Sir Francis Drake and Grace Darling.

‘He told you that scurrilous tale about the choir funds, I suppose? Totally untrue, of course. Years afterwards they found out that the Vicar had boozed the lot.’ Captain Spratt tossed Sir Lancelot’s letter aside. ‘You want to sail on Monday in the
Capricorn Queen
?’

‘I’d very much like that particular ship, sir.’

I tried not to slip off the chair in eagerness.

‘Well, I suppose Dr O’Rory has been pestering me long enough for a voyage off.’ The Captain sat stroking his beard. ‘Needs it too, from the reports I’ve been getting. Now look here young feller me lad – going to sea doesn’t mean an extended bout of skylarking at the Company’s expense. Understand? Doctors are members of our crews, and expected to comport themselves as such. If you want to drink yourself to death, you can do that with less trouble to everybody ashore. As for women, the only time you hold a lady’s hand at sea is to give up your place in the lifeboat as the ship goes down. Get that straight to start with.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I must say, I was glad that Captain Spratt was as landlocked as Sir Joseph Porter, KCB, the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee. Even for dear Ophelia I wouldn’t be shut up with a chap like him for six weeks in a floating steel strong-box.

‘Though God knows why anyone at all wants to go to sea today.’ The Captain treated his nose to another meal of snuff. ‘You look a man of the world, Doctor,’ he conceded. ‘Know anything about advertising agencies?’

‘Advertising agencies, sir?’

‘Your best friend wouldn’t tell you, and all that rubbish. Anyone would imagine the entire human race stank like a herd of goats. We’ve got some hag from one of them sailing this trip, to be photographed in her bathing drawers all over the deck. I’m only warning you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘The Company’s gone raving mad about advertising.’ He banged the desk so hard all the ships quivered. ‘Even had a snapshot taken of
me
, God help them! By some ghastly wallahs in pink trousers who kept calling each other dearie.’

‘I – I hope it came out nicely, sir.’

‘When
I
first took command, passengers came aboard to travel, not to participate in some sort of floating Babylonian orgy. Hell’s teeth! In those days you could maintain order and discipline aboard – silence in the afternoons and everyone up for breakfast, and so on. If passengers wanted amusement, there was always bingo on Saturday nights. You are fond of bingo, Doctor?’

‘I don’t think I’ve played, sir.’

‘Anyway, they’ve changed bingo to Thursdays. On Saturdays my unfortunate Captains are obliged to put on paper hats and dance the rumba with a bunch of old ladies who’d be far better tucked up with a hot water bottle in Bournemouth. Nobody at sea knows where they are any more. At this rate we’ll be moving Divine Service to Wednesday afternoons. When can you join?’

‘Join? You mean it’s – it’s all fixed? Absolutely any time you like, sir.’

Razzy had shown up with his sprained ankles and sun blisters, the husband had gone back to the Himalayas and taken the actress with him, so I was professionally on the loose again.

‘Report on board eight o’clock Friday morning to check medical stores,’ ordered Captain Spratt briefly. ‘You will now step next door to be introduced to Captain Makepeace, who is in command of your vessel.’ He held out his hand. ‘It only remains for me to wish you a pleasant voyage, Doctor. We shall meet again on your return to port.’

I was pretty relieved to discover Captain Makepeace a little thin chap with a bowler and umbrella beside him, sitting at a desk signing some papers.

‘You may have found Captain Spratt somewhat direct in his manner,’ he began mildly, as we were left alone.

‘Bluff old sea-dog, and all that,’ I remarked.

‘Pray do not be discomforted by him, Doctor. I was his Chief Officer for some years, and I fear I let it undermine my health.’ Captain Makepeace laid a hand on his right hip pocket. ‘The kidneys, you know. I still suffer from the twinges. Perhaps you could suggest something – ?’

‘Delighted to give you a thorough going-over once I’m aboard,’ I said quickly, it being clearly important to keep in with the chap.

‘Thank you, Doctor. I should be most obliged. It is indeed a great relief to have an enthusiastic young medical man like yourself with us. A great relief. Dr O’Rory, I fear, has been behaving very oddly of late. Of course, he has been at sea for many years.’

I nodded. It is well known in the profession that prolonged service afloat induces certain irreversible psychological changes.

‘He became very interested in the Great Pyramid – all the measurements, you understand. Unless he consulted them he was unable to decide anything at all, from the day to get his hair cut to the prescription for some unfortunate person appearing in his surgery.’

Captain Makepeace gave a faint smile.

‘Of course, I am not so strict at sea as Captain Spratt would suggest. We live in modern times, Doctor. Indeed, I rather encourage my officers to drink with the passengers.’

‘Excellent social move, sir.’

‘And to pay some little attentions to the unaccompanied young ladies.’

I nodded. ‘The poor things might get frightfully lonely otherwise.’

‘We must make our own fun at sea, you know. Do you like bingo, Doctor? If you wish, you can call out the numbers. Dr O’Rory did, and very witty he was too, until recently he started getting a bit near the knuckle for the ladies.’ We shook hands. ‘I am sure, Doctor, our next voyage will be a particularly happy one.’

‘I’m absolutely positive,’ I agreed warmly.

Thus I appeared up the gangway of the
Capricorn Queen
before breakfast the following Friday morning, dressed up in as much gold braid as the chap who hails the taxis outside Fortnum’s.

The
Capricorn Queen
was a great white thing like a wedding cake with portholes, though as she was tied to Tilbury Docks I’d nothing much to do for the weekend, except sit on the sofa that ran down one side of my cabin like the seat in a second-class railway compartment, smoking duty-free cigarettes and reading
Lord Hornblower
.

I hadn’t said a word to Ophelia about my being aboard, because I thought it would come as a nice surprise. Besides, she might have decided to stay at home once she realised we were leaving old Basil on the beach at Blackport. I was, of course, being a simply frightful cad, nipping up the gangway behind the poor chap’s back. But the thought of all that tropical moonlight in store not only shoved the thought into my subconscious, but fairly made me want to go skipping round the deck.

I spent an impatient few days until they put a match to the boilers, and with a good deal of confusion we edged round to Tilbury landing stage, where passengers are let on by those chaps who handle passports as though they were Christmas cards from the Isolation Hospital. You can imagine I was pretty well jumping with excitement, particularly when I fancied I spotted Ophelia’s legs disappearing up a companion-way. I’d asked the Chief Steward to put a whacking great bunch of roses in her cabin with a little note simply inviting her to cocktails at six with the ship’s doctor, and I could hardly wait to see her face as she opened my cabin door and saw me waiting to mix her first Martini.

In no time we were on our way to South America, which to start with runs between Plumstead Marshes and Barking Creek. I changed into a clean white collar and polished up my brass buttons. Six o’clock arrived. I sat on the edge of the sofa and wondered exactly what Ophelia would say.

As it happened, she jolly near fainted.

‘Gaston!’ She gave a shriek. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing here?’

I bowed and kissed her hand.

‘Your humble shipmate.’

‘But you aren’t a sailor!’

‘Yes I am,’ I corrected her. ‘At the moment, just as much as Nelson or old Father Noah himself. I’m the official ship’s doctor.’

She stared at me.

‘But – but for God’s sake
why
?’

‘Ophelia my sweet,’ I explained simply. ‘For you.’

‘For me? What on earth do you mean, for me? How can you possibly–’

I kissed her hand again.

‘For you,’ I repeated, ‘have I adopted the rough and uncertain calling of a seafarer–’

‘You must be crazy!’

‘No, no, Ophelia!’ I started edging her towards the sofa. ‘It’s not crazy at all. Just think, for three blissful weeks you and I will be absolutely alone – apart from the other passengers of course.’

I had another go at her hand.

‘By then, my dear old girl,’ I went on, warming a bit, ‘in the intimacy of shipboard life you will have grown to know me better. You may perhaps have grown to know me well enough to understand the terrible yearning–’

‘Where are the cigarettes, darling?’ asked Ophelia, recovering herself.

‘Oh, sorry. Over here.’

She sat down on the sofa.

‘I wish you’d sent me a postcard or something first, darling.’

‘But I wanted it to be a nice surprise.’

‘It was certainly all of that,’ she agreed.

I offered the duty-free cigarette tin.

‘I hope you liked the flowers I sent to your cabin?’

‘Which ones were they, darling? The ship’s like a floating Kew Gardens.’

‘Ophelia–’ I flicked my lighter.

‘Yes, darling?’

‘Ophelia, I… I hope you don’t mind my coming along for the ride?’

‘I don’t mind what you do, Gaston. If you want to go about dressed like a bus conductor, that’s your affair.’

That was a bit irking. I’d hoped to cut a modest dash, what with all those brass buttons.

‘But Ophelia!’ I protested. ‘You yourself said what terrific fun it would be if only I could make the trip.’

‘Did I, darling?’

‘Of course you did. With the early morning dips and the ping pong and the shuffle-board. Surely you remember?’

‘A pretty palatial cabin you’ve got here, I must say,’ observed Ophelia, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

‘Not bad, is it? Nice and handy for the first-class swimming pool and the Veranda Bar.’

‘The stinking little slot they’ve given me down below isn’t big enough to swing the ship’s cat in.’

I patted her hand. ‘I’ll get it changed,’ I told her. ‘Pretty important chap on board, the ship’s doctor, you know. In fact, anything you should happen to want during the voyage–’ I edged a bit up the sofa. ‘Anything at all, you’ve only got to ask old Uncle Grimsdyke, who is ever at your devoted–’

‘What’s the other door with the red cross on it?’

‘That? That’s the hospital.’

‘What an extraordinary thing to have on a ship! May I see?’

‘Of course,’ I replied politely, though preferring to continue the conversation on the sofa. ‘All very neatly arranged, don’t you think?’ I added, opening the door.

‘What’s that heap of old iron doing in the corner?’

‘That’s the fully collapsible operating table.’

‘How gruesome!’

‘Oh yes, you can have your stomach out on board if you want to,’ I explained. ‘The Company spares no expense over the passengers’ amenities.’

Ophelia gave a shiver.

‘I
was
invited here for a drink, wasn’t I?’

‘I say, I’m frightfully sorry. All the stewards are at sixes and sevens stowing away the passengers, and my chap hasn’t shown up yet. I’ll give the fellow a buzz.’

‘What on earth are these? Nut crackers for coconuts?’

‘They’re obstetrical forceps.’

‘What awful things you have round you! I’d no idea you were that sort of doctor at all.’

Ophelia then got interested in the amputation set, so I left her fiddling with the muscle scalpel and rang the bell in my cabin.

‘Ah, Steward,’ I said, re-arranging the cushions to make the sofa nice and comfy for her. ‘I’d like you to put out the gin from my spirit locker, and just nip across to the Veranda Bar and collect a pitcher of ice with half-a-dozen tonics and – Good God!’ I cried. ‘You!’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Basil Beauchamp. ‘You!’