The House Of The Bears by John Creasey Page B

centre of the town, was up Hill Road as far as he could drive. The road ended at the sanatorium, which overlooked Wenlock Bay. The policeman was very helpful and talkative, but he kept looking at Kyle and now and again he glanced at Drusilla.
    They drove on at last, and Kyle observed: ‘I’ve been thinking about Fyson. He didn’t want you to talk to this Loretta Morne.’
    Palfrey shot him a quick, amused glance.
    ‘Now, how did you guess that?’
    ‘All right. Now, Fyson has friends. While he was keeping you and your wife away, his friends might have visited the sanatorium and seen this Loretta. It’s eight o’clock now, so they’ve had time. Aren’t you worried about Loretta?’
    ‘Not yet. Fyson didn’t know what time I would leave Corbin,’ Palfrey pointed out. ‘If they – his friends – thought they could do what they wanted at any given time, they would not have sent Fyson to hold me up, because it wouldn’t have been necessary. Fyson stipulated midnight. As it’s only about eight o’clock now, three hours can pass before anything is likely to happen.’
    ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Kyle. ‘I wouldn’t be happy. I’m not happy. I ought to have thought of this before; I could have telephoned a message from a call-box.’ He sat quiet, but seemed on edge during the rest of the journey.
    At last they reached a long building with a wide gateway over which, in neon letters, were the words: Wenlock Sanatorium, Motorists quiet, please.
    Palfrey switched off the headlights.
    ‘And I’m not worried, because the police have been within call of Loretta since it was known that there might be foul play,’ he said. ‘Will you wait for me?’
    ‘Are you trusting me with your wife?’
    Palfrey smiled and went through the gateway. He did not look back, but before he reached the first flight of steps leading to the Sanatorium, he wondered if he were wise to leave Drusilla with Kyle. The man was likeable and had put the Palfreys greatly in his debt; but that did not mean that he was trustworthy. He went on, still slightly uneasy.
    The policeman in the passage outside Loretta Morne’s room was a burly fellow in uniform. He eyed Palfrey up and down, asked to see his identification papers, which contained a photograph, and pronounced himself satisfied. Palfrey-said: ‘I left my wife asleep in my car, constable, and I’m a little worried about her. In this affair, unpleasant things happen. Could you keep an eye on her, do you think?’
    ‘You needn’t worry about that, sir.’
    ‘No?’ Palfrey showed surprise.
    ‘The place is closely watched, sir.’
    ‘Is it, by Jove!’
    ‘You mustn’t forget that Sir Rufus Morne is the uncrowned king of Corshire,’ said Loretta Morne’s physician, Dr. Ross, with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. ‘I can’t say that I think such precautions are necessary, but the police do. My kitchen staff are kept busy running out to them with cups of tea!’
    As Ross opened the door, it dawned on Palfrey that the police knew more, or suspected more, than they pretended.
    Loretta was strapped up rigid beneath the bedclothes, with only a thin pillow. Her face was as white as the sheets, but her eyes were brilliant. Her face was drawn and she was obviously in pain. Palfrey felt sorry; in some curious way this girl mattered to him. She looked up at him and said: ‘ I want Dr. Palfrey.’
    Ross murmured: ‘I’ll leave you now, Doctor,’ and went out. Rubber flooring muffled the sound of his footsteps.
    ‘ I want Dr. Palfrey.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. She stared at him and repeated the words, and he smiled at her and said: ‘I am Dr. Palfrey.’
    ‘You are?’ Her eyes seemed to grow larger, and she looked at him searchingly for a long time. Palfrey heard a rustle of movement. He looked up, sharply, and saw a white screen and beneath it a pair of heavy boots. Another policeman, of course.
    ‘Dr. Palfrey’ – the man in the corner certainly could not hear