Trick of the Mind Read Online Free

Carmichael. “I’m sorry I haven’t rung. I should have.”
    “I’m sure you’ve had a very busy night,” said Dotty. “Do you know anything yet? Is Gibbons going to be all right?”
    “I don’t know,” replied Carmichael. “They took him into surgery
a half hour or so past, but I’ve not heard anything since. I suppose it’s going well enough.”
    “Are you still at the hospital?” she asked.
    “Yes. There didn’t seem to be much point in leaving—I’ve got everyone out trying to find out what happened, but so far there’s no one to interview, or even any suspects. And although the doctors said Gibbons wouldn’t wake up, well, you never can tell, can you?”
    “But surely someone else could have stayed,” suggested Dotty.
    “Well, yes,” admitted Carmichael. “In fact, I’ve got some armed uniforms here just to be safe. But Gibbons doesn’t know them.”
    “That’s a good thought,” she agreed. “He ought to have someone he knows there when he wakes up. Would you like me to come down and wait for him?”
    Carmichael was startled. “Down here? You mean the hospital?”
    “Well, yes, dear. That does seem most practical if one’s waiting for somebody to come out of surgery.”
    She was teasing him now, gently, but teasing nonetheless. Despite himself, Carmichael smiled.
    “Well, it’s likely to be a long wait,” he said.
    “That’s all right,” she said. “I can’t sleep anyway, not without knowing Sergeant Gibbons will be all right. And that way if you’re called away, he’ll still have someone who knows him there, won’t he?”
    “Yes,” said Carmichael. “Yes, he will. If you truly want to, Dotty, I won’t say no.”
    “Then I’ll come down,” she said firmly. “I should be there in forty-five minutes or so.”
    Bethancourt flicked his cigarette butt out the window, and took a drink from the bottle of Evian he had taken from the hotel. He badly wanted a coffee, but time was running on, and making the three o’clock ferry would be a close thing at this point.
    He checked the time yet again and found it was past 2:30 A.M. A half hour ago he had reluctantly decided that ringing Carmichael on an hourly basis for updates would probably be overly onerous to
a busy and distressed policeman who had work to do, but it had, by his calculations, been more than ninety minutes now; surely in that amount of time there should be news. He picked up the phone.
    Unexpectedly, Carmichael sounded pleased to hear from him. “Bethancourt?” he said. “They’ve taken him into the operating theatre at last—not quite half an hour ago. I’ve left the hospital, but Mrs. Carmichael is there and will ring me the moment she hears any thing.”
    “That’s good news, sir,” said Bethancourt, hoping it was.
    “I wanted to ask you,” continued Carmichael, “what time it was when he rang you this evening?”
    “At six thirty-five,” answered Bethancourt, wondering why this should matter.
    “And when was the last time you spoke to him before that?”
    “The day before yesterday,” said Bethancourt. “I rang him to say I’d be back in London on Thursday.”
    “But he gave you no hint that anything was up?” asked Carmichael anxiously.
    “Not especially,” replied Bethancourt. “He told me about his transfer to Arts Theft and about how different it was from what he was used to, but nothing about any specific case. We talked about gambling.”
    “Gambling?” said Carmichael, sounding startled.
    “I was in Monte Carlo at the time.”
    “Ah,” said Carmichael, apparently dismissing this bit of information. “You said you’re on your way back now?”
    “Yes, sir,” said Bethancourt. “I’m on the road as we speak—just passing Béthune. I’m hoping to make the three o’clock ferry.”
    “Good, good,” said Carmichael. “Make sure you let me know once you’re here.”
    “Of course, sir,” said Bethancourt, wondering why Carmichael seemed so eager to speak with him, but