“Would you be so good as to tell me all about the accident?” Travers asked.
It was quite a long story. On that Monday night, as had been hinted,the doctor was feeling none too well. A touch of malaria, in fact, was imminent and he took a stiff dose of quinine. He was going to bed early and had actually gone upstairs when Gabrielle, his sister, fetched him, for there was Grandier, the cantonnier, with news of the accident. Debran heard what he had to say, put what he thought he would need in the bag, and went off at once. The cantonnier had already contrived to lift M. Rabaud from the car, and there he was lying unconscious. The two carried him to the doctor’s house where the wound was stitched, and he was put to bed. Gabrielle, who had been a nurse, kept the unconscious man under observation during the night, as the doctor’s malaria had become worse.
On the Tuesday morning the patient was still unconscious. Debran was feeling pretty queer himself and thought it necessary to have not only help, but a second opinion, so he rang his colleague, Dr. Favre of Gevrol.
Gabrielle discussed the case with Favre over the ’phone and in the afternoon Favre himself arrived. His opinion was that the patient should recover consciousness at practically any time and was in no serious danger. Debran, in spite of his fever, was present at the interview. Gabrielle snatched some sleep later and again watched the patient at night.
“It is a pity that I was not able to observe him myself,” Debran said. “I would like this kept in strict confidence as I have not mentioned it even to M. Favre, but I am of the opinion that the patient may have recovered consciousness in the night and then have fallen into an exhausted sleep, which lasted till this afternoon. Such cases are far from uncommon, but at any rate it was at three o’clock this afternoon that he was really awake and fully conscious. My own fever had practically gone and I saw him at once and told him that I had taken the liberty of going through his pockets and had found nothing to indicate even his name, so I was not able to communicate with his friends. Also, at any hour, as I told you, we expected him to recover consciousness. Naturally I did not want to excite him in any way, but he gave me the name of M. Gallois and told me where I should find him at six o’clock. Naturally I therefore came at once, My own car was punctured, but I hired one from Lizou. My sister, I should have told you, notified M. Favre, so he may be at Lizou at this moment.”
“And how was M. Rabaud in himself?” said Travers,
“Just as I told you. Naturally he complains of pains in the head, and there was a certain amount of nausea. Still we gave him a little nourishment—milk and brandy and egg—and then when I came away he was dozing again.”
“And you really feel better yourself?”
“Well, not completely,” he said. “But the attacks are nothing nowadays. They are less frequent and less serious.”
The conversation turned to himself. He had been a military doctor in Morocco and it was there he had caught the malaria, which had ultimately forced him to return to civil life. About a year ago he had settled in Lizou, and later on his sister had decided to keep house for him. At first he had not intended to practise, but to do some research work perhaps as a hobby, but then old Dr. Favre of Gevrol had approached him with the proposition that he should relieve him of some of his patients in the Lizou direction of his extensive, and now too trying, practice. Debran had been only too pleased to agree.
“And yourself, M. Travers,” he said, “you are on a holiday?”
Travers told him all about it, and added that M. Gallois the friend he had happened to run across at Carliens, and whom Debran himself had just met, was quite a famous man—no other than Inspector Gallois of the Sûreté.
The doctor Looked startled, then was shaking his head. “And I treated him as if he were an ordinary person.”
Travers laughed. “Why not? No one, I assure you, is more unassuming than my friend Gallois.”
Debran was still shaking his head. “He will have to pardon me. When one has been abroad as long as I have he gets out of touch with things, and M. Rabaud did not mention—”
“Pardon me,” said Travers, “but would you mind referring to him as Charles? We always think of him as Charles.”
The doctor smiled, “I quite understand that, I think, but this Charles referred to M. Gallois and not Inspector Gallois.”
“You really mustn’t worry your head about it,” Travers told him. “The inspector would be the last man in the world to claim respect. By the way, he is only down here on holiday, At least, there was some conference or other he had to attend at Nimes—he and Charles—and then he took a brief holiday along the coast.”
The doctor was excitedly remembering something. “There was a murder in Carliens. We heard all about it in Lizou, and there’s a photograph of the man stuck up on one of our plane trees in the square. Did the murder happen while you were there?”
“Yes,” Travers said. “It did actually happen while we were there, but it doesn’t, of course, have anything to do with Inspector Gallois. He was leaving Carliens for Toulon to-day in any case.”
Now that conversation had taken well over an hour and the car was now coming down from the plateau and into Gevrol. Dusk was in the sky and in a few minutes it was dark.
“Would you mind slowing down just here?” Debran said when they were well in the town. “It might be better to make sure whether Dr. Favre has gone to see the patient. If he has not, he might perhaps like to come with us.”
Travers drew up before the house which was indicated, and in five minutes Debran came out with his colleague. Favre was quite an old man,though active enough, with the most ferocious of white eyebrows, but he turned out to be quite mild mannered and Travers was finding him rather amusing. His personal appearance, for instance, seemed of no consideration whatever, for his black clothes had an ancient greenish look, his linen was far from clean, and the first thing he did on entering the car was to take a terrific pinch of snuff from a tin box which he then passed ceremoniously to his colleague and Travers, But when he and Debran began discussing the patient, Travers found their technicalities beyond him, especially as the doctor was sitting behind and was bellowing to make himself heard.
The journey was a slow one, with the winding and unfamiliar road, and twice they had to pull up while belated flocks of sheep went by them. Then at the scene of the accident Debran suggested that Travers should slow up, and the lights of the car revealed the scene. The local gendarme had reconstructed everything from the brake-marks of the car and a new breakage in the ruined wall, it was plain that the car had been hit by another one and the police had the matter in hand, but the car itself had been taken away to the local garage and put to rights, and was, the doctor believed, ready at that moment to drive away.
Travers moved on slowly round the bend, and there was the doctor’s house, looking like a tiny English vicarage set among its trees, with the hills almost overhanging it. There was no actual drive to the front door, but a side lane which led to the garage behind the house. Just beyond the lane Debran suggested the car should stop, and the three got out. Almost at once there was a flashing on of a light, and, standing in the porch as if to welcome them, was a woman.
From the twenty yards distance Travers could see she was wearing a black dress with what looked to him like a broad white trimming at the neck, and the effect was so much that of a uniform that he knew she must be Gabrielle, the sister of Debran. As he came nearer he saw it was no uniform but a quiet, charming frock. And she was much younger than he had thought. Thirty-five or younger, he guessed, and it was not till much later that he knew she was actually forty,
“Eh bien, Gabrielle. Tout va bien?” Debran was calling.
“Trés trés bien,” she said with a slow assurance.
A charming voice, Travers thought, and, now he was seeing her closely, a charming woman. The face was not handsome but full of character, and there was a poise and an air of quiet confidence about her. Her brown hair was lovely and her eyes gentle and expressive.
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“He is asleep?” old Favre asked in that thin voice of his.
“He had a short nap and now he is awake again,” she said, “There was really no need to come when I rang you up.” She was turning to Travers with a grave smile. “C’est M. Gallois?”
Debran broke in at once with explanations, and Travers was grateful that his French was so careful and precise.
“If I may be pardoned,” Travers said, “I would like to warn you that M. Rabaud will be very astonished to find me here instead of M, Gallois. He has no idea that I am even in France. He will be pleased to see me, but—”
“You think it will be a shock,” Debran said, and nodded thoughtfully as he turned to Favre. “We will have a look at him.”
But there were steps outside and a young man in dungarees appeared at the open door.
“It is Louis, come to mend the puncture,” Gabrielle said, and went off to give instructions. She caught up with Travers on the landing. He had been snuffing the air and was recalling the smells of an English country surgery.
“Perhaps you will wait here,” she said, opening a door. “In a minute perhaps they will be ready.”
“Thank you,” Travers said, and gave a nervous clearing of the throat, “M. Rabaud, if you will permit me to say so, has been very fortunate in his nurse.”
She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “It is my brother that you should thank, and M, Favre. I have done nothing.”
Travers shook his head. “We are grateful to all of you. If my French were better I would express myself better.”
She smiled again and was gone. A door was opening across the landing and he heard her speak, and then there was Charles’s voice and the thin, squeaky accents of old Favre.
Another minute and he was being called in. Charles was propped up on the pillows against which his face seemed less pale than it was, but against that pallor of the face the eyes looked dark and enormous.
Travers smiled affectionately and pressed the hand that Charles slowly raised.
“And how are you, Charles? Better?”
Charles nodded almost with a jauntiness.
“And you know why I happen to be here?”
“It is all explained,” Charles said, and though the smile was brave enough, his voice was tired, “M. Gallois is remaining in Toulon in case his friend arrives. If not he will be coming here.”
The doctor had been right, Travers was thinking, and then was finding his French suddenly inadequate.
“I am not used to visiting invalids,” he told the room, “and I find my French has gone. What I would like to do is to tell him in English how reckless he has been and how thankful I am that he is no worse.”
“M. Rabaud speaks English?” Gabrielle asked.
“Not at all badly,” Travers told her, “His English is quite as good, perhaps, as my French.”
Then she was speaking English herself.
“I speak it a little also,” she said with a smile of hesitation. “I do not have the practice.”
“But you speak admirably,” Travers told her delightedly.
She was actually blushing as she shook her head. Old Favre cut in importantly.
“I think now that he should rest. A little nourishment, perhaps. A sedative. What do you think?”
He and Debran began conferring. Gabrielle nodded for Travers to say good night to Charles. Travers patted his hand.
“Sleep well, my friend, and have no anxieties. In a minute or two I will ring up M. Gallois and give him your news. To-morrow morning you will be seeing us both.”
He Found Gabrielle in the hall and she looked up the Toulon number for him. Gallois was waiting at the other end of the line. The gentlemen had not turned up, he said, guardedly, so he had had dinner and was coming at once, even if Charles was asleep when he arrived.
The two doctors came down and Gabrielle reported that the puncture was mended.
“And you really think the patient is going on well?” Travers asked.
“Yes,” Debran said. “Exceedingly well. He still complains of headache, naturally, but there is less nausea. To-morrow morning you should see a great difference.”
“In my opinion there is no necessity for me to come to-morrow,” Favre said. “Ring me up in the morning when you feel inclined. If anything should happen—well, you will judge.”
Debran explained that he was driving the old doctor home in his car and he would be seeing Travers on his return. When the two had gone Travers was wondering about accommodation for the night and was thinking of ringing up a Carliens hotel, Gabrielle looked surprised.
“But you will stay here to-night,” she said. “Both you and M. Gallois. I am already preparing two rooms.”
Travers protested, but she insisted. The favour would be hers and her brother’s, she said. It was rare that they had a chance of entertaining guests, and, speaking for her brother especially, it was often somewhat lonely in Lizou.
An hour later many things had happened. Travers was installed in the little salon, and when Charles had been attended to he was called to the dining-room where a meal was ready. The doctor had returned, and again Travers was protesting. He was assured that it was as easy to prepare for three as it was for two. During the meal the doctor twice went upstairs. He was not hungry in any case, he said. After those boots of malaria, it was always some days before he really regained his normal healthy appetite.
Fortunately that night he would be able to sleep for there was little sickness in the district and there were no babies expected, The last news about Charles was that he was sleeping healthily, and it was Travers who suggested that, the doctor should go to bed, and after all might not he and Gallois go to a Carliens hotel for the night and save all the bother? The doctor refused to hear a word. Two rooms had been prepared and Gabrielle would be hurt if they were not used. Just then there was a sound of a car. The porch light was switched on and the two went down to meet Gallois.
It was with a considerable warmth that Gallois shook the doctor’s hand. The two went upstairs, and by a night-light at the bedside Gallois saw Charles in a peaceful sleep.
“My sister is spending the night in that room there,” the doctor said. “She is a very light sleeper and would hear at once if he stirs.”
“But I, why should I not watch in the room?” Gallois said.
The doctor’s hand went up to pat him on the shoulder. “You require rest like all of us, and in the morning the patient will no longer be a patient. Another day’s rest perhaps and he may be able to leave. After that, no excitement for a day or two and plenty of rest and, but for the scar, he will think this accident has never occurred.”
Gabrielle had left coffee for them in the salon and the doctor produced an excellent cognac. The three chatted for a time, and already Gallois was uttering his thanks for all that the doctors and Gabrielle had done. Debran seemed touched by the warmth of Gallois, but claimed that what he himself had done had been only a very modest duty.
“It was a responsibility, l grant you,” he said. “I very nearly rang up the hospital at Carliens in the morning and had him removed there. Then I thought perhaps it was dangerous, and in the afternoon Favre dissuaded me. I’m afraid my thoughts were not very clear.”
“That cursed malaria,” Gallois said, “I know it through a friend of mine who is a sufferer. But your sister must have had her hands full, with you to look after as well as Charles.”
The doctor smiled to himself. “Gabrielle is a fine character. Though you would not think it, as brave as a lion. If I had been unable she would not have hesitated to put in the stitches herself.”
It was after eleven when the three went up to bed. In spite of the excitement of that day and a strange bed. Travers knew somehow that he would not lie long awake. There was a feeling of comfort and security about the house and its inmates, and a warmth in the thought of their simple, unforced hospitality. Lizou had long since been in bed and everywhere there was a hushed quiet. Through his open w
indow there was no sound but the faint rumble of the mountain stream as it made its way through the narrow gorge, and it was to that soothing background that almost at once he fell asleep.
CHAPTER VII
A NEW SENSATION
TRAVERS was down early, as he thought, but Gabrielle Debran and the doctor had been up for an hour and had already breakfasted.
Overnight he had thought her complexion pale, but now there was colour in her cheeks and he knew it was the tiredness from the spells of watching over Charles that had made her look so tired and drawn in the artificial light, She had had a good night, she said. The patient had stirred only occasionally and each time had gone to sleep practically at once.
“How is he this morning?” Travers asked.
“Much better,” she said. “The doctor is with him now. But here he is, and M. Gallois.”
The doctor’s greeting was most cordial and he was anxious to know if Travers had slept well. After breakfast Charles, he said, would be visible for a few minutes.
“You are really satisfied with him?” Travers wanted to know.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders with an amused indifference.
“Just a slight buzzing in the head, but that will go. Why, the nausea that he complained of has gone already. Now he’s actually complaining of hunger!”
He went to the kitchen to discuss with Gabrielle what Charles’s meal was to be. Travers and Gallois strolled as far as the road.
“You’re looking worried,” Travers said. “It isn’t about Charles?”
Gallois shook his head. “It is not Charles who worries me; he has the lives of a cat. It is last night that worries me and why this informer did not arrive.” He shook his head again. “But I am not worried. That is not the word. It is because there is something which does not make good sense.”
The Case of the Climbing Rat: A Ludovic Travers Mystery Page 7