1948 - Trusted Like the Fox by James Hadley Chase

Author:James Hadley Chase [Chase, James Hadley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter fifteen

The fat little Hindu came into the room so silently that Ellis was not aware that he had entered until he happened to look up and found him standing at his side.

For a moment Ellis thought that the sad-looking little man was a hallucination, then realising that he wasn’t, he started violently, his face revealing his fear.

“I am Dr. Safki,” the little man said in a soft, sibilant voice. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

For a moment or so Ellis could only think of Crane. If this nigger was the doctor then Crane must be back and had probably caught Grace prying in his room. At that moment Crane came into the room. He seemed quite at ease although Ellis thought his face was a shade paler (or was it a trick of the sunlight?). He came to the foot of the bed, smiled at Ellis.

“Dr. Safki will fix you up,” he said. “You can have every confidence in him. He’s an extremely clever fellow.”

Ellis looked at the Hindu. The big, moist, bloodshot eyes were sad, the small sensual mouth was sulky, and the fat, knobbly little chin weak: not a man to inspire confidence, Ellis thought, but he was feeling too ill to worry about such trifles. The fact that the fellow was black gave him an inward satisfaction. He felt superior, patronising. After all, these blackies hadn’t earned the right to civilisation, he argued. They were parrots, merely imitating the white man, without an original idea in their thick skulls.

Dr. Safki had taken Ellis’s wrist, his little fingers pressed the pounding pulse. There was a sharp acid smell coming from the doctor which repelled Ellis. Then the doctor released Ellis’s wrist, took his stethoscope from an inside pocket, hung it round his neck.

“If you’ll just open your pyjama jacket,” the soft voice murmured.

Ellis undid the buttons. Where was Grace? he thought. What had happened to her? Had Crane caught her in his room? Was that why he was looking so pale?

The cold little funnel of the stethoscope rested on his thin chest, moved, stopped, moved again.

The greasy, bullet-shaped head, smelling of a sickly perfume, was within a few inches of Ellis’s nose. He noticed the doctor was suffering from dandruff. Physician heal thyself, he thought, and suddenly giggled.

The unexpected sound made Crane start. Dr. Safki sighed, said gently, “Please don’t do that; it disturbs my diagnosis.”

Ellis, flushing angrily, controlled himself. What was the matter with him? He must be light-headed — worse than he thought. He glared at the black, greasy hair, wanting to push the head away, curse at them both; be rid of them.

Dr. Safki stood back, his moon-shaped face impassive. He folded his stethoscope, put it away. His starched cuffs rattled as he moved his hands.

“Now I think I would like to look at your leg,” he said and pulled down the blankets, revealing Ellis’s stunted body in the fine black and gold pyjamas.

Crane was standing by the window, his back half turned, staring out into the garden.

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