Agatha Christie Other - 13 - Destination Unknown by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
Published: 2010-06-22T23:00:00+00:00

Destination Unknown

Chapter 12

The registry was presided over by a woman who looked like a strict nursery governess. Her hair was rolled into a rather hideous bun and she wore some very efficient-looking pince-nez. She nodded approval as the Bettertons entered the severe office-like room.

“Ah,” she said, “you've brought Mrs. Betterton. That's right.”

Her English was perfectly idiomatic but it was spoken with a stilted precision which made Hilary believe that she was probably a foreigner. Actually, her nationality was Swiss. She motioned Hilary to a chair, opened a drawer beside her and took out a sheaf of forms upon which she commenced to write rapidly. Tom Betterton said rather awkwardly:

“Well then, Olive, I'll leave you.”

“Yes, please, Dr. Betterton. It's much better to get through all the formalities straight away.”

Betterton went out, shutting the door behind him. The Robot, for as such Hilary thought of her, continued to write.

“Now then,” she said, in a businesslike way. “Full name, please. Age. Where born. Father's and mother's names. Any serious illnesses. Tastes. Hobbies. List of any jobs held. Degrees at any university. Preferences in food and drink.”

It went on, a seemingly endless catalogue. Hilary responded vaguely, almost mechanically. She was glad now of the careful priming she had received from Jessop. She had mastered it all so well that the responses came automatically, without having to pause or think. The Robot said finally, as she made the last entry,

“Well, that seems to be all for this department. Now we'll hand you over to Doctor Schwartz for medical examination.”

“Really!” said Hilary. “Is all this necessary? It seems most absurd.”

“Oh, we believe in being thorough, Mrs. Betterton. We like to have everything down in the records. You'll like Dr. Schwartz very much. Then from her you go on to Doctor Rubec.”

Dr. Schwartz was fair and amiable and female. She gave Hilary a meticulous physical examination and then said,

“So! That is finished. Now you go to Dr. Rubec.”

“Who is Dr. Rubec?” Hilary asked. “Another doctor?”

“Dr. Rubec is a psychologist.”

“I don't want a psychologist. I don't like psychologists.”

“Now please don't get upset, Mrs. Betterton. You're not going to have treatment of any kind. It's simply a question of an intelligence test and of your type-group personality.”

Dr. Rubec was a tall, melancholy Swiss of about forty years of age. He greeted Hilary, glanced at the card that had been passed on to him by Dr. Schwartz and nodded his head approvingly.

“Your health is good, I am glad to see,” he said. “You have had an aeroplane crash recently, I understand?”

“Yes,” said Hilary. “I was four or five days in hospital at Casablanca.”

“Four or five days are not enough,” said Dr. Rubec reprovingly. “You should have been there longer.”

“I didn't want to be there longer. I wanted to get on with my journey.”

“That, of course, is understandable, but it is important with concussion that plenty of rest should be had. You may appear quite well and normal after it but it may have serious effects. Yes, I see your nerve reflexes are not quite what they should be.

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