The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx by Katherine Kurtz & Deborah Turner Harris

Author:Katherine Kurtz & Deborah Turner Harris [Kurtz, Katherine & Harris, Deborah Turner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Event Horizon EBooks
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

At noon the following day, Francis Raeburn received a calling card announcing a visit from Dr. Preston Wemyss. Dispatching his houseboy with instructions to fetch his caller up to the library, Raeburn seated himself behind his desk. Wemyss arrived looking harassed and slightly dyspeptic, an aged black leather briefcase clutched fast in one gloved hand. Raeburn dismissed the houseboy with a gesture and eyed his subordinate up and down.

“You’re commendably prompt,” he observed. “What have you got for me?”

Wemyss turned to make sure that the houseboy had departed before sinking into the chair Raeburn indicated.

“I hope you aren’t expecting miracles,” he said sourly.

Raeburn’s thin mouth registered a twitch of impatience, but he declined to respond. Nervous, Wemyss shifted the briefcase onto his knees and plucked off his gloves before flicking through the numbers on the combination lock and thumbing the twin brass catches. The latches snapped up, and Wemyss lifted out an accordion file folder, which he offered across the desk to his superior.

“If I’d wanted to read through all that myself, I would have said so,” Raeburn said coldly. “Give me a summary of what you consider important.”

Wemyss’ dark, close-set eyes showed a passing flare of resentment. Flicking a monogrammed linen handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it briefly to his lips, then took back the folder.

“As far as I can tell,” he informed Raeburn sullenly, “there are only two developments worth mentioning. The first is that Adam Sinclair and his mother—who arrived Friday, as you know—had lunch yesterday with a medical colleague, Sir Matthew Fraser, and Fraser’s wife Janet. Fraser’s a surgeon. The connection appears to be purely social, but I have someone checking further into their backgrounds, just to be sure. The other development is that Sinclair has taken on a new patient.”

At Wemyss’ slight scowl, Raeburn cocked him a shrewd glance.

“Are you implying that this is something out of the ordinary?”

“I’m not sure.” Wemyss’ frown deepened. “The patient in question is a twelve-year-old girl name of Gillian Rose Talbot. Sinclair doesn’t usually treat children. What also strikes me as odd is that she’s not from this district. My informant was able to steal a glimpse of her records this morning and discovered that she comes from London.”

“London? That does seem to be reaching a bit far afield,” Raeburn agreed. “What’s wrong with this child?”

“Coma. That’s another odd thing,” Wemyss said. “The case notes indicate no obvious trauma, and she appears to have had no prior history of psychiatric disorder. She was originally admitted to Charing Cross Hospital on the morning of the twenty-eighth of October, conscious but out of touch with her surroundings. Her condition has deteriorated since the—”

“Stop a minute!” Raeburn said sharply. “The twenty-eighth of October, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me see those records,” Raeburn ordered. “Pull them from the file.”

Wemyss shot a puzzled glance at his superior, but did not delay in producing the required pages. As he handed them across, Raeburn plucked them unceremoniously from his hand and skimmed quickly through them.

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