The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

“They mustn’t see me, Miss Agnes — not like this. I’m not ready to receive callers. Two gentlemen, Miss Agnes? One a young man, a handsome young man, like—. No... no.” And off she went under the covers.

But I won’t go into the tricks of Madame. Both O’Rourke and I were glad we had the nurse, Miss Agnes, with us.

She looked at us once, more questioning than disdainfully. But O’Rourke held his ground.

“I must talk to her,” he told the nurse, and at her suggestion we parked ourselves behind the bed screen while Madame was made what she called “respectable.”

She talked too. Clearly enough sometimes, incoherently at others.

She sort of wandered on.

“No mirror, Miss Agnes. But then, I never have a mirror. What do you think the gentlemen wish, Miss Agnes? The young man, now — he came to see me once before. My skin does not feel so soft and beautiful — but then, my hand has lost its sense of touch. A little more powder, my dear. I’m sure, a little powder. It’s my vanity, Miss Agnes.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “My husband was always so jealous,” and she giggled. It was a girlish giggle. It was eerie. “Now, why can’t I see myself, just once. He was a musician, so young, so handsome. He adored me, played to me, wrote a song just for me. And this accident. No, he mustn’t see my twisted body. But my face, it is still beautiful, my eyes, at least. Michelle always said so, until last week. There — put my hand beneath the coverlet, and—”

We stepped out and saw the woman. What a hideous sight she was! Far worse now for the powder and rouge and nightcap on her head. But most of all it was the glint in her eyes — the simper to cracked lips that were now a vivid red. The yellow skin, great patches of it raw flesh, that were more horrible for the thickness of the rouge and the great daubs of powder.

“Madame is ready,” said the nurse, Miss Agnes, looked at us. Partly in warning, maybe, for the woman was indeed terrible to look at.

O’Rourke jerked erect, went to the bed and sat down upon it.

“Mrs. Gorgon,” he said. “We... I’m a friend. I heard you had some trouble. You wanted to talk about it with me.”

“Trouble, to talk with you? I thought—. But then, maybe it is not true — and it is my face also. It was a very beautiful face. Who are you?”

“I am a police officer. I—”

The door knob turned, the chair slipped, and O’Rourke swung his head and spoke to me.

“Keep him in the hall,” he said.

And I did. I pushed through the door and backed the gray haired man into the hall before me. He was wearing a dark dressing gown, and plenty of dignity.

“I am Doctor Revel,” he said. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

And you had to admire the doctor. He didn’t fuss and fume, and I didn’t give him any heavy line.

“Police duty.” I let it go at that, but I blocked the doorway.

The doctor looked at his wrist watch.

“Let me see your warrant,” he said.

“Everything’s Okay,” I told him. “You have no cause for alarm. It—”

“If things were strictly as they should be, you would have seen me first.”

“You can take the matter up with Headquarters in the morning, if you’re not satisfied with the proceedings.” I pretended an indifference.

“That has already been attended to.” The doctor nodded. “At least, the police precinct nearest the hospital has been called. To me, the matter is very serious indeed. I can not of course create a disturbance in the hospital; there are some very sick people here. The disturbance, my dear friend, will be created tomorrow, make very sure of that.” The doctor had a mean sort of calm about him.

The woman inside screamed. The nurse spoke quickly. I think O’Rourke cursed, but I’m not sure. But the doctor stiffened, and I stuck my head back in the door and said:

“The head doctor’s here and he’s not friendly and he’s telephoned the precinct.”

And the doctor stepped by me and into the room. Of course I could have stopped him, but I didn’t. I wasn’t fooling with any medical student now, and I knew it. This guy cut some ice.

He ignored O’Rourke and went straight to the woman on the bed, bent over her a moment, pulled out the twisted hand, pressed his other hand across her forehead, spoke quickly to the nurse, and I saw the bottle from which she measured the drops. It was digitalis. A strong heart stimulant.

O’Rourke and I stood around like a couple of saps. At length the doctor turned on O’Rourke and backed us toward the door.

“Well—” he said, when he had us in the hall, “have you an explanation?”

O’Rourke stiffened, and the bulldog chin shot out. The cop was ever dominant. He wouldn’t take water even then. He was a tough old bird, and no mistake.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “You read about the murder in Elrod’s Sanitarium last week. Do you want to see that poor woman there snuffed out the same way? Don’t high hat me, Doctor. I’ve been on the Force too long. And don’t look so hurt. You read your papers. If you don’t, some one must have told you. You know who that woman is. You know who brought her here. And you know what the name Gorgon stands for — unless you simply think, like a lot of others, that it stands for money only.”