deal more of Uncle Slaterâs death than needed to be made of it. It was her private opinion that Horace Appleton was the kind of doctor who might miss a case of leprosy in a routine check, let alone a leaky valve or a thrombus or something like that. There was nothing to be gained by saying this, however, so she silently went downstairs with him. The family was in conclave, whispering. It immediately became a public hearing as the doughty old physician stalked into the living room.
Little do they know, Prin thought.
âDr. Appleton,â Aunt Lallie said, addressing a point three feet above his head, âhave you examined my brother Slater?â
âI have,â said Dr. Appleton.
âWhat is your professional opinion?â
âMy professional opinion is that heâs dead.â
âOh, dear,â said Aunt Lallie, as if this was what she had been afraid of all along.
âDid Uncle Slater just die?â asked Peet. âOr did he die of something?â
âI donât know,â said Dr. Appleton, adding grimly, âyet.â
âWhat do you mean you donât know?â demanded Twig. âAre you a doctor or arenât you?â
âI sometimes wonder.â
âWhat the doctor means,â explained Prin, âis that he wonât be able to tell until thereâs an autopsy, so heâs going to call the police.â
âPolice!â Brother Brady whirled from the bar as if he already felt the first surge of high voltage. âWhat do you want to do that for?â
âSo heâll get his name in the papers,â said Twig.
âMaybe me, too,â said his sister, clapping her hands.
âPeet, stop,â said Aunt Lallie. âDoctor, I insist on knowing this very instant what you have in your mind!â
âItâs not so much what I have in my mind,â said the doctor, looking almost as if he were beginning to enjoy himself, âas to what your brother may have in his belly.â
âHis belly,â said Brother Brady.
âHis belly?â said Cousin Twig.
âHis ⦠belly?â echoed Aunt Lallie faintly.
âPlease,â said Peet. âMust you use such words?â
âDoctor,â said Prin, looking sick. âDo you mean that Uncle Slater might have died ofâof being given something?â
âMight have,â said Dr. Appleton, looking around as if inviting more questions. âJust might have.â
âRidiculous,â said Brady. He groped for his drink.
âStupid,â said Twig. âThe only thing youâll find in his belly is bourbon or Irish whisky, or more likely both.â
âWill somebody please tell me what an autopsy is?â asked Peet. âI donât think I really know.â
âAn autopsy,â said Brady, swallowing, âis when they cut somebody open and poke around to see whatâs in there.â
âThey only do it to dead people,â said Twig, sounding as if he would have felt far happier with a more liberal policy on the part of the authorities.
âHow perfectly icky,â said Peet. âIâm against doing a thing like that to Uncle Slater.â
âIâm against it, too,â said Brady quickly. âYou, Twig?â
Twig turned a splayed thumb down.
âWell, so am I,â said Aunt Lallie sharply. âAs Slaterâs next of kin, I definitely will not permit it.â
âMadam,â said little Dr. Appleton, âand ladies and gentlemen, Iâm for it; and in this case, I think, none of you will have a damned thing to say about it.â
With which he went out into the hall to the phone. They heard him dial, and then talk, presumably to a policeman. Peet had just said that she didnât believe she liked Dr. Appleton very much, to which Brady had muttered that he didnât like Dr. Appleton at all, when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked at Prin. So she went out past Dr. Appleton
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington