The Paper Grail Read Online Free PDF Page A

But there’s a certain fascination for—what can I call it? Alien results, let’s say. For anatomy that’s … physiologically wrong.” He watched for her response, but she stood stony-faced. He couldn’t phase her. He shrugged. “Anyway, even that’s going by the boards. They’re turning the Cat’s Meow into a dinner theatre, and my client is out of a job. Your case is comparatively simple, though, isn’t it? You’ve got too low an opinion of my talents, Heloise, which is a mystery to me.”
    “A mystery? A back-alley surgery like this. Performing whatever sorts of ghastly operations fifteen years after your license was revoked. And my opinion is a mystery to you?”
    “Oh, no, not that. I don’t have any problem with that at all. What mystifies me is why you seem to want my help and yet insist on insulting me.” He lit a cigar and sat down, leaning back in his swivel chair, shifting the cigar from side to side in his mouth.
    Mrs. Lamey brushed the heavy smoke away from her face. “Because I pay you not to ask questions,” she said. “And I’d rather not hear about your loathsome work, thank you. How long will this take?”
    He shrugged. “Moderately simple surgery. No exterior cutting at all. One just hauls the plumbing out through—”
    “Save the filthy talk, Mr. White. How long will this take—until I’m home again?”
    “A week in bed, under observation. You’ll need a nurse, someone trained. Then four or five weeks before a full recovery. There’s the threat of infection, of course. This is a moderately risky surgery, you know. I can’t fathom why you’d elect to have it unnecessarily at this … late age.” He smiled at her.
    “Business,” she said. “That will have to suffice.”
    He nodded. “You undertake the strangest sort of business, Heloise, don’t you? I have faith in you, though. Our business efforts always seem to end satisfactorily. And, of course, I makeit a point not to pry into my patients’ affairs.”
    “Don’t, then. There’s the matter that we discussed over the telephone, too. Can we take care of that right now, do you think, before we carry out this surgery?”
    “That requires a different coat,” he said, standing up and gesturing toward the door. They went out, back through the kitchen and down the stairs into the church. He unlocked the door to the ministry office, letting Mrs. Lamey through first and then locking the door behind them.
    The office was large and ornately decorated, with oil paintings on the walls and an oriental carpet on the parquet floor. A six-panel Japanese screen covered half of one wall, and on a low, gaudily carved table in the center of the room sat a glass-encased collection of Franklin Mint coins. The Reverend White stepped straight across to the wall opposite the door where he lifted and took down a Norman Rockwell painting. “This is an original,” he said, nodding at it and squinting. “Cost me plenty.”
    “I’m sure it did.”
    “I love Rockwell, though, don’t you? He captures a sort of spirit, a sort of …” He lost track of the thought as he turned the dial of a wall safe that had been hidden behind the painting. The safe door swung open, and he carefully removed a velvet-wrapped bundle, laying it gently on the edge of the rug. He untied a ribbon at either end and unrolled the bundle, revealing two long, pale bones, streaked with brown and black. The bones themselves, looking porous and dry, seemed to have crumbled partly away at both ends.
    “And these are what we discussed?” she asked, looking at the bones doubtfully.
    “Yes, they are. They come with papers detailing their history over thousands of years, and not a particularly complicated history, either. I got these at a bargain-basement price, I can tell you. I’ve dealt in relics for years, and I know the man I bought these from personally. Here’s his affidavit.” He held out a signed paper, insisting that the bones were from the forearms of Joseph