A Dead Man in Malta Read Free Page A

observation. The nurses were told to keep an eye open for them. But they said there were none. Nor, I have to say, were there symptoms of anything else. I was puzzled, but about the respiratory failure there was no doubt, so I put that down on the certificate.’
    ‘Anything in his previous history?’ asked Seymour. ‘So far as you know?’
    The doctor shook his head.
    ‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘and, actually, we do know his history. His doctor wrote to us. He’s a German doctor, very thorough, and he had been keeping an eye on him because of the ballooning. He was interested in possible effects, of altitude, for instance. He had examined him both before and after ascent on a number of occasions. He said there was nothing to indicate a possibility of respiratory failure.’ The story was much the same in the cases of the other two. Here they had the medical records and again there was nothing to indicate possible respiratory failure.
    Nor anything else. In each case, the doctor had been surprised when the patient had died. Each had been puzzled. Each, lacking other explanation, had put respiratory failure on the certificate. And that, after all, was what—the doctors were sure of this at least—the men had died from. But what had brought about the respiratory failure, the doctors could not say.
    ‘I know this is unfortunate—’ said one of the doctors unhappily.
    ‘But did you not ask yourselves …?’ said Seymour. ‘When there were three?’
    ‘Of course we did!’ snapped one of the doctors.
    ‘Not at first,’ said the other British doctor. ‘I mean, there was nothing to suggest that we should. They were in different parts of the hospital. The cases were quite different. You tend to think in individual terms—’
    ‘It was only when the third case came along—’
    ‘We went back over our notes. And over each other’s notes. Even then—’
    ‘We might not have thought there was anything amiss. I mean, deaths do happen in hospitals. And clusters of deaths are statistically quite normal.’
    ‘It was the fact that it was a German, I suppose.’
    ‘And the ballooning. It made it all so much more conspicuous.’
    ‘And that damned woman!’
    ‘One thing we can say definitely,’ said one of the doctors, ‘is that this has absolutely nothing to do with cot deaths!’
    ‘Absolutely nothing!’
    ‘Or nursing practices,’ said one of the British doctors.
    ‘But if not …?’ said Seymour.
    The Maltese doctor nodded.
    ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You have to treat this as a possible case of murder.’
    ‘For God’s sake!’ expostulated the doctor, as they stepped out into the corridor.
    The man going past looked up in mild surprise.
    ‘Dr Bartlett?’ he said.
    ‘Malia, what are you doing here?’
    ‘I’ve worked here for fifty-eight years,’ said the man, his tone suggesting, again, surprise at the question.
    ‘But you don’t work here now!’
    ‘No,’ agreed the man mildly. Then he stopped. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you could say this is work.’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Checking on the accommodation.’
    ‘Look, Malia, I know your theory. But you can’t go round putting people’s backs up!’
    ‘I certainly wouldn’t wish to do that!’ said Dr Malia.
    ‘Well, it annoys people, you know.’
    ‘I’m sorry about that. I try not to get in the way.’
    ‘Well, maybe, but—It’s just that you’re always creeping around.’
    ‘I don’t want to disturb anybody. That’s why I go around quietly.’
    The Maltese doctor laughed.
    ‘You always did go around quietly, Mathias,’ he said.
    ‘Did I? I wasn’t aware of that.’
    ‘It used to frighten the nurses.’
    ‘Oh, surely not!’
    ‘Until they got to know you, and then they didn’t mind.’ Malia looked perturbed.
    ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean to frighten them,’ he said.
    ‘Perhaps frighten is the wrong word. Disconcert, perhaps. I think you sometimes disconcerted them.’
    ‘Because I was so quiet?’
    ‘You used to