Death of a Tall Man Read Free Page A

was for patients.
    Dr. Andrew Gordon was in tweeds. He was of medium height and rather heavy, but he moved quickly, with a kind of crispness. His hair was graying; his eyes were sharp and comprehending behind rimless glasses. His mouth formed a straight line, but now the line broke. He smiled. He came, smiling, down the room toward Deborah and Grace and said, “Morning, ladies,” as he came.
    Deb Brooks stood up and came around the desk, holding out half a dozen letters.
    â€œAnd,” she said, “some very nice checks, Doctor.”
    â€œGood,” Dr. Gordon said, and took the letters. “You got sunburned, Debbie. See it, Grace?”
    â€œGrace saw it,” Deborah told him. “Apparently it’s the first thing you see—anybody sees.”
    â€œOh no,” Dr. Gordon said. “I shouldn’t think that, Debbie. Not the first thing.”
    The smile held but the voice now was casual; it was running out a conversation after the mind had gone on to something else. He went past Grace in the doorway, shuffling the letters in his hands as he went. Grace followed him. The telephone on Deborah’s desk rang and she said, “Dr. Gordon’s office,” into it. Then she said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. Overall, I’m sure he can.” Then she listened.
    â€œNot this morning,” she said. “The doctor is tied up all morning. It will have to be after lunch—the regular time.”
    She listened again.
    â€œAny time between three and five,” she said. “Of course, the earlier the better. I don’t think you’ll have to wait too long.” She listened again. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ll tell the doctor. Goodbye.” She put the telephone back in its cradle and it rang again. She lifted it. She said, “Dan!” and her voice had a different texture. She listened momentarily.
    â€œOf course I will,” she said. “It’ll have to be a drugstore, you know. I’ve only got half an hour.”
    She listened again. She said, “You don’t need to.” She said, “All right, maybe it would be better.” She listened again and said, “You know I do, darling.” Her voice was very soft when she said that.
    She put the telephone back in its cradle and sat for a moment looking across the room, seeing nothing—nothing except a kind of brightness which was the way things were going to be.
    During the next ten minutes—from nine thirty-five to about nine forty-five—five men came in. They were compensation cases, referred by insurance company physicians; such men came on two days a week, mornings and afternoons, usually five at a time, more rarely in groups of six. Today’s first group was typically varied in appearance and attitude. They were tall and short, thick and thin. Some of them were aggressive; some were uncertain, hesitant. Compensation cases were usually like that, Deborah had discovered; their varying attitudes were intended to disguise an uneasiness which was common to all of them. Deborah greeted them and recorded their referral cards; she returned the cards to the men. When they were all in, Grace Spencer took the cards and guided the men to the examining cubicles, one man to each, from Room 1 to Room 5. She left each man’s identifying card handy beside him. And, from Room 1 to Room 5, the doctor examined them. He was quick that morning; he had finished by a quarter after ten.
    Nurse Spencer collected the cards, which the men left behind in the cubicles. She slipped the cards into the file on her desk in the corridor and went to the doctor’s private office. The doctor was sitting at his desk and looked up at her.
    â€œRalph Tober may call,” Dr. Gordon told his nurse. “Tell him to keep on with the drops and see me tomorrow.” He shook his head. “I wish we could tell him something better.”
    â€œIt isn’t going to work?” Grace