Fifteen minutes later, the physician made a pair of injections into the girl's upper arm. Then he swished oxygen into her face until she recovered consciousness. "Wonderful stuff, this new anesthetic," he told her placidly. "It works fast, wears off just as fast, doesn't leave the patient retching. Now, you can sit up slowly. If you don't try anything strenuous for the next day or two, you'll never know that you've had an operation."
Miss Tillett's eyes widened. "Operation! I came here for a diagnosis. I didn't authorize—"
"I'm sorry. I operated without your consent. But I had a good reason. It wasn't even a benign tumor that you had. It was only a cyst. If I had merely diagnosed, and told you the truth, you would have kept clinging to the hope that it might be a malign tumor. You wouldn't have let me take it out. It would have grown big enough to disfigure you, not big enough to cause you any physical damage. You would have gone through the years with a new trouble, that of deformity, and you might have been mentally warped in the delusion that you had a fatal disease. You're as sound as a rock."
Something inside the girl seemed to turn into liquid. She sat with slumped shoulders, arms dangling limply at her side, and head sunk so far that her chin rested against her chest.
After a moment, she rose and walked slowly into the dressing cubicle. When she emerged, she ignored the doctor, unlocked the door with her own hands, and walked into the reception room, sobbing softly.
Dr. Needzak cleaned up rapidly, and hustled into his main office to see his next patient. No one was there. He grumbled to himself and opened the door into the reception room. Blinking, he saw that it was empty. It had been filling rapidly, not a half-hour earlier.
The doctor had heard no noises indicating a commotion on the street outside; and that was the only reason he could think of for the sudden disappearance of his patients. To make sure, he strode through the reception room, walked briskly down the short hall, and stuck his head through the door leading into the street. Everything appeared normal in the bustling business district, until a large, black sedan ground to a stop at the curb in a no-parking zone. The receptionist climbed from the vehicle, two men behind her.
"Miss Waters!" Dr. Needzak exploded, when she reached the building's entrance. "What do you mean by leaving without my permission? All my patients have left. They must have thought that office hours were over."
The receptionist gave him one baleful look, and shoved past him into the building. And Dr. Needzak suddenly recognized the two men.
"Bill Carson! And Pop Manville! What brings you big doctors down here to see a small-time pill-dealer like me?"
"Let's go into your office," Pop said, softly. He was old, tall and gaunt with a perpetual look of worry. Dr. Carson, younger and bustling, evaded Dr. Needzak's eyes.
Miss Waters was shoveling personal belongings from her desk into a giant handbag, when they reached the reception room. Dr. Needzak felt her eyes upon him, as the other two physicians kept him moving by the sheer impetus of their bodies into his consultation room.
"Where is it, Walt?" Dr. Manville asked, looking gloomily around the consultation room.
"Where's what, Pop? The drinks? I keep them—"
"The door to your operating room," Dr. Carson interrupted, hurriedly. "Let's not drag this thing out. It's going to be painful enough, among old friends. Your private office has been wired for sight and sound for the past three weeks. You shouldn't have tried to get away with that kind of practice in a big city."
Dr. Needzak felt the blood draining from his face. He reached for a drawer. Dr. Manville grabbed his arm with a tight, claw-like grasp, before it could touch the handle.
"It's all right, Pop," he said. "Nothing but gin in there. I'm not the violent type."
Dr. Carson pulled open the drawer toward which he had reached. He pulled out the tall bottle, slipped off the patent top, and sniffled. Handing it to Dr. Needzak, he said:
"Okay. You need some. Then save the rest for us. We'll feel like it, too, when we're done."
Dr. Needzak coughed after three large swallows. He looked at the other two doctors. "Who ratted?"
Dr. Carson nodded toward the reception room. Dr. Needzak instinctively clenched his fists. He half-rose from his chair, then sank back slowly. "I thought you guys were my friends," he said.
"We are, Walt," Dr. Manville said thoughtfully. "But this is business. When someone charges violation of medical ethics, we're the investigation committee. It looks like a simple investigation this time, with those tapes on file."
"What does she have against you, anyway?" Dr. Carson asked. "Usually a receptionist will go through hell to cover up little flubs for her boss. Were you mixed up with her in a personal way?"
"Mixed up with her?" Dr. Needzak laughed mirthlessly. "She's worked for me fifteen years. I've never made a pass at her."
Dr. Manville nodded sadly. "That was your mistake, Walt. Frustration. Disappointment. Worse than jealousy. Now, why not tell us everything?"
"There's nothing to tell. Those tapes give a false impression, sometimes. I just take difficult cases ............