"Seven.
Well, how many deaths have there been in that time offhand?"
"Really, it's difficult to say." Miss Burgess gave herself up to calculation.
She was by now quite thawed and unsuspicious. "Seven, eight - of course I can't remember exactly - I shouldn't say more than thirty in the time."
"Then I fancy Doctor Roberts must be a better doctor than most," said Battle genially. "I suppose, too, most of his patients are upper class. They can afford to take care of themselves."
"He's a very popular doctor.
He's so good at diagnosis."
Battle sighed and rose to his feet.
"I'm afraid I've been wandering from my duty, which is to find out a connection between the doctor and this Mr. Shaitana.
You're quite sure he wasn't a patient of the doctor's."
"Quite sure."
"Under another name, perhaps?" Battle handed her a photograph. "Recognize him at all?"
"What a very theatrical-looking person!
No, I've never seen him here at any time."
"Well, that's that." Battle sighed. "I'm much obliged to the doctor, I'm sure, for being so pleasant about everything.
Tell him so from me, will you?
Tell him I'm passing on to number two.
Good-by, Miss Burgess, and thank you for your help."
He shook hands and departed.
Walking along the street he took a small notebook from his pocket and made several entries in it under the letter R.
Mrs. Graves?
Unlikely.
Mrs. Craddock?
No legacies.
No wife. (Pity.)
Investigate deaths of patients.
Difficult.
He closed the book and turned into the Lancaster Gate branch of the London & Wessex bank.
The display of his official card brought him to a private interview with the manager.
"Good morning, sir.
One of your clients is a Doctor Geoffrey Roberts, I understand."
"Quite correct, Superintendent."
"I shall want some information about that gentleman's account going back over a period of years."
"I will see what I can do for you."
A complicated half-hour followed. Finally Battle, with a sigh, tucked away a sheet of penciled figures.
"Got what you want?" inquired the bank manager curiously.
"No, I haven't.
Not one suggestive lead.
Thank you all the same."
At that same moment, Doctor Roberts, washing his hands in his consulting room, said over his shoulder to Miss Burgess,
"What about our stolid sleuth, eh?
Did he turn the place upside down and you inside out?"
"He didn't get much out of me, I can tell you," said Miss Burgess, setting her lips tightly.
"My dear girl, no need to be an oyster.
I told you to tell him all he wanted to know.
What did he want to know, by the way?"
"Oh, he kept harping on your knowing that man Shaitana - suggested even that he might have come here as a patient under a different name.
He showed me his photograph.
Such a theatrical-looking man!"
"Shaitana?