Surgeon at Arms

I’ve always acted in good faith, always. But you’ve got to cut a few corners these days. I’ll have to lie low for a bit. I thought if you changed my face it would all be a bit easier to avoid the publicity.’
    Graham sat staring at him. ‘You mean, you’re a crook and you want me to alter your appearance to escape your just deserts?’ As neither visitor said anything, he continued, ‘Well, I shan’t play the outraged citizen. I’ve had a few requests of a similar nature in my time. I’ll only tell you the whole idea is reprehensible, and ask you to leave at once.’
    ‘I’ll make it well worth your while, honest I will,’ Arthur repeated hopefully.
    Graham got up. ‘You could never do that, Mr. King.’
    ‘Just a moment,’ Lord Cazalay interrupted. ‘We’re none of us shining with innocence. You seem to have forgotten the few favours I’ve done you. That foreign currency for your villa. It would look pretty nasty if it came into court, wouldn’t it? They’d hand out a stiff sentence for a fiddle on that scale. You’d go to jail, wouldn’t you? And your medical authorities would have a few words to say about the matter, too. They’d hardly let you go on practising after that.’
    ‘You mean you’re blackmailing me?’ demanded Graham.
    ‘Blackmail? I don’t know what that means. Business is run on a system of favours done and granted. Persuasion is necessary from time to time.’
    ‘Get out.’
    ‘I’m not going to let you take this high-and-mighty line,’ Lord Cazalay continued more confidently. ‘For your own good, Graham. You won’t do yourself any harm, tidying up Arthur. You get dozens of people coming to have their faces altered, you said so yourself. You aren’t to know he’s in any trouble. Not yet. In a week or two it’ll be a different matter. You’re going to do this, my boy. I’m not given to idle threats. You’ve known my family long enough to realize that we get what we want. Either you do something for Arthur, or the details of your little currency transactions end up on the desk of the Director of Public Prosecutions.’
    ‘Get out,’ Graham repeated.
    ‘No, I shan’t get out. Sit down and think it over. I’ll give you five minutes.’
     

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
     
    GRAHAM WAS STARTLED how old Denise looked. Then he remembered she had been ill. As she opened the front door she stared at him with surprise, quickly trying to find a smile.
    ‘Could I see John?’ Graham asked at once. ‘The Clinic told me he’d gone home.’
    ‘Yes, of course, Graham. Come in. How are you keeping?’
    ‘Oh, pretty well.’
    ‘The weather’s ghastly, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, ghastly.’
    ‘And all this dreadful austerity we’re supposed to put up with.’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ said Graham.
    He came into the cold hall of the Bickley’s flat overlooking Regent’s Park. It was barely an hour since his confrontation with Lord Cazalay.
    John was in the sitting-room, reading the evening paper and tickling the dog. He stood up as Graham entered, saying amiably enough, ‘An unexpected pleasure. Or have you come for a contribution towards the damage the boys did to that restaurant?’
    ‘I won’t stay a moment.’ Still in his overcoat, Graham looked pointedly at Denise.
    ‘Would you like a cup of coffee or something?’ she asked with great reluctance.
    ‘Please. That would be very kind.’ As the door shut he turned to John and said, ‘I wonder if you’d stuff a case for me? Tomorrow morning.’
    John knocked his pipe on the fireplace. ‘I expect 1 could squeeze it in, if it’s early enough. Has everyone else let you down?’
    ‘It’s a special case.’ Graham hesitated. ‘It calls for a great deal of discretion. I’m going to do it at that little nursing-home place out at Ealing.’
    ‘Graham! ’John laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re branching into the abortion racket?’ Seeing Graham’s troubled expression, he added seriously, ‘But what is it? Some actress with a secret scar? Stella Garrod all over again?’
    ‘Oh, it’s a much nastier business than the Stella Garrod affair. I’ve got myself into a bit of a mess.’
    John raised his eyebrows. Hardly the first time. At
    Graham’s age, he really should start to learn. Perhaps Clare was right about the maladjusted child.
    ‘A woman, you mean?’
    ‘No, not this time.’
    Graham explained about Arthur King.
    ‘I see,’ said John calmly when he had finished. ‘So you’re going to do the