The Galton Case

Chapter 17

I CAME to early next morning in the accident ward of the Reno hospital. When I had learned to talk with a packed nose and a wired jaw, a couple of detectives asked me who took my wallet. I didn’t bother disturbing their assumption that I was a mugging victim.

Anything I told them about Schwartz would be wasted words. Besides, I needed Schwartz. The thought of him got me through the first bad days, when I doubted from time to time that I would be very active in the future. Everything was still fuzzy at the edges. I got very tired of fuzzy nurses and earnest young fuzzy doctors asking me how my head felt.

By the fourth day, though, my vision was clear enough to read some of yesterday’s newspapers which the voluntary aides brought around for the ward patients. There was hardware in the sky, and dissension on earth. A special dispatch in the back pages told how a real-life fairy-tale had reached its happy ending when the long-lost John Galton was restored to the bosom of his grandmother, the railroad and oil widow. In the accompanying photograph, John himself was wearing a new-looking sports jacket and a world-is-my-oyster grin.

This spurred me on. By the end of the first week, I was starting to get around. One morning after my Cream of Wheat I sneaked out to the nurses’ station and put in a collect call to Santa Teresa. I had time to tell Gordon Sable where I was, before the head nurse caught me and marched me back to the ward.

Sable arrived while I was eating my Gerber’s baby-food dinner. He waved a checkbook. Before I knew it I was in a private room with a bottle of Old Forester which Sable had brought me. I sat up late with him, drinking highballs through a glass tube and talking through my remaining teeth like a gangster in very early sound.

“You’re going to need a crown on that tooth,” Sable said comfortingly. “Also, plastic surgery on the nose. Do you have any hospital insurance?”

“No.”

“I’m afraid I can’t commit Mrs. Galton.” Then he took another look at me, and his manner softened: “Well, yes, I think I can. I think I can persuade her to underwrite the expense, even though you did exceed your instructions.”

“That’s mighty white of you and her.” But the words didn’t come out ironic. It had been a bad eight days. “Doesn’t she give a good goddam about who murdered her son? And what about Culligan?”

“The police are working on both cases, don’t worry.”

“They’re the same case. The cops are sitting on their tails. Schwartz put the fix in.”

Sable shook his head. “You’re way off in left field, Lew.”

“The hell I am. Tommy Lemberg’s his boy. Have they arrested Tommy?”

“He dropped out of sight. Don’t let it ride you. You’re a willing man, but you can’t take on responsibility for all the trouble in the world. Not in your present condition, anyway.”

“I’ll be on my feet in another week. Sooner.” The whisky in the bottle was falling like a barometer. I was full of stormy optimism. “Give me another week after that and I’ll break the case wide open for you.”

“I hope so, Lew. But don’t take too much on yourself. You’ve been hurt, and naturally your feelings are a bit exaggerated.”

He was sitting directly under the light, but his face was getting fuzzy. I leaned out of bed and grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, Sable, I can’t prove it, but I can feel it. That Galton boy is a phony, part of a big conspiracy, with the Organization behind it.”

“I think you’re wrong. I’ve spent hours on his story. It checks out. And Mrs. Galton is quite happy, for the first time in many years.”

“I’m not.”

He rose, and pushed me gently back against the pillows. I was still as weak as a cat. “You’ve talked enough for one night. Let it rest, and don’t worry, eh? Mrs. Galton will take care of everything, and if she doesn’t want to, I’ll make her. You’ve earned her gratitude. We’re all sorry this had to happen.”

He shook my hand and started for the door.

“Flying back tonight?” I asked him.

“I have to. My wife’s in bad shape. Take it easy, now, you’ll hear from me. And I’ll leave some money for you at the desk.”