Page 11 of Murder on Harley Street
Sister Dearden suddenly gasped. Frowning, she turned fully to the receptionist. “Do you recall last Thursday, when I couldn’t find my key?”
It was Miss Wainsmith’s turn to gasp. “I do. You found it before you left for the day, but that was several hours after you noticed it had gone missing. Oh my! Could someone have taken it, made a copy, and returned it later?”
Sister Dearden got up and began to pace the small parlor with short, brisk strides. “One of the patients was there twice on Thursday. Firstly, for her appointment in the morning, then she returned at the end of the day. Do you recall, Miss Wainsmith?”
“I do.” Miss Wainsmith nodded eagerly. “This particular patient was new. She paid in full after her appointment and didn’t make another, yet she returned just before we closed. I distinctly remember her. She was pretty, confident and younger than our typical patient.”
“Her name was Mrs. Linton,” Sister Dearden added. “She wanted the doctor to treat her with the Electro Therapy Machine, even though it was her first appointment. Usually, first appointments are an introduction. Dr. Iverson talks to the patient, diagnoses their condition, then discusses treatments. Sometimes he’ll prescribe medicine, but a session on the machine requires a full appointment, so the patient needs to return. Mrs. Linton insisted she needed it then and there.”
“And Dr. Iverson obliged?” I asked. “Without first deciding if that was the treatment she required?”
Sister Dearden chewed her lower lip as she returned to her seat. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think the machine is a very effective treatment. It emits a mild current that gives the skin a vibrancy for a little while afterward, but once it wears off, the patient’s health has not improved.”
Miss Wainsmith drew in a sharp breath. “It’s a fraud?”
Sister Dearden looked pained. “I don’t know, but I think so. I’ve tried it myself and while somewhat exciting at first, it didn’t really do much. Whether Dr. Iverson believes it’s effective, I cannot say. I assume he must, since he continues to encourage sessions with it as a treatment.”
Miss Wainsmith leaned forward and fixed Harry with an unblinking stare. “It must work. Dr. Iverson wouldn’t continue to prescribe such a treatment if it wasn’t effective. He’s anexcellentdoctor, Mr. Armitage. Hemustbe to have rooms on Harley Street.”
Harry removed a pencil from his pocket and wrote down Mrs. Linton’s name in his notebook. “What reason did she give for returning later that day?”
“She’d lost one of her gloves,” Miss Wainsmith said. “She remembered removing them in the waiting room and thought it must have fallen out of her bag when she paid. A thin excuse, if you ask me.”
“You don’t happen to know where she lives.”
“Her patient file will have that information,” Sister Dearden said. “If you’d like to return to check, you may borrow my key to let yourselves in. I don’t think I’ll be needing it until Dr. Iverson is released.”
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“It’s in my uniform pocket.”
“Before you retrieve it, I have some more questions. Apparently, a man came to the premises last week and caused a scene, accusing Dr. Iverson of medical malpractice. Do you remember that incident?”
Before he’d even finished, it was clear they both did. Sister Dearden nodded, her expression grim. The incident clearly had a more troubling effect on the young receptionist. She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. Sister Dearden, seated beside her, put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders.
“It was awful,” Miss Wainsmith said. “He barged in like a madman and began shouting, demanding to speak to the doctor. He called him a murderer for treating his wife with an addictive tonic. He said the cure was worse than the ailment. I was terrified. Fortunately, there was only one patient in the waiting room, and one other in with Dr. Iverson. The doctor came out of the consulting room and spoke to the man, but that didn’t calm him down. If it wasn’t for Sister Dearden, we would have had to call the constables.”
“What did you say to him?” I asked the nurse.
Sister Dearden shrugged. “I don’t really recall. I think I told him he needed to leave because he was upsetting the ladies. I may have mentioned telephoning the police. Or perhaps he just ran out of steam after getting it all off his chest. Anyway, he left.”
“Not before he threatened Dr. Iverson, shouting that he’d pay for what he’d done.” Miss Wainsmith waved her handkerchief at Harry’s notebook. “You should write down his name—Mr. Pierce. It was also Thursday, the same day Sister Dearden’s key went missing.”
Harry dutifully wrote. “Do you know of anyone who would want to kill Mrs. Kempsey and have Dr. Iverson arrested?”
Both women shook their heads, although Miss Wainsmith hesitated.
“Sister Dearden, would you mind fetching that key now?” I asked.
The nurse rose and left the parlor.
Once she was gone, I moved to sit in the spot she’d vacated on the sofa. “Miss Wainsmith, I think you have something you wish to tell us?”
She glanced at the doorway through which Sister Dearden had just gone.
“Something about the marriage of Dr. and Mrs. Iverson?” I prompted.
The receptionist twisted her handkerchief more vigorously. “I can’t say…” Her voice was barely above a whisper and her face flamed. She wouldn’t meet my gaze, or Harry’s.
