Johnson appeared with a tray.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a whisky and soda,’ said Doctor Fraser. ‘I hope that’s OK.’
‘It’s perfect!’
Fred set the glasses down on a small table.
‘Two whiskies and sodas – is that right?’ he asked.
‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ replied Wyatt without realizing the significance of the phrase until he caught a twinkle in his companion’s eye. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ he smiled, handing Fred a ten shilling note.
After Fred had gone they chose the most comfortable chairs and sat facing each other on either side of the fire. Wyatt swallowed half his whisky at a gulp, and felt better almost immediately.
‘Well, Doctor Fraser,’ he said presently. ‘I think you mentioned that you wanted to see me.’
She nodded.
‘When I told you my name, Mr Wyatt, I got the impression that it came as a surprise to you – as if you’d heard it in some connection before. Had you?’
Wyatt refused to be drawn.
‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ he reminded her. ‘Why did you want to see me?’
She gripped the arms of her chair, and her attitude became noticeably more rigid.
‘Because I’m puzzled about something, Mr Wyatt. I’m worried and bewildered, and I need your help.’
‘Better tell me the whole story,’ he suggested.
She took a sip of her whisky and set down the glass. He offered her a cigarette and lit it for her. She leaned back in the chair and blew out a stream of smoke.
‘About six weeks ago I had a phone call from a girl who called herself Barbara Willis, who said she had been recommended to me by a certain Doctor Grayson. I’d never heard of him, but I made an appointment to see her at my flat in Wimpole Street. She was rather a highly strung, sensitive type of girl, but as far as I could make out from a routine examination, there didn’t seem to be much wrong with her.’
‘What did she say was wrong?’ asked Wyatt.
‘Miss Willis told me she was suffering from severe headaches and fits of depression. I had a suspicion that she had been drinking rather heavily, and when I questioned her as to her occupation – she didn’t seem to have any – and general background, I became sure of it. In fact, I told her that before I could start to treat her, she must cut down on liquor and go on the wagon for at least a month. I put this to her in quite a friendly way, but her reaction to the suggestion quite startled me.’
‘She felt insulted, perhaps,’ Wyatt put in.
‘She must have done. She simply got up, looked me straight in the eye, and said: “I get that sort of advice from my fiancé Maurice Knight, and it doesn’t cost me three guineas.” With that, she slapped down my fee on the desk and marched right out.’
She flicked the ash from her cigarette into the fireplace, and went on:
‘Of course, I’m pretty used to awkward patients – sick folk are inclined to be fractious at times, but that little incident rattled me a bit. But that was nothing to what came later.’
‘Well?’ said Wyatt.
‘It must have been three weeks after that interview that I read in the newspapers about the mysterious disappearance of Barbara Willis. There was a picture of her, with her fiancé, Maurice Knight. I could hardly believe my eyes.’
‘You mean she’d changed?’
‘Beyond all recognition. The girl I interviewed at my flat was not the girl in the newspaper … not the real Barbara Willis. I’m quite positive about that.’
‘Newspaper photos can be misleading at times,’ he reminded her.
‘I went out and got all the papers I could buy. There were pictures in four others – just the same. There can’t be any doubt about it, Mr Wyatt.’
Wyatt rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
‘But why on earth should anyone impersonate Barbara Willis and make an appointment with you?’ he murmured.
‘I don’t know, Mr Wyatt. But that isn’t all. About ten days ago I received an urgent telephone message, asking me to go to an address in St John’s Wood. When I got there I found a girl who seemed to be on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. She told me that her name was Mildred Gillow.’
Wyatt whistled softly.
‘I gave her a sedative,’ continued Doctor Fraser, ‘and promised to look in again and see what I could do. Yet, when I went back there the next morning the house was completely deserted. There wasn’t a sign of life anywhere! I’ve never seen that girl again, from that day to this. But I saw the photo of Mildred Gillow which appeared after the body was found in your garage.’
‘And how did that compare with the original?’
‘It was not the girl I saw at St John’s Wood, Mr Wyatt,’ she asserted with quiet emphasis. ‘I am absolutely sure of that.’
Wyatt took a couple of sips of whisky without speaking, then asked:
‘Did you see anyone else at the house the first time you went there?’
‘Only the girl – she answered the door herself.’
‘Didn’t that strike you as rather odd?’
‘Well no, I don’t think so. It didn’t occur to me at the time, anyway.’
Wyatt stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
‘You certainly seem to have been running into a chain of amazing coincidences, Doctor,’ he mused, trying hard to fathom what might lie behind the woman’s story. ‘Though I can’t quite see at the moment how I can be of any help …’
‘Wait,’ said Doctor Fraser. ‘There’s more to come. Yesterday morning a girl came to see me – she said that her name was Lauren Beaumont. Does that name ring a bell?’
Wyatt shook his head.
‘Anyhow,’ Doctor Fraser resumed, ‘this girl said she was worried about being a little overweight, and that she had been recommended by a friend of mine, Doctor Clayburn.’
‘Is there a Doctor Clayburn?’
‘Oh, yes – he really is a friend of mine. I happened to bump into him at the clinic that same afternoon, and thanked him for sending Miss Beaumont along. To my amazement he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. Said he’d never set eyes on the girl.’
‘I should have thought he would have remembered an unusual name like that. Did you describe her to him?’
‘Oh, yes, I told him what I’d prescribed for her – everything. But he insisted that he knew nothing about it.’
‘It’s certainly very odd,’ said Wyatt in a guarded tone.
‘I don’t know who that girl was, or the real reason why she came to see me, Mr Wyatt. But I’ve a premonition – an awful feeling – that the girl was an impostor, and that what happened to the genuine Barbara Willis and Mildred Gillow will sooner or later happen to Lauren Beaumont.’
‘What was she like – your visitor, I mean?’
‘Rather a well-built brunette. Nicely spoken and quite well dressed.’
‘H’m … and did you go to the police?’
‘No, I was bewildered and rather confused about things, but I didn’t want to go to the police. Then, this morning, I switched on the early news bulletin and heard about your discovery in your garage last night. I telephoned your home and your man said you’d just left.