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Chapter Three

Charing Cross Hospital

amsgate and an over-cultivated fop of a naval officer (not that I knew what a fop was at that age), Commander Bernard, who seemed to permanently affect a supercilious sneer, huddled around the bed of the officer wounded in the park. The injured man was alive, but in great pain. They were in a private room. Charing Cross Hospital, located on the embankment, not far from St. James Park and Whitehall, was the most accessible hospital to the scene of the crime (and the most convenient to the offices of government). A senior surgeon, as befitted the gravity of the case, was having sharp words with Commander Bernard, telling him that he didn’t want his patient questioned at this time.

Bernard, sniffing snuff, could have used a lesson in “bed-side” manner, for he simply dismissed the surgeon with a haughty, “I do so apologize, doctor, but you really must leave the room. Really must.”

The doctor, not accustomed to being overruled in his own realm, walked to the door with a sneer. “I will allow you one minute before I send in a sister! And I insist you keep that snuff away from him!” With a parting glare, he closed the door behind him.

Commander Bernard shrugged. “Touchy, these medical fellows, eh?”

Ramsgate shrugged back, leaned over the patient. The wounded officer gasped with effort, “Ger … Germans … the Ger …” then he sank back unable to continue.

“Fritz again, eh?” snorted Commander Bernard. “Bad show. Someday those Huns’ll push us too far. Ask him for details.”

Before Ramsgate could do that, there was a knock at the door, and the sister, a high-ranking nurse, announced herself. Ramsgate suggested the two of them come back later. Commander Bernard reluctantly agreed, and they left. The sister entered, closed the door and took out a hypodermic syringe from her apron. The glass cylinder clicked against her red pearl crescent-moon ring. She injected the injured officer, and he gagged, shuddered, and lapsed back in the bed as she mused, “You’ve played your part, time to exit the stage.” She studied the dying man, her face a beautiful but expressionless mask. She bent down and gently kissed him. “Auf Wiedersehen,” she said.

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Framed