“If it’s my biography you’re writing, add a heroic war record and a moon landing while you’re at it,” the old man said. But, Coldmoon noticed, the humor did not dispel the fact that when Pendergast began asking questions, the doctor had become guarded.
“Heroic isn’t actually too far from the truth,” Pendergast continued. “Because when your father was injured in a farming accident and could no longer do the work, you came home. The farm was heavily mortgaged, and with your medical school bills on top of that, it was impossible for you to continue your studies.”
Dr. Quincy said nothing.
“You did all you could. But your father’s injury meant that you had to give up medicine to manage the farm.” Pendergast paused. “Everything still accurate?”
“You’re telling more than you’re asking,” the doctor said, “and that’s more than a ‘couple of questions’ already. Get to the point.”
“What I’m curious about, Doctor, is how you went from such dire straits—dropping out of med school, managing the farm alone, trying to keep it all afloat—to finishing your medical degree and residency in orthopedic surgery, hiring someone to help around the farm, paying off the mortgage, and turning this place into a going enterprise for almost forty years, even while maintaining a successful surgical practice in Tacoma.”
“You’re the biographer,” the doctor said. “I guess you’ll just have to figure it out.”
“Biographers can’t work without sources. I can give you a few more specifics, if that will help. We’re not interested, precisely, in your good fortune. But we are interested in someone you were acquainted with many years ago. Someone who, like you, appreciated poetry. Someone whose initials are, or should I say were, A.R.”
The old man abruptly twitched, as if administered a galvanic shock. Coldmoon could only admire how quickly he mastered it.
“We’re not here to arrest you—or the woman in question. What I propose is a simple exchange of information. I imagine you can guess what I want to know. And I know you must be eager—despite yourself—to hear the information I can offer about A.R. in return.”
The old man remained silent, but Coldmoon could see the wheels turning in his head.
“Information,” the doctor finally repeated.
“Precisely.”
The doctor went silent again for several moments. Then: “What do you want to know, exactly, about this person?”
“The more light you can shed, the better.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Quincy said, his voice low and harsh. “I made a promise, and I won’t go back on it—no matter how many years have passed.”
This time, it was Pendergast who remained silent.
Finally, the doctor shifted in his chair. “This person you mention. Is she…still alive?”
Pendergast bowed his head in assent.
Coldmoon could see a succession of conflicting emotions cross the doctor’s face before he again mastered himself.
“And where might she be?”
At this, Pendergast smiled. “How about that exchange of information?”
After a long silence, the doctor said: “I made a promise.”
Pendergast rose. “Well then, I fear we have nothing more to speak about. Agent Coldmoon? Let us go.”
“Hold on!”
Pendergast paused and turned. In a softer, kinder voice, he said, “Doctor, I truly appreciate the promise you made. But we’re speaking of events that happened half a century ago. You—and the lady—are, quite frankly, nearing the close of life. If there’s any hope of your ever learning who she is now, or where she is—this is it.”
The doctor said, “You first.”
Pendergast gazed at him steadily, then said: “She owns a hotel in Savannah, Georgia. And she has no possession she treasures more than the book you gave her.”
At this the doctor flushed and passed a trembling hand over his white hair.
Pendergast quoted, “To me, you’ll always be ‘that great social nomad, who prowls on the confines of a docile, frightened order.’”
The effect of this was even more profound. The doctor struggled to maintain his composure. “She showed it to you?”
“Not intentionally.” Then, very gently, Pendergast said, “And now, Doctor, it’s your turn.”
The doctor removed a cotton handkerchief, mopped his face and tucked it back into his pocket.
“I found her by the side of the lake. She had had…a terrible fall.”