The Tightrope Men / The Enemy by Desmond Bagley Page B

his life—if that’s what you mean.’
    ‘Then I can hazard a guess as to how it was done,’ said Iredale. ‘He was drugged, of course, and kept unconscious for the whole week. I noticed a dressing on his left arm. I didn’t investigate it, but that was where the intravenous drip feed was inserted to keep him alive.’
    He paused, and Carey said in a fascinated voice, ‘Go on!’
    ‘The cut would be made at the corner of the eye, giving it a full week to heal. Any competent surgeon could do that in five minutes. Then I suppose they’d do the tattooing. Normally there’d be a residual soreness from that, but it would certainly clear up in a week. Everything else could be done at leisure.’
    He picked up the two photographs. ‘You see, the underlying bone structure of these two men, as far as the heads go, is remarkably similar. I rather think that if you had a photograph of Meyrick taken fifteen to twenty years ago hewould look not unlike Denison or, rather, as Denison used to look. I take it that Meyrick has been used to expensive living?’
    ‘He’s rich enough,’ said Carey.
    ‘It shows on his face,’ said Iredale, and tossed down the photographs. ‘Denison, however, looks a shade undernourished.’
    ‘Interesting you should say that,’ said Carey, opening the folder. ‘From what we have here it seems that Denison, if not an alcoholic, was on the verge. He’d just lost his job—fired for incompetence on June 24.’
    Iredale nodded. ‘Symptomatic. Alcoholics reject food—they get their calories from the booze.’ He stood up. ‘That’s all I can do tonight, gentlemen. I should like to see Denison tomorrow with a view to restoring him to his former appearance, which won’t be easy—that silicone polymer will be the devil to get out. Is there any more?’
    ‘Nothing, Mr Iredale,’ said Carey.
    ‘Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day.’
    ‘You know where your room is,’ said Carey, and Iredale nodded and left the room.
    Carey and McCready looked at each other in silence for some time, and then Carey stirred and said over his shoulder, ‘What did you make of all that, Ian?’
    ‘I’m damned if I know,’ said Armstrong.
    Carey grunted. ‘I’m damned, too. I’ve been involved in some bizarre episodes in this game, but this takes the prize for looniness. Now we’ll have to see what Harding comes up with, and I suspect he’s going to be a long time. I think somebody had better make coffee. It’s going to be a long night.’
    Carey was right because more than two hours elapsed before Harding returned. His face was troubled, and he said abruptly, ‘I don’t think Denison should be left alone.’
    ‘Ian!’ said Carey.
    Armstrong got up, and Harding said, ‘If he wants to talk let him. Join in but steer clear of specifics. Stick to generalities. Understand?’
    Armstrong nodded and went out. Harding sat down and Carey studied him. Finally Carey said, ‘You look as though you could do with a drink, Doctor. Whisky?’
    Harding nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He rubbed his. forehead. ‘Denison is in a bad way.’
    Carey poured two ounces of whisky into a glass. ‘How?’
    ‘He’s been tampered with,’ said Harding flatly.
    Carey handed him the glass. ‘His mind?’
    Harding sank half the whisky and choked a little. He held out the glass. ‘I’ll have water in the other half. Yes. Someone has been bloody ruthless about it. He has a week missing, and whatever was done to him was done in that week.’
    Carey frowned. ‘Iredale suggested he’d been unconscious all that week.’
    ‘It’s not incompatible,’ said Harding. ‘He was probably kept in a mentally depressed state by drugs during the whole week.’
    ‘Are you talking about brain-washing?’ asked McCready sceptically.
    ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Harding accepted his refilled glass. ‘Whoever did this to Denison had a problem. The ideal would have been to get Denison into such a condition that he