Doctor Fischer of Geneva Or The Bomb Party by Graham Greene Read Free Book Online

Mrs Montgomery,’ Doctor Fischer said. ‘If you contradict me once again you will lose your prize.’
    â€˜That happened once at one of our parties to Mr Kips,’ Monsieur Belmont said. ‘He lost an eighteen-carat gold lighter. Like this one. ‘He took a leather case from his pocket.
    â€˜It was little loss to me,’ Mr Kips said. ‘I don’t smoke.’
    â€˜Be careful, Kips. Don’t denigrate my gifts – or yours might disappear a second time tonight.’
    I thought: But surely this is a madhouse ruled by a mad doctor. It was only curiosity which kept me there – certainly it was not for any prize that I stayed.
    â€˜Perhaps,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘before we sit down to dinner – a dinner I very much hope that you’ll enjoy and do full justice to as I have given a great deal of thought to the menu – I should explain to our new guest the etiquette we observe at these dinners.’
    â€˜Most necessary,’ Belmont said. ‘I think – if you will excuse me – you should perhaps have put his appearance here – shall we say? – to the vote? After all, we are a kind of club.’
    Mr Kips said, ‘I agree with Belmont. We all of us know where we stand. We accept certain conditions. It’s all in the spirit of fun. A stranger might misunderstand.’
    â€˜Mr Kips in search of a dollar,’ Doctor Fischer said. ‘You are afraid that the value of the prizes may be reduced with another guest just as you hoped the value would rise after the death of two of our number.’
    There was a silence. I thought from the expression in his eyes that Mr Kips was about to make an angry reply, but he didn’t: all he said was, ‘You misunderstand me.’
    Now all of this, read by someone not present at the party, might well sound no more than the jolly banter of clubmen who insult each other in a hearty way before sitting down to a good dinner and some heavy drinking and good companionship. But to me, as I watched the faces and detected how near the knuckle the teasing seemed to go, there was a hollowness and a hypocrisy in the humorous exchanges and hate like a raincloud hung over the room – hatred of his guests on the part of the host and hatred of the host on the part of the guests. I felt a complete outsider for, though I disliked every one of them, my emotion was too weak as yet to be called hatred.
    â€˜To the table then,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘and I will explain to our new guest the purpose of my little parties, while Albert brings in the dinner.’
    I found myself sitting next to Mrs Montgomery who was on the right of the host. I had Belmont on my right and the actor Richard Deane opposite me. Beside every plate was a bottle of good Yvorne, except beside our host’s, who, I noticed, preferred Polish vodka.
    â€˜First,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘I would ask you to toast the memory of our two – friends shall I call them on this occasion? – on the anniversary of their deaths two years ago. An odd coincidence. I chose the date for that reason. Madame Faverjon died by her own hand. I suppose she could no longer stomach herself – it was difficult enough for me to stomach her, though I had found her at first an interesting study. Of all the people at this table she was the greediest – and that is saying a good deal. She was also the richest of all of you. There have been moments when I have watched each one of you show a sign of rebelling against the criticisms I have made of you and I have been forced to remind you of the presents at the end of dinner which you were in danger of forfeiting. That was never the case with Madame Faverjon. She accepted everything and anything in order to qualify for her present, though she could easily have afforded to buy one of equal value for herself. She was an abominable woman, an unspeakable woman, and yet I had to admit she showed a