What's Better Than Money by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

was a big terrace with fifty or so steps leading up to it. The top rooms had bars to the windows.
    Everything about the house and the grounds was sombre and very, very quiet. Even the roses and the begonias seemed depressed.
    Well away from the drive, under the shade of the elm trees, I could see several people sitting in wheel chairs. Three or four nurses, in gleaming white overalls, fluttered around them.
    I climbed the steps and rang the front door bell.
    After a moment or so, the door was opened by a grey man with grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes and a grey manner.
    I gave him my name.
    Wordlessly, he led me over a gleaming parquet floor to a side-room where a slim, blonde nurse sat at a desk, busy with pencil and paper.
    “Mr. Gordon,” the grey man said.
    He pushed a chair against the back of my knees so I sat down abruptly and then went away, shutting the door after him as gently as if it were made of spun glass.
    The nurse laid down her pen and said in a gentle voice and with a sad smile in her eyes, “Yes, Mr. Gordon? Is there something we can do for you?”
    “I hope so.” I said. “I want to talk to Dr. Klinzi about a possible patient.”
    “It could be arranged.” I was aware that her eyes were going over my suit. “Who is the patient, Mr. Gordon?”
    “I’ll explain all that to Dr. Klinzi.”
    “I’m afraid the doctor is engaged at the moment. You can have complete confidence in me. I arrange who comes here and who doesn’t.”
    “That must be pretty nice for you,” I said, “but this happens to be a special case. I want to talk to Dr. Klinzi.”
    “Why is it a special case, Mr. Gordon?”
    I could see I wasn’t making any impression on her. Her eyes had lost their sad smile: they now looked merely bored.
    “I’m an agent and my client who is a singer is a very valuable property. Unless I deal directly with Dr. Klinzi, I must go elsewhere.”
    That seemed to arouse her interest. She hesitated briefly, then she got to her feet.
    “If you will wait a moment, Mr. Gordon, I’ll see. . .”
    She crossed the room, opened the door and disappeared from sight. There was a longish pause, then she reappeared, holding open the door.
    “Will you come in?”
    I entered an enormous room full of modern furniture, a surgical table and desk by a window behind which sat a man in a white coat.
    “Mr. Gordon?”
    Somehow he made it sound as if he were very pleased to see me.
    He got to his feet. He was short, not more than thirty years of age, with a lot of blond wavy hair, slate grey eyes and a bedside manner.
    “That’s right. Dr. Klinzi?” I said.
    “Certainly.” He waved a hand to a chair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Gordon?”
    I sat down, waiting until the nurse had gone away.
    “I have a singer with a three year morphine habit,” I said. “I want her cured. What will it cost?”
    The slate grey eyes ran over me none too hopefully.
    “Our charge for a guaranteed cure would be five thousand dollars, Mr. Gordon. We are in the happy position here to guarantee results.”
    I drew in a long, slow breath.
    “For that kind of money I would expect results.”
    He smiled sadly. They seemed to specialise in sad smiles in this place.
    “It may seem expensive to you, Mr. Gordon, but we deal only with the very best people.”
    “How long would it take?”
    “That would depend largely on the patient. Five weeks perhaps, but if it is a very stubborn case, eight weeks: not longer.”
    “Guaranteed?”
    “Naturally.”
    There was no one I knew who would be crazy enough to lend me five thousand dollars, and there was no way I could think of to raise such a sum.
    I turned on the soft soap faucet.
    “It’s slightly more than I can afford, doctor. This girl has a great singing voice. If I can get her cured, she’s going to make a lot of money. Suppose you take a piece of her? Twenty per cent of whatever she makes until the five thousand is taken care of, then three thousand on top as interest.”
    As