He woke on a stretcher in an ambulance van, half naked, held in position on his side by a policeman, while an EMT attended to his back.

“He’s conscious,” someone said.

“I’m a surgeon,” a female voice said. “I’ll deal with this.”

Then Stone passed out again.

62

Stone slowly came awake in a sun-filled room. A beeping noise from his left side told him he was in a hospital room and that he was hooked up to machinery. He moved his arm and found that he had an IV running, too. The room was devoid of other people.

Then, as if on cue, Rose entered the room, wearing surgical scrubs, followed by Felicity, similarly clad. Apparently, dinner dresses were not de rigueur on this ward, and they had changed into whatever was available. “You’re alive!” Rose said, kissing him on the forehead.

“Have I had a close call?” Stone asked, and found his mouth dry.

“Not for a minute,” she replied. “You were lucky enough to encounter a qualified surgeon in the ambulance that brought you here—that was me—and both Felicity and I have the same blood type as you, so we insisted on contributing. We thought blood with a little fine wine and brandy in it would be best.”

Felicity came over, too. She kissed him on the ear and let her tongue flick inside for a moment. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said, “no injury below the navel.”

Rose gave him a cup of water with a glass straw, and he sucked some of the water down.

“Where are we?” Stone asked.

“Salisbury, the nearest hospital to your house with a trauma center,” Rose replied.

“And it is, by your reckoning,” Felicity said, “the day after tomorrow, or rather, the day after yesterday.”

“I’ve been out for that long?”

“Yes,” Rose replied. “We thought it best that you became accustomed to having blood in your veins again while resting.”

“When do I get out?”

“Oh, come on, you don’t feel like getting out, do you?”

“No, I guess I don’t,” he replied.

“Perhaps tomorrow, if you’re more confident.”

“What was the result of the events last night? I mean, the other night.”

“There are those here who can better explain that than we can,” she said. “We’ll leave you to their company.” She and Felicity left the room and were immediately replaced by Chief Inspector Holmes.

“How are you feeling, old boy?” the policeman asked.

“Drained,” Stone replied. “Is Fife-Simpson in custody?”

“All in good time,” Holmes said. “I wanted to tell you about the results of the testing of your very fine Château Palmer ’61.”

“It was poisoned, wasn’t it?”

“No . . . well, yes. That is to say that the initial testing revealed nothing but wine in the bottle.”

“But the broken needle in the cork?”