The Mystery of the Singing Serpent - M. V. Carey [20]
Hans gulped.
“Never mind, Hans,” said Pete. “Don’t ask any questions. You’ll be happier if you never know.”
Jupe got out of the cab. “I think I’d better do this alone,” he said. “We don’t want to attract too much attention.”
“Okay,” said Pete. “I’ll wait with Hans.”
Jupe went up the steps into the hospital carrying his plant.
“Mrs. Margaret Compton?” said Jupiter to the woman at the reception desk. “Is she receiving visitors?”
The woman fingered her way through a box of file cards. “Room 203, East Wing,” she said. “The elevator’s down the corridor and to your right.”
Jupiter thanked her, carried his African violet down the corridor and rode up one floor in the elevator. The elevator opened in front of the nurses’ station, a bustle of activity with a doctor making a telephone call, an aide depositing a tray loaded with tiny glasses, and a nurse who ignored Jupiter.
Jupiter cleared his throat. “Mrs. Margaret Compton, Room 203,” he said. “Is she able to have visitors?”
The nurse looked up from her charts. “She’s just had a sedative,” she said sternly.
“Oh.” Jupiter Jones allowed his round, cheerful face to droop. “I could come back,” he said in a woebegone tone, “but I’d like to see Aunt Margaret and I’m supposed to work this afternoon. They take it out of your pay if you don’t show up on time at the drugstore.”
“Oh, all right! Just wait a second. Let me check and see if she’s okay.”
The nurse strode down the hall with a rustle of nylon skirt. She was back in half a minute. “She’s awake. You can go in, but don’t stay too long. She needs to get some sleep.”
Jupe assured her that he would not stay long, and hurried down the hall to Room 203.
The door stood open. In the single bed inside was a woman with a round, ruddy face, sleepy eyes and a quantity of white hair. She was firmly anchored by a cast which bulked high under the covers and reached from her foot to her waist.
“Mrs. Compton?” said Jupiter Jones. The gray, heavy-lidded eyes fell on the African violet in Jupe’s hands. “How nice,” said the woman.
“It’s an especially fine violet,” Jupe told her. “It’s from the Western Flower Mart, and the customer who purchased it was anxious that it be delivered directly to you.”
The woman reached under her pillow and drew out a case with eyeglasses, which she put on. “The card,” she said. “Hand me the card, please.”
Jupiter put the plant on the table beside the bed and handed the card to her. She squinted at it, managed to focus and read, “With best wishes for your quick recovery.” She looked puzzled and turned the card over. “It’s not signed,” she said.
Jupiter knew this perfectly well.
“Like that thing yesterday,” said Margaret Compton. “There was a card on that, too, and it wasn’t signed. So careless, not signing cards.”
“Perhaps I can help,” said Jupiter Jones. “The man who bought the plant was tall and very thin. He had black hair and he was very pale.”
“Hmmn,” said Mrs. Compton. She seemed on the point of going to sleep.
Jupiter cast about in his mind for some way to introduce serpents into the conversation.
Suddenly Margaret Compton roused herself slightly. “Funny! The man who delivered the cobra thing yesterday looked like that. Wonder who … who … ?”
“Cobra thing?” echoed Jupiter Jones.
“Yes. Nice little … nice …” Again Mrs. Compton looked as if she might go to sleep.
Jupiter spoke up quickly. “A cobra? How unusual. Do you collect reptiles?”
The gray eyes opened. “No, no! Not really a cobra! It was a bracelet. I don’t usually like
…” She drifted off for a second.
“You don’t usually like snake objects?” prompted Jupe.
“No. Awful things, snakes. Only this was kind of … kind of pretty. I put it on. Wish I knew who sent it.” The woman’s hand reached toward the drawer in the bedside table.
“Show you,” she murmured. “In my purse.”
Jupiter opened the drawer and handed her the
small handbag that he found inside. She fumbled
with the clasp, got the bag open and groped
inside. “Look. Isn’t that … ?”
“Very interesting,” said Jupiter Jones. He took
the bracelet and turned it in his hand. It