In the puzzle world, George was well known for the quality of his themes. Thursday's was entitled: INFAMOUS. There were clues about the dastardly deeds by the likes of Hitler, Mussolini, Saddam and other serial killers and undesirables. George's themes were always meticulously researched. His puzzles contained an esoteric compilation that make completion a workout no matter how erudite solvers considered themselves to be. Arsenic and Old Lace, Friday's puzzle was pursuant to potions, poisons and poisoners. Sweet little old ladies, who poisoned pensioners and commandeered their pensions delighted Varney or so it would seem. Several clues premised on poison dart frogs, such as the Phylobates terriblis used by the Choco Indians of the Amazon provided a touch of the exotic macabre.
During Friday's session, George provided a sophisticated explanation of the biological effects of the poisons produced by the blue frogs of the Amazon. This gave Dr. Rapport pause as to whether George was clearly ready to take on the world or perhaps too ready.
"This poison has cumulative effect similar to mercury. If the first dose doesn't kill you, a second or third, however minute will likely do the job."
The doctor decided then and there to lengthen the session. How could he do that without arousing suspicion?
"Seeing as this is our last session," he said. "Why don't we have tea and a little chat off the record? I don't think there's any need for further therapy."
"Splendid idea," Varney said once more revealing his English roots. "I'll nip down to the deli, shall I?"
While Doctor Rapport was asking Gladys to reschedule his ten o'clock, Varney scooted out to pick up some goodies from Arnbuckle's Deli. How did George ever surmise that they were his favourite? Gladys talks too much he realized.
Rapport cautioned himself. Because he considered himself to be more than a mere wordsmith afficionado, he knew he had to concentrate entirely on plumbing the depths of his patient's psyche, and guard against being carried away by lexical ecstasy.
On Saturday morning, Dr. Rapport rose late. He made himself a typical weeked bachelor's brunch. The kids were playing in a tennis tournament upstate and his dear wife was visiting her sister in the Hamptons. The doctor soon had an eclectic mixture underway: scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, some warmed up spaghetti from last night's leftovers along with orange juice and coffee. Oh yes, and a small bowl of strawberries. If that were insufficient, a stack of tea-cakes left over from the entirely satisfactory and illuminating after-the-fact session that he and George had enjoyed over tea-for-two would provide the finishing touch rather nicely.
Munching on his second tea cake, Dr. Rapport opened the Times and carefully unfolded the crossword section. He placed it on the breakfast nook table. The theme caught his attention. BORN ON MONDAY. What kind of a theme was that? For some weird reason, the premise that condemned murderers are privileged to know on which day they are destined to die, a benefit denied to the rest of us, welled up suddenly in Rapport's brain like the most macabre complaint his most pathological patient had ever uttered.