The Crime Clinic
- Автор: Грант Максвелл
- Серия: The Shadow #43
- Год: 1933
- Язык: английский
- Год: Street and Smith
- Жанр: Крутые детективы
Электронная книга - «The Crime Clinic». Краткое содержание книги:
Cardona nodded dully and resumed his seat. A moment later, the door opened, and another East Sider entered. This was a rheumatic blind man, his body almost doubled. He wore black glasses, and he leaned heavily on a weather-beaten cane. He seemed to sense where he should go, for he tapped his way to the corner, and mumbled a name to the secretary. He was told to take a chair, which he managed to find after tapping his way along the row of waiting patients.
A clock struck eleven. The secretary arose and went to the front door. She latched it, so that no new patients could enter. Then, referring to her list, she singled out Limps Silvey. The cripple, evidently one who had an appointment from Monday, arose and hobbled to a door which the woman opened. Cardona caught a glimpse of a gloomy anteroom with a door beyond. Then the opening closed behind Limps Silvey.
Cardona heard a voice beside him. One patient was talking to another. The words were informative.
“Dat was Limps Silvey,” the speaker growled. “Foist on de list. Wisht I was foist. Gets my goat sittin’ around dis joint.”
Cardona remembered the name. Limps Silvey. Probably the cripple was a regular patient at Doctor Dubrong’s clinic. There was something about Limps Silvey’s shrewd stare that Cardona had not liked.
THE first patient had been ushered in at the stroke of eleven. Ten minutes later, a buzzer sounded. Evidently Limps had been sent out through another door, for the woman secretary picked another patient from the list. Fifteen minutes elapsed. The buzzer sounded again.
Thus proceeded the affairs of the East Side Clinic. Patient after patient was ushered through the little anteroom to see Doctor Lysander Dubrong. At last only Joe Cardona and the blind man remained. While they were waiting, the clock struck one.
“I am sorry,” said the secretary. “The clinic hours are ended. You two will be the first appointments on Friday. That is, unless Doctor Dubrong is willing to remain a while longer — a practice which he seldom follows.”
At that moment, the buzzer sounded twice. With a gesture that indicated the patients should remain, the secretary went through the anteroom. She returned a minute later.
“Doctor Dubrong will see one of you,” she announced. “It is your turn, Mr. Gaston.”
Joe Cardona arose and moved toward the anteroom. He entered, and the door closed behind him. The blind man remained seated in his chair. The secretary approached him.
“I am sorry,” she said, “you will have to return on Friday. You must leave now.”
The blind man gripped his cane. He arose and stood in his bent attitude.
“All right, lady,” he said. “I can come back Friday. Never mind the door; I can open it. I find my way very well.”
As he spoke, the blind man edged toward the door. Seeing that he had found the knob, the secretary turned and went toward her desk. There was a door in the corner just beyond the desk. The woman opened it and stepped into a small closet to obtain her hat and coat. She heard the outer door open and bang shut. She thought the blind man had gone.
In this surmise, the secretary was wrong. The moment that she had turned, the blind man had gazed after her. He had opened the door, and let it shut at just the psychological moment. In fact, while the door was automatically closing, the blind man had moved with surprising swiftness.
Across the waiting room, with long, noiseless stride, he had reached the door to the anteroom. There, his ways had been those of stealth. Silently, he had gained that gloomy entrance to Doctor Dubrong’s consultation room.
He stood within a widened chamber that was lighted by a single bulb in the ceiling. Stretching his form to an amazing height, he thrust a long-fingered hand toward the incandescent. The light went out as he twisted it. The windowless anteroom was in darkness.
Simultaneously, the blind man slid his large, gogglelike black glasses to his forehead. His eyes, previously hidden, seemed to blaze in the darkness. Edging toward the inner door, this remarkable intruder softly turned the knob. He opened the door the fraction of an inch. Peering through the space, he could see the interior of the consultation room.
Doctor Lysander Dubrong was seated at a desk. Opposite him was the bearded old man who had entered as the final patient. Doctor Dubrong was speaking; the bearded patient was listening attentively.
Neither man sensed the presence of a watching eye. The pretended blind man in the anteroom was peering unobserved. His keen eyes glistened; his sharp ears heard.
Joe Cardona was not the only surreptitious visitor to Doctor Dubrong’s East Side Clinic. The detective, as well as the physician, was under observation at this moment.
The fake blind man who had gained secret access to the anteroom was also in disguise. He was The Shadow. By day, as well as night, The Shadow could move unrecognized!
CHAPTER IX
THE CONSULTATION
JOE CARDONA was sitting away from the light. In this procedure, the detective was acting with method. He was confident that he looked the part that he was playing; that Doctor Dubrong could suspect nothing if he did not have the opportunity to observe his consultant too closely.
The physician had asked Cardona’s name. He was writing down the one which Cardona gave him: Michael Gaston. Meanwhile, the detective was noting the set-up of the consultation room. It looked like a well-equipped office. Three small, but strongly locked lockers formed a rather odd feature, inasmuch as they were firmly fixed to the corner in which they were located. Cardona, however, gave them no more than a passing notice.
“What is your trouble?”
Dubrong’s brusque question made Joe Cardona immediately alert. The detective had an answer.
“No trouble of mine, doctor,” he grumbled. “It’s my brother. He is very sick.”
“Why didn’t you bring him here?”
“Too sick. My brother Howard. He is in bed; he cannot move his arms. I wanted a doctor to come and see him. He said ‘no.’ I came to ask you what to do.”
“This does not come within the range of my clinic,” declared Doctor Dubrong. “I can recommend a physician; in fact, I can arrange for one to visit your brother, if that would be satisfactory.”
“Tell me what doctor to see,” urged Cardona. “I will go to see him. My brother Howard is very sick.”
“Obviously,” remarked Dubrong, staring hard at Cardona, “a paralytic patient could not well come to this clinic. I try to take care of all deserving patients. Sometimes I am able to give advice which, if followed, will clear up the difficulty without the necessity of a physician’s visit.
“You mean my brother Howard—”
“I mean that his case can be handled to perfect satisfaction if you will merely follow the advice that I shall give you now. After that, you will not worry about him any longer.”
Joe Cardona was puzzled. He had expected Dubrong to recommend a visiting physician for the mythical brother; this odd statement that indicated an immediate cure for paralysis was something that the detective could not understand.
Doctor Dubrong had risen from his chair. He was pacing back and forth on the other side of the desk. His hands were behind his back. His eyes wore a distant gaze; his lips a thin, suave smile.
“The trouble in this case,” decided Doctor Dubrong, “is a very peculiar one. I can define it in a single word.” He paused; then added: “Whiskers.”
Cardona was staring as the physician gazed in his direction. Dubrong’s smile persisted. His eyes were glittering shrewdly.
“Whiskers,” he repeated. “They are very uncomfortable, particularly to those who are unaccustomed to wearing them. More than that, they can be responsible for strange mental delusions. They can make a normal man imagine that he has a paralytic brother. Do you agree with me, Mr. Cardona?”