The Dutch Shoe Mystery

Inspector Queen beckoned imperiously to Paradise. “I want you to keep your eyes open,” he snapped. “Work right along with my men: The Hospital will be under guard continuously until we discover the murderer of Mrs. Doorn. Give us your complete cooperation and I’ll see you won’t suffer for it. Understand?”

“Y-y-yes, but—” Paradise’s ears flamed dangerously. “I... I... I’ve never had a murder in my Hospital yet, Inspector... I hope you — your men will not disrupt my organization—”

“Nothing of the kind. Beat it now!” The Inspector slapped Paradise’s quaking back, not without friendliness, and shoved him toward the door. “Off with you!”

The Superintendent disappeared.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Henry,” said the Inspector. Sampson nodded patiently. “Now, Thomas,” went on the old man to Sergeant Velie, “you’re to put the finishing-touches on things down here. I want the theater and this room and the Anæsthesia Room next door guarded. No one is to be allowed inside; no one at all.

“And while you’re at it, you might try to trace the back-trail of the murderer from the Anæsthesia Room down the corridor, and see if you can’t find some one who saw him. He probably kept up that limp business all the way down, wherever he went.

“And then I want you to take the names and addresses of every one — nurses, doctors, internes, outsiders, and all the rest. And one thing more...”

Sampson put in quickly, “The histories, Q.?”

“Yes. Listen, Thomas. Put a squad of men to work going over the private history of every person, without exception, that we’ve encountered so far. Just a check-up, that’s all. Kneisel, Janney, Sarah Fuller, doctors, nurses — everybody you have any record of. Don’t bother to give me a long report unless you run across something unusual. What I’m interested in is facts which don’t corroborate or are missing from the testimony already given.”

“Sure thing. Guards, murderer’s getaway, names and addresses, morgue stuff. I got you,” replied Velie, scribbling in his notebook. “By the way, Inspector, Big Mike is still under the influence of ether. Won’t be able to talk for hours yet. Some of the boys are watching upstairs.”

“Fine, fine! On the job, Thomas.” The Inspector ran through the Amphitheater door, barked rapid instructions to detectives and policemen, and returned at once.

“All set, Henry.” He reached for his coat.

“Dismissing them?” The District Attorney sighed and jammed his hat over his ears. Harper and Cronin moved toward the door.

“Might as well. We’ve done all we can down here for the present. Let’s... Ellery — wake up!”

His father’s voice penetrated dimly into the fog of Ellery’s thoughts. Not once had he looked up or lost his frown during the swirling activity of the preceding few minutes. Now he raised his head and saw the Inspector, Sampson, Cronin and Harper ready to leave.

“Oh... All the garbage incinerated?” He stretched mightily. The wrinkles vanished from his forehead.

“Yes, come on, Ellery. We’re going to the Doorn place to clean up,” said the old man testily. “Don’t dawdle, son — there’s too much to be done.”

“Where’s my coat? Here, somebody — my things are in Dr. Minchen’s office.” He rose to his full height. A policeman was dispatched on the errand.

Ellery did not speak again until the heavy black ulster was on his back. He tucked his stick under one arm and twisted the brim of his hat thoughtfully between his long fingers.

“Do you know,” he murmured, as they left the Anteroom and watched a bluecoat set his back against the door, “Abigail Doorn should have emulated the Emperor Adrian. Remember what he had inscribed on his tomb?” As they passed out of the Anæsthesia Room another man took his stand at the door. “‘A multitude of physicians have destroyed me...’”

The Inspector froze in his tracks. “Ellery! You don’t mean—”

Ellery’s stick described a short arc and struck the marble floor resoundingly. “Oh, it’s not an accusation,” he said gently. “It’s an epitaph.”