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:
“That’s right.”
“I shall bear this in mind, Cardona.”
The detective smiled grimly as he left the physician’s apartment. Cardona felt that he had scored a triumph. By dealing cagily with Dubrong, Cardona had paved a way to immediate results.
CARDONA was positive that Limps Silvey was hiding out somewhere in Manhattan. He was also sure that the cripple was connected with Dubrong. Cardona’s subtle statement — purely fictitious — that the underworld was buzzing with talk of The Jackdaw, was calculated to arouse Dubrong’s interest in what was happening in the bad lands.
To cap this, Cardona had followed with talk of his policy concerning Limps Silvey. His statement that he wanted the cripple as a stool was the climax of the plan.
As matters now stood, Dubrong would consider it imperative for Limps to visit underworld hang-outs, to learn what was being said there. Moreover, it would be safe for Limps to visit Dubrong at any time.
Hunches were Joe Cardona’s specialty. He had one now. He was positive that if he remained constantly at the peephole which he had prepared above Doctor Dubrong’s consulting room, he would eventually overhear an interview between Limps Silvey and Dubrong. What was more, Cardona had another hunch that the meeting might take place this very night.
Accordingly, the sleuth made his plans. After an hour’s stay at headquarters, he wended his way to the neighborhood of the East Side Clinic. Muffled, he entered the house in the cul-de-sac. He went upstairs and sprawled out, his head beside the peephole.
Two hours went by. Joe Cardona waited patiently. He was determined in his vigil. Then came a glimmer of light. Joe quickly raised his head and peered into the room below. It was empty. Joe wondered how the light had been turned on.
A door opened. It was the door of the closet. The detective realized that the light switch must have been sprung in there. Out from the closet stepped the figure of Limps Silvey.
Lysander Dubrong must be coming here. Joe Cardona stared, wondering when and how the physician would arrive. The shades of the consulting room were lowered. Limps Silvey was staring about him, grinning. Suddenly his expression seemed to change. He placed his cane beside the closed locker in the corner. Standing upright, he rubbed his hands across his face, then seized a towel and began to mop his countenance.
Joe Cardona suppressed a gasp as the man chanced to turn so that the light fully revealed his face. No longer a cripple, no longer a sordid denizen of the underworld. Out of that mopping was coming another face that Joe Cardona recognized.
Limps Silvey had needed no hideout. Limps Silvey was a myth; a clever character created by a cunning brain. His make-up off, his real identity was revealed.
The man who had worn the disguise of Limps Silvey was Doctor Lysander Dubrong. The physician and his satellite were one and the same!
Clothes, cane, and make-up were going in the locker. The transformation was completed. Suave and debonair, a smile upon his thin lips, Doctor Dubrong strolled through the rear exit of his consulting room, turning out the light as he departed.
IN darkness, Joe Cardona smiled to himself. There was no need for action now. It was merely a case of waiting and watching. The scene had shifted from the East Side to Park Avenue. The job was to trail Doctor Dubrong himself.
Bing Claver had served The Jackdaw. Limps Silvey had been connected with Bing Claver. Limps Silvey, Joe had suspected, was working for Doctor Lysander Dubrong. The subtlety of it all now came to the detective.
The Jackdaw’s mob was wiped out. The Jackdaw’s next action, so Joe had believed, could be traced only through Limps Silvey, for the detective had considered Doctor Dubrong was too wise to offer a trail of his own.
But now, as matters stood, Dubrong had become the single bet. Joe Cardona’s task was simplified. Once more, the detective had a hunch — one that he regarded as a surety.
Traveling the underworld as Limps Silvey, Doctor Dubrong had tonight learned that The Jackdaw rumors were lacking. That would give him confidence. Another thrust would soon be delivered by The Jackdaw. Once again, Joe Cardona would be present.
The detective intended, from now on, to keep close tabs on Doctor Lysander Dubrong, the man who played the part of his own accomplice!
CHAPTER XVII
THE NEXT NIGHT
ON the evening following Joe Cardona’s detection of the double part played by Lysander Dubrong, Farrell Sarborn was seated in his apartment, reading the afternoon newspaper. It was early; Sarborn had just dined.
Someone rang the outside bell. Sarborn motioned his servant Jalon to answer it. The greasy-faced fellow talked through the little telephone that connected with the lobby.
“It is Mr. Melken,” he reported to his master.
“Tell him to come up,” ordered Sarborn.
A few minutes later, Bart Melken arrived. He shook hands with his friend, then sprawled himself in a large chair and stared unsteadily. Sarborn did not seem to notice Melken’s uneasiness.
“I see,” remarked Sarborn, tapping the newspaper, “that your prospective father-in-law has returned to New York.”
“Yes,” blurted Melken. “Garforth Lydell is back.”
“You don’t appear to be pleased about it,” decided Sarborn, looking at his friend. “What’s the matter, Bart? You look pale tonight.”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Talk to the macaw,” laughed Sarborn. He arose and opened the door of the next room. “Maybe he can cheer you up.”
He brought out the scarlet bird and perched it on the back of the chair. The macaw ruffled its throat, but made no utterance. It looked about wisely.
“Don’t be trivial, Farrell,” pleaded Melken. “I’ve got to go up to Lydell’s house. I promised Yvonne I’d be there tonight. I don’t want to go.”
“Why not? Has all this publicity about old Lydell’s big banking deals given you stage fright?”
“I’m worried, Farrell—”
Melken’s pleading tones ended as the bell rang. Sarborn, on his feet, answered the summons himself. He spoke in a pleased manner, clicked the button to let the visitor enter, and turned to Melken.
“Lamont Cranston,” said Sarborn. “He dropped up here twice. I thought he might be in tonight. A wonderful chap — and very interesting.”
“He was dumb enough out at Winchendon’s,” retorted Melken. “As near as I can figure it, no one ever found out just which sofa he dived behind when the mob came in.”
“You weren’t so brisk yourself,” returned Sarborn. “I didn’t do much, either, until somebody plugged a few of those rowdies. Cranston is a retiring sort of a chap, but he’s had plenty of adventures. Even at that, with all his travels, he was quite impressed with my small collection of eggs.”
Sarborn opened the door. A few moments later, Cranston appeared within the room. He shook hands with Sarborn and Melken.
“We have a visitor, I see,” remarked Cranston, indicating the macaw.
Sarborn nodded as he picked up the bird and took it into the other room. Cranston followed him. Sarborn put the macaw on the window perch. Cranston had stopped beside the box which contained the little monkey.
“Cute fellow,” he remarked. “Can I look at him?”
“Certainly,” returned Sarborn.
Cranston brought the sapajou from its crate. He carried the monkey in his arms as he strolled toward the window. The little creature was staring all about it. Cranston made a movement with his gold watch chain. The monkey seized it.
BEFORE Cranston could grab the sapajou, it leaped from his arms and tried to pull away the watch chain. Cranston broke the beast’s hold; the sapajou jumped up the side of the wall toward the macaw’s perch. Sarborn grabbed it.