The Dutch Shoe Mystery

No one spoke. The ex-surgeon seemed to be living over that devastating moment when the work, the plans, the dreams of his youth came crashing about his ears. He had been afraid, he said — unnerved and sickened. There had been three witnesses to the tragedy, but the rigid ethical code of the profession kept the story from leaking out of the Hospital at that time. Then Dr. Janney himself informed Mrs. Doorn of the tragedy — and his stepson’s culpability. The old lady was inexorable. The young surgeon would have to go...

He was compelled to resign. Quietly, despite all the efforts of his step-father, the news circulated and he found all Hospital doors barred to him. Without fanfare or publicity he lost his medical license. Dr. Thomas Janney became plain Thomas Janney, and in self-protection Thomas Janney changed his name to Thomas Swanson — his mother’s maiden name.

He moved out of New York City to Port Chester, New York. And through his step-father’s influence and wide acquaintanceship he was able under cover to go into business as an insurance solicitor. He sobered. The awful experience had shocked him into an abrupt realization of his folly, he said. But it was too late. His career was beyond redemption or atonement...

“Oh, I didn’t blame any of them,” he said bitterly, in the silence of the District Attorney’s office. “The old lady acted according to her lights, and so did my step-father. His profession is the world to him. He could have saved me, I guess, through his personal influence with Mrs. Doorn. But then he has a stern code and besides he realized that I needed a sharp lesson if I was ever to make anything of myself...”

Dr. Janney had never upbraided his wayward step-son despite the infinite hurt he must have suffered during the collapse of his plans and hopes. Covertly he aided the young man in establishing a new business and a new life. He promised without equivocation that if Thomas led a sober industrious existence there would be no difference in their future relations. The young man would still be the Janney heir; there was and would be no one else.

“It was decent of him,” muttered the ex-surgeon, “damned decent. He couldn’t have acted whiter if I were his real son...”

He stopped, crumpled his hat-brim nervously between his long powerful fingers — the fingers of a surgeon.

Sampson cleared his throat. “Of course, this puts a different complexion on the affair, Mr. — Mr. Swanson. I see now why Dr. Janney refused to put us on your track. The old scandal...”

“Yes,” drearily. “It would have destroyed five years of honest living — ruined my business and held me up publicly as a renegade surgeon who had criminally failed in his trust and could not be relied upon in other things, either...” They had both suffered poignantly, he went on, from the notoriety the incident had aroused in the Hospital during those hectic days. If Dr. Janney had given the police the means of finding Swanson, the old story must inevitably have come out. They were both horribly afraid of that.

“But now,” said Swanson, “now that I see dad so terribly involved, I can’t let personal considerations stand in the way... I hope I’ve cleared Dr. Janney of suspicion, gentlemen. It’s all been a ghastly tragedy of errors.

“You see, my only purpose in visiting him Monday morning was to secure a small loan — twenty-five dollars — business had been a little slow and I needed the money to tide me over a few days. Dad — he was generous, as usual — he gave me a check for fifty. I cashed it as soon as I’d left the Hospital.”

He looked about him. There was an unspoken plea in his eyes. The Inspector was gloomily examining the worn brown surface of his snuff-box. The Police Commissioner had unobtrusively left his chair and slipped out of the room: the expected bomb-shell had proved a dud, and there was no further reason for his presence.

Swanson’s voice, as he continued, grew less assured. Were they satisfied? he asked timidly. If they were he would appreciate if they withheld his true identity from the press. He was entirely at their command. If his testimony were required he would be only too happy to present it on the witness-stand, although the less publicity he got the better off he would be, since it was always possible that a reporter would dig up his past history and publish the reeking facts of the old dead scandal.

“You needn’t worry on that score, Mr. Swanson.” The District Attorney seemed troubled. “Your story to-day of course clears your step-father. We can’t arrest him in the face of such a perfect alibi. So it will never reach a public hearing — eh, Q.?”

“Not now, anyway.” The Inspector sneezed over a pinch of snuff. “Mr. Swanson, have you seen Dr. Janney since Monday morning?”

The ex-surgeon hesitated, scowled, looked up with a frank expression. “No sense in denying it now,” he said. “I have seen dad since Monday morning. He came out to Port Chester secretly Monday night. I didn’t want to mention it, but... He was worried about the search being made for me. He wanted me to leave town, go West or something. But when he told me how angry the police were about his silence — well, I naturally couldn’t go and leave him holding the bag. After all, neither of us had anything to conceal as far as the murder was concerned. And flight would be construed as an admission of guilt. So I refused, and he went home. And this morning — well, I had to come into the City early, and there was that newspaper story staring me in the face...”