The Crime Clinic

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?”

THE end of the statement came so suavely that Joe Cardona was caught almost unaware of it. His own name, as uttered by Dubrong, seemed to re-echo in his mind. While the detective sat stolidly in his chair, Dubrong offered a suggestion.

“You came here for a consultation,” he declared. “I made a special effort to give you one. I would prefer, however, that we conduct our talk face to face. Unless, Cardona, you would prefer that I also put on some masquerading make-up.”

Realizing that he was discovered, Cardona’s first impulse was to bluff it through. Then he realized that such a plan would be folly. Dubrong had unquestionably recognized his visitor’s true identity. Sullenly, Joe Cardona removed his hat, his wig, and his false beard to reveal his own swarthy visage.

“That is better,” commented Dubrong, resuming his chair. “Now, Cardona, we are in a position to discuss the purpose of your unexpected visit.”

There was a tinge of sarcasm in the physician’s voice. Before Cardona could make a response, Dubrong continued, resuming his ironical tone.

“I make a study of human beings,” declared Dubrong. “Many types come into this consulting room. I have been approached by thieves, by murderers, by gangsters; but never before by a disguised detective.

“A man possessed of less penetration than myself might well be annoyed by such a visit. We met two nights ago, upon a scene where murder had fallen. At that time, I provided you with an excellent theory regarding the death of Rutherford Casslin. I notice that the newspapers have emphasized the murderous qualities of the Hindu whom I picked as the killer.

“To have you come here now would indicate doubt on your part — at least it would indicate such to a suspicious-minded person. But to me, Cardona, the truth is apparent. Realizing that I must have been observant in my clinic, you chose it as a spot to make some observations of your own.

“I quite admire your friendliness in not informing me that you intended to make this visit. It shows consideration on your part. You thought, probably, that I might not like to have you here. On the contrary, you are quite welcome. If that beard is not troublesome to you, I would suggest that you wear it and come here regularly. If you are interested in underworld types, you will find a parade of them in my waiting room, and I doubt that any will be keen enough to penetrate your really excellent disguise.

“Indeed, it nearly baffled me. As you sat there, however, I noticed it and realized who you must be. I saw that you intended to remove the beard and reveal yourself, although you were hesitating for fear I might misunderstand your motive in coming here. That is why I suggested, myself, that you should unmask.”

Joe Cardona clenched his fists. He would have liked to throttle this suave man who talked in such artful, purring tones of veiled sarcasm. Not content with merely unmasking Cardona, Dubrong had also saved the detective the trouble of making an excuse. Dubrong was gloating over his ability at detecting Cardona’s ruse.

The physician had ceased speaking. His eyes were inquiring now.

CARDONA felt his partially formed suspicions crystallizing into a definite opinion. He realized that he was no match at wits with Doctor Lysander Dubrong.

“Well,” he growled, “I thought maybe one of those Hindu mugs might be coming in here. I was a little worried about you, doctor. That was all. Guess I shouldn’t have been. You probably look out for yourself down here.”

“Of course,” smiled the physician. He opened a desk drawer and brought out a stub-nosed revolver. “I always have this with me. Would you like to see the license?”

“No,” returned Cardona. “I figured you might carry a gun, doctor. Thought I’d better make sure, though, that things were all right. I didn’t like to come brashing in here just out of a clear sky. Maybe some of your patients would have lit out if they saw a detective.”

“Another token of your consideration,” commended Dubrong, with a wan smile. “Well, Cardona, if there is any way in which I can be of service to you, be sure and advise me. How are you progressing with the Casslin case?”

“No results yet,” said Cardona. “We found out that the dead Hindu is named Tippu, but we haven’t located anybody who seems to know much about him.”

“I shall bear that name in mind,” returned Dubrong sagely. “There are many persons in the underworld who may make remarks to a physician that they would not make to a detective. Well” — Dubrong was glancing at his watch — “I must be leaving. I would suggest that you resume your effective disguise, and allow me to usher you out as I would any other patient.”

With a sour smile, Cardona picked up his false beard and donned it, together with wig and hat. Doctor Dubrong nodded approvingly, but still maintained his sophisticated smile. The physician arose and accompanied the detective to a doorway at the rear of the office. They went through a little entry, and came to another door, through which Cardona passed alone. Doctor Dubrong locked the door after the detective had gone.

Returning to his office, the physician locked the door of the entry, and began to chuckle. He seemed highly pleased with his unmasking of Joe Cardona. He did not reckon, however, that he, in turn, was unmasking himself. The peering eyes of The Shadow had never moved from beyond the anteroom door.

Seated at his desk, the physician remained a while in thought. His face showed peculiar changes; yet it was impossible to gain an exact trail of his thoughts through the flickering expressions. At last, under sudden impulse, Dubrong ended his reverie. He arose and came directly to the anteroom.

The Shadow edged into the deep side of the little room. When Doctor Dubrong opened the door from the consulting room, a shaft of light came through, but it did not reveal the silent, motionless form that was against the wall.

Even in his guise of a pretended blind man, The Shadow had donned his habitual color: black. Somber as ever, he had taken the guise of darkness as easily as a chameleon gains the color of its surroundings.

Moreover, Dubrong noticed something which engaged his entire attention. He saw that the light was out. He chuckled as he stared toward the ceiling, and mechanically opened the door beyond. He thought that this had simply been a ruse on Cardona’s part, while the detective was in the entry. Dubrong clicked the wall switch. The light did not come on. Finding that he could not quite reach the extinguished bulb, the physician continued through to the waiting room.

The Shadow moved swiftly then. He gained the consulting room, and looked about him. He could hear Dubrong returning with a chair, to tighten the light. The Shadow noted the lockers in the corner. He moved in that direction.

Crouched in the corner, he softly tried each locker. Two were open; the third was closed. Its lock was strong and of the most modern pattern. The light, flicking from the anteroom, was a signal that Doctor Dubrong had readjusted the turned-out bulb. The Shadow arose and crossed the consulting room. He could hear the physician carrying the chair to the waiting room.

THERE were two doors at the back of the consulting room. Cardona had gone through the one at left. The Shadow slipped to the one at the right. It opened into a large closet, where coats were hanging. The Shadow moved to the rear and remained there, his tall form hidden by the garments.

A few minutes later, Doctor Dubrong arrived. The physician took one of the coats, lifted a hat from a hook at the side of the closet, and closed the door. The dull slam of the other rear door announced his departure from his consulting room.

Shortly afterward, The Shadow reappeared. The removal of his heavy glasses showed a hawklike countenance that was dulled by puffy, masklike cheeks, which even the closest scrutiny would not have shown as artificial. He went back to the closed locker, but made no attempt now to pick its ponderous lock.

Instead, The Shadow produced a tiny flashlight. Stooping, he turned its beams upward through the overhanging slits that marked the front of the locker. His keen eyes saw within. A soft laugh came from motionless lips.

The flashlight went out. The Shadow returned to the closet. Beyond the coats, he made another inspection, which, like the visit to the locker, brought a soft laugh in whispered tones. Pressing his fingers along the edge, he was rewarded by a clicking sound. The rear of the closet slid away. The Shadow entered a smaller closet. He smoothly opened the door beyond. The sliding panel closed behind him.

In his character of a bespectacled blind man, The Shadow now stood in the small ground-floor parlor of a deserted house. On his right was a doorway to the street. It was locked, but it opened easily to the pick which The Shadow applied. A short pause; then the stooped-shouldered blind man emerged upon the sidewalk. He fumbled as he locked the door behind him. He moved away, tapping lightly with his cane as he advanced.

From the lips beneath the black spectacles came a soft, barely audible laugh; the third which The Shadow had uttered since his arrival in Doctor Dubrong’s East Side Clinic. There was significance in that laugh. It was caused by The Shadow’s present surroundings.

The spot where the pretended blind man had emerged was not upon a side thoroughfare. It was in a blind alley; one which The Shadow, by day, recognized as a place that he had visited by night.

The secret exit from Doctor Dubrong’s consulting room had brought The Shadow into the very cul-de-sac where Limps Silvey had disappeared upon the previous night!