Chick knew all about Doctor Follansbee’s tendencies, and had assisted his chief in an attempt to scrape up sufficient evidence against the man to warrant some definite action.
They had failed to build up a case that would amount to anything if brought to trial. To be sure, they could have brought charges against the head of St. Swithin’s, and placed him before the medical association, but there was more than one reason for refraining from that. For one thing, Carter hesitated to stir up a scandal which would be bound to follow the publication of such charges. Owing to Follansbee’s great prominence, and the very responsible character of his position as head of a big hospital, the accusation would tend to discredit the whole profession more or less, and to shake the public’s faith in such institutions.
Finally, the detective had always been a firm believer in the right of a man to have a second chance, especially when he had much to lose. Follansbee had had his warning, and nothing had happened since to give the detective and his assistants any particular reason for believing that he had failed to profit by it. They were by no means sure that he had, however, and had continued to look out for further trouble in that direction; consequently, Chick was more than commonly interested in this chance glimpse of Follansbee.
As for his action in hiding himself behind the newspaper, that was merely a mechanical sort of routine precaution. There was always a certain possibility that Follansbee might be up to something questionable, and if he were in this instance the detective did not wish to be recognized. That would scare the game away, and his hunter’s instinct shrank from the possibility of such a catastrophe.
Half a minute later he had cause to congratulate himself on his presence of mind.
He was not more than twenty feet from the clerk’s desk, which Follansbee had approached.
“Is Mr. James Stone in?”
The question was put in the doctor’s thin, piping voice, which hardly carried to Chick, and wrenched a little gasp of amazement from him.
“Stone!” he thought. “That can’t be anybody but Crawford’s partner. The Buzzard is asking for Stone. What does it mean?”
He strained his ears to catch the reply, but the clerk’s voice was low and indistinct. A moment later, however, Follansbee remarked audibly: “All right, I’ll wait for him here in this first sitting room for a few minutes.”
Manipulating his paper cautiously, so that Follansbee could not see his entire face, even in the glass, Chick glanced at the latter with one eye. He was just in time to see the doctor move off and pass into one of the rooms which opened off from the lobby, the one nearest to the clerk’s desk.
Chick felt instinctively that the discovery he had made was of considerable importance. He had come to look upon Follansbee with suspicion, and he was aware of Stone’s attempts upon Crawford’s life. To be sure, he also knew that Stone had been advised to consult a specialist in New York. It might well be, of course, that the specialist in question was Stephen Follansbee, and that the miner had gone to him in good faith. The connection between them, however, whatever it was, seemed to deserve a little more attention. At any rate, he felt that he ought to inform his chief at once of the fact that Follansbee had been inquiring for James Stone.
“I’ll have to clear out of this,” he thought, “and I mustn’t let the Buzzard see me, either. If Crawford should come down and speak to me, Follansbee might be put on his guard—supposing there’s anything fishy about his call on Stone. It’s up to me to make tracks before Crawford comes back.”
He rose to his feet, and as he did so the elevator bell gave a subdued buzz. The man in charge closed the gate, and the elevator shot upward. Chick felt morally certain that it was Crawford who had rung the bel............