“Great guns!” he ejaculated, rising up again and planting his hands on his knees. “Is it possible that you think the fellow is capable of trying to kill Jimmy, too?”
“He’s capable of anything, Crawford, if he thinks it is safe. Figure it out for yourself. A demented man comes to him and gets into his power. Follansbee tempts him to unburden himself and makes a criminal proposition. He agrees directly or indirectly to lend the aid of his science for the carrying out of his patient’s murderous grudge in return for a substantial fee—twenty-five or fifty thousand dollars, let us say. Incidentally he learns that his patient has been named as the chief beneficiary in the will of the man whose doom is sealed. He naturally itches to get hold of that fortune, or a large part of it, and plots to do so. That’s the next step. But there are others—inevitable ones.
“To the best of his knowledge,” the detective went on, “his poor, misguided tool carries out his instructions, and inoculates the other man with the active principal of some dread tropical disease. So far, so good—or so bad. What comes next? Why, the logical development, of course. The unscrupulous doctor has schemed in one way or another to benefit by the victim’s death, and now when that seems to be provided for, he realizes how completely the man who has actually done the deed is under his thumb.
“His patient is practically a murderer, and, as such, liable to be blackmailed to the limit. Also, the man’s brain is unbalanced, and that makes it possible to work upon his fears in an unusual way. Why should such a man have nearly a million in the bank? Can he enjoy it to the full with the specter of remorse always at his elbow? Couldn’t somebody else—the doctor, for instance—get a lot more out of that money? The answer is a foregone conclusion; but there’s another consideration as well. The doctor has an accomplice whom he cannot trust because of that same mental instability. An insane man is proud of his crimes, and likes to boast about them. He does so without any sense of responsibility. But that would never do in this instance, for such boasting would be almost certain to involve the doctor himself. Therefore, to the latter’s mind, there would be an additional reason for getting rid of his patient-accomplice. An additional fortune on the one hand—as a result of a little more clever manipulation—and the prevention of indiscreet blabbing on the other. Can you doubt the outcome?”
Crawford seized Nick’s arm excitedly. “You’re right!” he agreed. “Jimmy isn’t safe for a moment while he’s in that fiend’s clutches. Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” the detective admitted. “He went away with Follansbee after giving you the injection. It was impossible for me to follow at the time; besides, I was altogether too uneasy in mind about you. I realized that your partner might be running into danger, but up to that time it had not come to me so forcibly as it did since. Even if it had, however, I should still have felt that my first duty was to you, and that your safety was more important.”
“No, no!” cried the miner, gripping Nick’s arm until it ached. “You’re wrong there! My life is nothing to me compared with Jimmy’s safety. Hasn’t he come back yet?”
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER XXXI. NICK HAS A HUNCH.
Back
Next:
CHAPTER XXXIII. WILL HE SCORE?
(Right Keyword:->)