All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 115: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Vulture in a Gilded Cage 115 some extent, he operated just like a psychiatrist ; long conferences, with the patient stretched out on a couch, dredging up staff from the subconscious and shovel- ing it out for the old boy to inspect. His particular come-on was this bird business. He interviewed the prospective cltents in that bird cage room, where he explained to them that their real selves were im- prisoned just like birds in a cage, and what he was going to do was free them. Then he would conduct them into the room where we were sitting, and show them how to find peace and repose. After that, he would teach them to soar. ig WAS a pretty good angle, at that; and with the theatrical aspect of it handled properly, you can see how it would appeal to a certain kind of unhappy personality. The decorations of this place were well done. It wasn’t any papter maché and tinsel job—it was top-flight stage artistry. That was the bare bones of the routine, but even though he soaked the clients a spanking good consultation fee, that prob- ably wasn’t much more than enough to pay the nut. Lola Maderos, the Raven, naturally wasn’t going to tip any of the other angles, but they didn’t have to be spelled out. For one, he painted himself as a sort of high-powered minister, with a fashionable church and a flock of charity parishioners to support. For another, that wire recorder was a dead giveaway to blackmail. Barnaby asked, “How many people have been im here today?” “Quite a few. I can make a list for you.” “Could anybody have come in without your knowing about it?” “Tt’s possible, but not very likely. My office is next to this room, and usually the door is open when he isn’t having a conference.” She indicated a door just behind her chair. Barnaby asked offhandedly, “The Eagle was quite something of a hypochon- driac, wasn’t he?” “Absurd. The body is controlled by the mind. He simply didn’t belteve in illness,”’ “For a guy who didn‘ believe in being sick, he certainly had a hell of a collection of medicine.” It almost looked as though she blushed faintly, but I couldn’t be sure. “I sup- pose you mean in his bathroom? He took that away from the women who consulted him. He wouldn’t allow them to have any medicine.” “They must have catholic tastes in pifls. There’s everything from sodium amytol to benzedrine in there. Including strychnine.” If that meant something to her, she didn’t register it. Barnaby handed her the sheet of notepaper and asked whether she recognized the handwriting. She looked at it indifferently and shook her head. Barnaby asked, “Do the words mean anything to you?” “Not a thing.” “Who was he expecting to come here tonight ?”” “No one that I know of. Of course he didn’t tell me all his affairs.” There might have been a faint trace of resentment in her tone as she sard that. Barnaby dismissed her and told the man outside to bring in Mrs. Rose Hul- bert. He flipped a couple of pages m the book, and said, “This one is the Dove. Her husband if in the bucks m a very large way, and I wouldn’t be surprised if our Eagle occasionally got his claws on some of them.” The name Dove suited her. She was dressed in gray silk. She was small and plump, maybe about forty-five years old, and she still had a muted beauty. She must have been pretty close to the Eagle, but she didn’t show any grief. Instead, there was a quiet radiance im her face. COMmMicloOoe S C©