The Argosy — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

THREE THEORIES OF A CRIME. 201 ‘“Well,’’? said Chief Donlan, after I had finished the letter, ‘‘ there is nothing to do but wait.’”’ Then I called up the Samaritan on the telephone. ‘‘Is Dr. Throck there ?’’ Linquired. The answer came in the affirmative. ‘Will he be there for half an hour longer ?’’ I asked. eS,” (All right.” I merely wished to ascertain if I would have time to pursue a little in- vestigation at his rooms without his knowledge, and went to them imme- diately. I rang the bell and inquired for him of the landlady. He occupied the parlor of a house in a fashionable quarter. ‘“He is at the hospital now,’’ she said, in reply to my question. ‘‘ He usually keeps his office hours very punctually here, but the hospital was ‘sadly neglected yesterday on account of a call to Antwerp which detained him all of the night before, and a sudden attack of nervousness which left him prostrated all day yesterday.”’ ) ‘‘ May I leave a note for him ?"’ I asked, wishing to gain access to his desk. ‘‘ Certainly,’’ she replied, leading the way to his office. This was just what I wanted. Surely there was some reason why the doctor should tell such widely different stories of his absence from the hospital the day before. Jones understood that he had been out of town all day, whereas the landlady stated that he had been out nearly all night and had returned suffering from a nervous shock. She left me fora few moments as I sat down before his desk. I occupied my time in hurriedly turning over the papers. ‘There was the usual amount of professional literature, samples of physic, and various letters:and papers in connection with his practice, but really nothing of interest to me. I thrust my hand into the waste basket, and after unfolding several scraps of unimportant paper, came at last on this, somewhat blurred and poorly written, evidently the work of a nervous hand : Lydia, do not, I beg of you, visit me again at the hospital. I will, as you wish, call upon you Thursday eveni The rest of it could only be surmised, for it had evidently been started, crumpled up, and cast into the basket. Things were getting warm for me then. I was on the track. It was on Thursday night that the woman was murdered ! I could hardly contain myself at the turn of affairs. I tried the drawers of the desk. Nothing rewarded my search, and I was going to make a com- plete inventory of the room when the landlady reéntered. ‘What time do you think he will return?’’ I asked nonchalantly. ‘ Hardly at all today,’’ she answered; ‘‘ he said he expected to be very busy between his hospital duties and his regular calls.’’ ‘“ No use leaving a note, then,’’ I remarked casually. ‘‘I will endeavor >»? to see him ; myself out. There seemed nothing more for me to do now, and yet I could not remain entirely idle. I visited the Baxter Building again and talked with a number and with the crumpled letter in my vest pocket, I bowed COMMclaoolK< (S@)