Читать книгу Hidden Foes; Or, A Fatal Miscalculation онлайн

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“Doctor Devoll is the head physician, isn’t he?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, sir,” said the attendant. “He runs the place.”

“The big finger, eh?”

“That’s what.”

“I have heard he’s very skillful.”

“None better, sir.”

“I wonder——” Brady dropped his voice to a whisper: “I wonder whether there’s a telephone I can use on the quiet. I want to talk with Chief Gleason, at headquarters.”

“Sure,” the attendant nodded. “There’s one in the operating room. No one is there now. I’ll show you.”

“Half a minute,” Brady muttered. Then, turning to Donovan, he whispered: “Have an eye on the girl, Jim, and keep your ears open when she revives. Get me?”

“Sure!”

“I’ll return in time to leave with you.”

Donovan nodded, and Brady immediately departed with the attendant. Only five minutes had passed when Doctor Devoll entered the room, bringing a leather medicine case and quickly approaching the cot on which lay the inanimate girl, whose jacket and the front of her silk shirt waist had been opened by the nurse.

Doctor Devoll presented quite a striking picture, when he paused and gazed down at her in the bright light of an electric bulb. He was close upon sixty and of medium height, but very slender. His thinness was accentuated by a tight-fitting black frock coat, the skirts of which hung to his knees. His head was almost entirely bald. All that remained to show that he was a son of Esau was a fringe of close-cut, gray hair around the base of his skull, and a single silver-white tuft above his high forehead.