McAllister and His Double

by Arthur Cheney Train

On their way to the Astor House to see the sick engineer, McAllister stopped at the Chemical National Bank, on the pretext of procuring the money to pay for the stock, and there called up Police Headquarters. Conville presently came to the wire, and it was arranged between them that the detective should communicate with Tomlinson and bring him at once to the New York Life Building. There they would await the return of McAllister and follow him to the offices of the mining company.

McAllister then rejoined Mr. Herbert in the cab and drove at once to the hotel. The polite clerk informed the strangers that Mr. Murphy was bad, very bad, and that they would have to secure permission from the trained nurse before they could visit him. They might, however, go upstairs and inquire for themselves.

Mr. Murphy's room proved to be at the extreme end of a musty corridor, in which the pungent odor of iodoform and antiseptics, noticeable even at the elevator, gave evidence of his lamentable condition. A soft knock brought an immediate response from a muscular male nurse, who was at last persuaded to allow them to interview his patient on the express condition that their call should be limited to a few moments' duration only. Inside, the smell of medicine became overpowering. McAllister could discern by the dim light a figure lying upon a bed in the far corner shrouded in bandages, and moaning with pain. Near at hand stood a table covered with liniment and bottles.

"Wot is it?" whined the sick engineer. "Carn't yer leave me in peace? Wot is it, I s'y?"

For the third time in his life McAllister's heart nearly stopped beating at the sound of that voice. It was, however, unmistakable. Should it come from the heavens above, or the caverns of the hills, or the waters beneath the earth, it could originate in but one unique, extraordinary individual—Wilkins! It was a startling complication, and for an instant McAllister's brain refused to cope with the situation.

"You really must pardon us!" Herbert began, "but we've come to see if you wouldn't sell some of your Golden Touch mining stock."

"'Oly Moses!" wailed the sick engineer, turning his head to the wall. "Oh, my leg! Wot do you come 'ere for, about stock, when I'm almost dead? Go aw'y, I s'y!"

McAllister pulled himself together. He had intended buying the stock, and on returning to the company's offices to have Conville arrest Herbert and the Colonel, without bothering about the sick engineer. He was pretty sure he had evidence enough. But now, with Wilkins to assist him, he undoubtedly could force a confession from them both.

"Go ahead," he whispered to Herbert; "I'm no good at that sort of thing."

So Mr. Herbert started in to persuade his invalid confederate to part with his valueless stock for McAllister's money. He waxed eloquent over the glories of the Continent and the miraculous cures effected at Baden-Baden, as well as upon the uncertainties of this life, and mining stock in particular.