Doc said: "You've canvassed all the medics in Boston and environs?"
"In another hour we'll have all the medics in Massachusetts. Give us six hours and we'll have 'em all over New England and part of Canada, New York, and the fish along the Atlantic Ocean."
"Have you tried the non-medics?"
"Meaning?"
"Chiropodists, and the like. They aren't listed in the Medical Register, but they will often take care of a cut or scrape."
McDowell laughed. "Just like a stranger to go to a foot specialist to get a ripped scalp taken care of."
"Well, it is farfetched, but might be."
"I'm going to have the boys chalk all sorts, and we'll follow up with the pharmacists. Does that feather-headed bird know how much money he's costing the city, I wonder?" McDowell gritted his teeth a bit as the phone rang again. "I wonder what this one has to say," he snarled, and then barked: "McDowell," into the instrument.
"I have just seen the feather-headed man on Huntington Avenue," replied a gruff voice. "This is Dr. Muldoon, and I'm in a drugstore on the corner of Huntington and Massachusetts."
"You've seen him? How did you know?"