"But—"
Norris smiled genially. "You'll like our doctor," he said. "He's such a nice congenial fellow. Everybody likes him. Now—"
"What is this?" demanded Bronson.
"Take it easy," said the captain, "it's just routine. Everybody who gets hurt in the course of committing a crime or being victimized in such is always treated by the official medical department. Just a matter of establishing legal medical evidence, that's all. Now relax, Mr. Bronson, and come along. I'll have the boys take you to the hospital."
"Hos—?"
"Routine. The doctor works for us, Mr. Bronson. Therefore he has no office hours. Logical?"
Joe and Eddie treated Ed Bronson to a wild ride through the city streets with the siren on full. They slid to a stop in front of a squat, dirty limestone building and they escorted him in—convoyed him in, to be exact, for one went in front and one followed up the rear.
"I am Doctor Mason," said a white-clad man, meeting them in the corridor of the building. "Captain Norris told me you'd be coming."
"Just abraded skin, doctor," said Ed, showing the doctor his wrists.
"We'll take care of that instanter," smiled Doctor Mason. "Meanwhile, what's this tale you were telling Norris? Something about hearing voices? Threatening voices?"