"Yes," replied the physician. "How is Mr. Tremont?"
"All right now, sir," said the officer. "He was lucky that he didn't get killed. He got caught in the middle of a mean gunfight. They were battling in and out of his car. Go right up, doctor." Savette went into the house and ascended the stairs. He arrived at Glade Tremont's bedroom, and entered to find the lawyer propped up on a stack of pillows.
No one else was in the room. A glass and bottle of medicine indicated that another physician had left. Quietly, Savette closed the door and sat down beside the bed.
"I received your message," he said, in a low voice. "They told me you wanted me here — as your physician. This is a professional call."
He smiled, then added reflectively:
"It is fortunate you managed to communicate with me before midnight."
"I am fortunate to be here myself," returned Tremont. "We struck a Tartar tonight, Gerald. We finished him, though. That's one satisfaction."
"Tell me about it."
Briefly, Tremont narrated the events up to the time of The Shadow's mad flight. That was the point at which the lawyer's observation had ceased. Skipping the story of the fight on the dock, Tremont came to what had happened afterward.
"When I came to," he said, "they were dragging me out of the coupe. I couldn't figure where I was at first — then I realized I was on the little dock at the end of the old lane. The policeman recognized me. He knew my car, too. It didn't take me long to think up the right sort of story."