“Oh, I had two years at medical school, when I was a youngster,” Davis said, as he closed the kit and replaced it in the car. “Couldn’t stand that racket longer, though, and went into business instead.”
“Well, I’m much obliged to you. Where do we go from here, now that the old gink has flew the coop and blown his house to smithereens?”
“So you saw the leader of the gang?”
“No. Only heard his voice. But you can take it from me, when it comes to being a real nasty customer, that guy wins hands down!”
Davis nodded. “I can quite believe it. You must tell us about it later. Hop in the car there, lean back and close your eyes. You look pretty rocky, and no wonder. I’ll have a chat with Dixon and find out what the plans are.”
Bill looked up a few minutes later as the car door opened, and saw that Davis had reappeared, with a tall man in the uniform of a police officer.
“Captain Simmonds, Mr. Bolton,” said Davis, as they took seats beside him.
“Glad to know you, Captain Simmonds,” Bill said affably, as the policeman in the driver’s seat threw the car into gear. “Sorry I can’t shake hands. Where do we go from here?”
“Back to Heartfield’s, first, Mr. Bolton. I want Mr. Davis, who, as you know, is something of a physician to take a look at Miss Lightfoot. Chief Osceola says she’s been drugged. They are in the car ahead with Mr. Dixon. Believe me, Mr. Bolton, when I say that I’ve never seen a finer piece of sheer grit and nerve than the way you brought the young lady down that rusty lightning rod.”
Bill shook his head. “We really ought to have waited for you chaps before we tackled that bunch in the house. But with Deb lying there on the lounge in plain sight, it seemed the only thing to do.”