“Rather a forlorn hope, but sometimes a bluff will go,” he continued.
“If H. C. indicates Harvey Craig, as I infer,” said Professor Gehren impatiently, “are you so infantile as to suppose that his murderer will give information about him?”
Average Jones smiled, drew a letter from his pocket, glanced at it and called for a number in Hackensack.
“Take the ’phone, Professor Gehren,” he said, when the reply came. “It’s the Cairnside Hospital. Ask for information about Harvey Craig.”
With absorbed intentness the other three listened to the one-sided conversation.
“Hello!... May I speak to Mr. Harvey Craig’s doctor?... This is Professor Gehren of the Metropolitan University... Thank you, Doctor. How is he?... Very grave?... Ah, has been very grave .... Wholly out of danger?... What was the nature of his illness?
“When may I see him?... Very well. I will visit the hospital to-morrow morning. Thank you.... I should have expected that you would notify me of his, presence.” intervened, then “Good-by.”
“It is most inexplicable,” declared Professor Gehren, turning to the others. “The doctor states that Harvey was brought there at night, by a foreigner who left a large sum of money to pay for his care, and certain suggestions for his treatment. One detail, carefully set down in writing, was that if reddish or purple dots appeared under Harvey’s nails, he was to be told that Mr. Smith released him and advised his sending for his friends at once.”
“Reddish or purple dots, eh?” repeated Average Jones. “I should like—er—to have talked with—er—that doctor before you cut off.”
“And I, sir,” said the professor, with the grim repression of the thinker stirred to wrath, “should like to interview this stranger.”