“You have made several references to accident,” Doctor Zinder said quietly. “It was not an accident, but a gangrenous infection that necessitated the operation. Mr. Harker has rooms in the establishment where I reside. A simple scratch on his leg resulted in the infection. When he asked me to examine him it was too late for anything but emergency measures. I performed the operation in my room. I am a licensed surgeon and I have the necessary equipment in my rooms. That is all there is to the matter. It is extremely unfortunate for Mr. Harker that he did not have his cut taken care of immediately, but there is nothing that can be done about that now.”
“I see,” Fortescue said. He tapped a pencil against the sheets of paper on his desk and frowned. “In that case there is no need to take up any more of your time. I will have the necessary papers drawn up. A few signatures will be necessary and then your father’s estate will be in your hands.”
“Thank you,” Harker said.
“There is just one more thing,” Fortescue said. He smiled at the elderly couple beside him. “Mr. and Mrs. Mason served your father long and faithfully and it was obviously his wish that they be taken care of. This change in the will has left them in extremely difficult straits. Now, just as a suggestion, I think it might be a nice gesture if you were to give them something in the way of a pension to take care of their simple wants. A thousand or two a year would do it nicely and — er — you can see it won’t be for many years.” Harker looked thoughtfully at the Masons and then at Morton Fortescue.
“Would they have done it for me?” he inquired mildly.
“Why, my boy,” Fortescue said in surprise, “I thought you knew. They had made arrangements to provide you with a yearly income for life out of the estate. They felt distressed that you had been left out completely, and they felt your father wouldn’t mind too much. I had all the papers drawn, but of course your unfortunate accident has changed everything.”
“So they were going to do that for me,” Harker said softly.
“Certainly,” Fortescue said heartily. “They’re wonderful people. It’s little wonder that your father thought so much of them. Now I’d suggest as a pension—”
“Mr. Fortescue,” Harker said icily, “in the future I can dispense with your advice and suggestions. The Masons were stupid fools if they thought one damn about me. Because they were going to make an addle-headed, sentimental gesture, does it follow that I have to be equally foolish? Certainly not.”
Morton Fortescue dropped his eyes to the desk and a flush stained his heavy face.
“I see,” he said. “I will send over the papers for your signature by messenger. Good day.”
Harker smiled thinly.
“Goodbye, Counselor,” he said lightly.
He was still smiling in comfortable satisfaction as Doctor Zinder turned his chair and wheeled him out of the office.
Chapter III
“Where’s my leg?”
Silas Harker shouted the question at Doctor Zinder He was seated in his wheel chair in a sumptuously furnished hotel suite and the doctor was regarding him blandly from the comfortable depths of an over-stuffed chair.
Harker’s hands were hooked like claws about the arms of his chair and his face was flushed with rage.
“You heard me!” he bellowed. “Don’t sit there and grin at me, damn you! Where is the leg you promised me? It’s been five months now since my operation. You’ve got all the money you need, haven’t you?”
“Yes, now that you mention it, I have plenty of money,” the doctor said calmly. He blew a lazy wreath of smoke toward the ceiling. “These things cannot be rushed, my boy. Securing just the exact type of leg I need for the operation is taking a little longer than I thought. You see it must be the leg of a man close to your own age and size. I have a prospect lined up for tonight and maybe luck will be with me this time.”
“You still haven’t told me how you’re going to get the leg,” Harker said. “Are you going to buy it? Who’d be foolish enough to sell a leg?”
“You were,” Doctor Zinder chuckled. “Shut up!” shouted Harker. “I did it only because I trusted you. I don’t want any more of your damn attempts at comedy, Zinder.”
He pulled the blanket closer about his lap and wheeled his chair sulkily away from the doctor. His gaze moved disconsolately over the rich furnishings of the room. They suddenly seemed a heavy, outrageous price to pay for his miserable helplessness.
Doctor Zinder stood and walked to the door.
“Au revoir, my impetuous friend.” He glanced at his watch. “I meet our new prospect in less than an hour. Perhaps when I return I shall have good news to report.”
When the doctor had gone Harker wheeled his chair to the wide double windows that commanded a view of the tossing gray lake and his eyes grew cold as he watched the white sails far out on the water and the swooping gulls playing tag with foamy-crested breakers that dashed against the shore.
Everything he gazed on seemed joyous and carefree and unfettered. His eyes dropped to his lap and a choking anger swept over him.
If Zinder had been lying to him... The thought was too much. Zinder couldn’t have fabricated all the records and photographs of experiments over the last two decades.
It was then, as he sat before the window watching the gray lake, that he decided Zinder must die. He wondered why the thought had never occurred to him before. Whether Zinder had lied to him or not, whether he accomplished the grafting of the new leg or not, was immaterial. The man knew too much and for that reason he would always be dangerous.
The thought of Zinder’s death gave him a measure of comfort. Harker was slightly surprised at the extent of his own callousness in this respect. He turned over in his mind a half dozen methods he could use to eliminate the doctor and he was pleased to discover that the process was a pleasant and stimulating pastime.
Once the decision to kill Zinder was made, he felt strangely relieved. He realized then that in all probability he had been subconsciously planning the man’s murder for months. It was all so logical and simple that it startled him. Zinder was the only man who could ever cause him trouble. No one in the world suspected that the amputation of his leg had been deliberate, and no one could possibly dream that he was planning to have a flesh and blood leg grafted onto his stump. Zinder, however, knew those things, and he was probably intending to blackmail him for the rest of his life when the operation was completed.
Harker chuckled out loud and the first smile in months touched his lips. What an unpleasant surprise was in store for the little German doctor!
For the rest of the afternoon he concentrated on ways and means. A gun would be simple and definite but the noise would create attention. The opportunities for poison were somewhat limited. That left the alternative of cold steel.
A knife would be perfect, Harker decided. He could easily conceal it in the folds of his blanket and when Zinder turned his back — that would be that.
There would then be the problem of disposing of the body, but he could figure out something without too much difficulty.
When Zinder returned to the hotel apartment it was dark. He closed the door hurriedly behind him and strode across the room to Harker. His face was flushed and his hands trembled as he lit a cigarette.
“Well, what luck?” Harker asked anxiously.
“I have the leg,” Zinder said. His eyes were flicking nervously about the room as he spoke.
Harker felt a thrill of excitement. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes blazing.
“You’ve got it?” he cried.
“Yes,” said Zinder.
“Wonderful! How soon can we start the operation?”