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Broken Bond

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<h2 id="XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. PATSY TRACES THE AMBULANCE.</h2> There is always a certain element of luck in one’s experiences, and chance ordained it that Patsy Garvan should arrive in front of St. Swithin’s Hospital at just the right moment. His anxiety had sent him in that direction after his repeated failures to reach his chief, but he had no very definite idea in view. He had driven the little runabout to Amsterdam Avenue partly to kill time during his chief’s absence from the hotel. Having left the car around the corner, he had approached the hospital on foot. When he came near the big entrance, he noticed an ambulance—evidently a private one, for there was no lettering[189] on it—drawn up at the curb with a circle of the curious loitering about it. Evidently some patient was to be taken away in the ambulance; perhaps a convalescent. Patsy mingled with the crowd, but before he had time to make any inquiries, a couple of hospital attendants appeared, half carrying, half supporting a tall man. One glance at the face was sufficient for Patsy. Despite the intense pallor which lay under the tan, he recognized it at once as being that of James Stone, whom he had previously taken pains to identify. The miner was fully dressed, but his eyes were sunken, and every line of his naturally powerful frame bespoke weakness and listlessness. The two attendants, although they were supporting Stone, were allowing him to make use of his lower limbs, and the mine owner was able to walk unsteadily toward the ambulance. Nick’s assistant looked about and into the wide hallway, but could see no signs of Doctor Follansbee. A dapper-looking interne in a white uniform was superintending the removal. When Stone had been placed in the vehicle, a stout, matronly looking nurse in uniform came out of the hospital and entered the waiting ambulance. Immediately the vehicle, a motor one, started quietly and shot ahead down the street. Patsy bitterly regretted that he had left his runabout. If he had brought it to the front of the hospital he could have followed the ambulance, but as it was there was no hope of that. The ambulance was[190] already a block away, and going at a high rate of speed, and there was no other available vehicle within reach. “Confound it,” thought the young detective. “Why didn’t it have a sign on it? If it had I would have known where to look for Stone.” As a matter of fact, he did know where to look, although indirectly. He had to have something to worry about, however, for this succession of anticipated developments was getting on his nerves, and he felt very much aggrieved because he had been unable to share the knowledge of them with any one else. He had taken the precaution of fixing the license number of the ambulance in his memory before it had been whisked away, and he knew that all he had to do—unless the number was a false one—was to get into communication with the license bureau. He chose to follow that line rather than to question the young interne, since the latter course might have aroused suspicion, and his questions might be reported to Follansbee. It involved some delay, but that could hardly be avoided, and the sight of Stone, though weak and ill, had reassured Patsy somewhat. At any rate, he knew now that the man was not dead, and there seemed to be no reason to believe that a few hours’ further delay, if it came to that, would have very serious consequences. Apparently Doctor Follansbee was playing an unusual game, and one that could not be brought to a conclusion at once. Patsy had no doubt that the head of St. Swithin’s had planned this move from the beginning. Stone had probably been taken to the big[191] hospital the night before merely as a temporary expedient, and to lend an appearance of regularity to the proceedings. Now he was being removed to some place where Follansbee would find himself less hampered in his dealings with him. The crowd had quickly melted away, and the young interne and the hospital attendants had reëntered the big building while Patsy stood staring after the vanishing ambulance. Now he strode away and returned to his own car. Entering it, he drove a few blocks and stopped in front of a telephone pay station. After a little delay he obtained the number of the license bureau, and asked for the name of the institution owning the designated machine. It was two or three minutes before he received a reply, but when it came, it told him all that he needed to know for the time being. “Nineteen-nineteen license, number five hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and thirteen, New York, is issued in the name of Miss Worth’s Private Hospital for Convalescents, fifteen thousand Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn,” he was told. Patsy thanked his informant, to whom he had been obliged to give his name in order to obtain the desired information. When he had reached the street again he paused before entering the runabout. “Now, it’s up to me to make another stab at an interview with the chief,” he thought. “If I don’t catch him this time, I’ll begin to think I’m the victim of a jinx.” He entered the little car and headed back to the[192] Hotel Windermere. There he received another slap. Nick had been in and left, but the clerk questioned Patsy as the detective had suggested, and satisfied himself of his identity. The young assistant learned in this way that his chief had revealed himself to the clerk, and had left word that he was going back home. He swallowed his disappointment as best he could, and felt sure that the trail must be nearing its end. He had no doubt that he would find his chief when he reached the house. But Fate took the next trick away from him also. <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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