Nathan Shapiro 10 The Old Die Young by Richard Lockridge

Author:Richard Lockridge [Lockridge, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media
Published: 2018-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

10

He dialed the number of the Hotel Algonquin. When he was answered, from a few feet away, he said, “Mr. Price, please. Mr. Kenneth Price.” He heard the repeated buzz which indicated a telephone bell was ringing in Price’s rooms. Ringing and not being answered. Then he was told that Mr. Price did not seem to be in his suite.

He dialed Homicide South and reported an apparent effort to poison Bret Askew, playwright. And reported that Askew seemed little the worse for the attempt, which might, he thought, be in some manner related to the more successful effort to do away with Clive Branson, actor. He was told that Lieutenant Shapiro had signed out and had also signed Cook out. He was asked if he needed somebody to lend a hand. Tony didn’t. He would try to get in touch with Shapiro and fill him in. He dialed a familiar Brooklyn number, and the telephone rang in the apartment of Rose and Nathan Shapiro, and rang unanswered. It was a night of elusive people. He looked up Abel, Martha, in the directory. Two listings—“Abel Martha Associates. Abel Martha res.” He tried the latter. After four rings, it was answered—“Mrs. Abel’s apartment”—via, clearly, an answering service. No, Tony did not wish to leave a number.

He looked up another number and dialed again. John Knight, M.D., would almost certainly not be in his office, which apparently was more or less across Forty-fourth Street from the Hotel Algonquin.

But he was. The answer was abrupt, in a low, somewhat grating voice, the voice of a man who did not much want to be disturbed. “Knight speaking.”

“Dr. Knight?”

“John Knight, M.D.”

“This is the police, Doctor. Detective Cook.”

“All right. And so what?”

“You treated a man this evening in the Algonquin. A Mr. Askew. Mr. Bret Askew. Right?”

“I wouldn’t say treated. Looked in on. Pretty much confirmed his own diagnosis. Seemed to know a good deal about it. Said he had researched for a play a while back. Had all the symptoms down pat, anyway.”

“Symptoms of, Doctor?”

“Poisoning by one of the alkaloids, belladonna group. Probably atropine sulfate, he thought.”

“And he was right?”

“The symptoms were right. Blurred vision, dilation of the pupils, dry throat and some fuddled speech. Conformed to poisoning by atropine. All I had to go on. I’d have to take him to a hospital for tests to be sure. He wouldn’t go. Didn’t want his stomach pumped out, I suppose. Can’t blame him, can you? Anyway, he was coming out of it. I told him to drink a lot of coffee, figured he’d be all right in a few hours. Wait a minute! You mean he isn’t? That he’s—well, died of it?”

“No, Doctor. Nothing like that. Seemed to be coming along all right. Only he’s filed a report. Thinks somebody tried to poison him. Dropped this alkaloid in his drink. In the Algonquin lounge.”

“What he told me, too.”

“And, Doctor, something you’re required to report. Have you?”

“Not yet. Planned to in the morning. O.K.? Or—You say you’re a detective.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.