“He was smart when he swiped the newspaper.”
“And dumb after that. He had every chance to make the whole job look like it was an accident. But he flivved it when he turned the lights out.”
“Zug wasn’t so dumb doing that,” put in Spud. “Suppose something had gone wrong. Suppose Valdan had got away from him. If the lights had been on, the old geezer would have spotted Zug — and remembered him, maybe.”
“Yeah?” questioned Wolf. “So Zug was kind of weak in the knees, eh? Thought maybe he was going to slip? I didn’t figure he was yellow.”
“Zug ain’t yellow. He just played it safe. Putting out the lights left Valdan in a mess. He didn’t make no trouble after Zug grabbed him.”
“No. But Zug made trouble for himself. Why didn’t he shoot the lights on again?”
“You’ll be asking me next why he didn’t walk off with the two doped guinea pigs that the papers are talking about. Who made the slip-up on them?”
“I didn’t,” growled Wolf. He paused suddenly as he saw a quizzical look on Spud’s face. “What I mean is, I didn’t figure that they were in the place. Listen, Spud. This wasn’t the first trip Valdan made out of town. Every other time he went, he took his guinea pigs along with him. The ones that he’d gassed. You understand?”
“Well, if he didn’t have them this trip—”
“He did have them. That’s the catch to it. But he must have doped a couple more before he left. That was something we didn’t figure on — something I didn’t know about.”
“All right,” grinned Spud. “Zug didn’t figure on the light either. And what’s more, Wolf, it wouldn’t have made so much difference. He couldn’t have bolted that outer door in back of him. Maybe Zug ought to have croaked this fellow Benzig, along with Valdan.”
“The police are holding Benzig,” observed Wolf, somewhat mollified. “Material witness, the papers say, but I’ll bet they’ve got the guy under suspicion. It would have been better though, if the lights had been on.”
“Anyway, we got a break. It was a bad set-up, the way Zug left it. Lights off, bolts loose, two doped guinea pigs. Say — it’s lucky we shipped that crate of live guineas in there instead of the glass beakers I thought about sending.
“They’ve hooked up Valdan’s death with those people we knocked out the night before. But they’re off the track of gas. That was on account of the live guinea pigs. Did you read this statement by Doctor Lagwood?”
“Yeah,” Spud chuckled. “The croaker pulled a bull, didn’t he? You couldn’t blame him though. He thought he was pretty smart, I guess, when he said any gas would have doped the whole lot of guinea pigs instead of just two.”
“It worked out nice for us,” asserted Wolf. “Gave Lagwood a big boost, which means there won’t be a lot more medicos horning in on the case.”
“Only the one guy to watch,” added Spud. “Well — when you want the croaker rubbed out, pass the word.”
“I’m not worrying about Lagwood,” observed Wolf, narrowly, as he lighted a cigarette. “The guy is going to be worth more to us than your whole gang. Say — he’ll rate ace high when those saps wake up around midnight. Everybody will think he brought them out of the trance. They won’t know that the crowd was due to wake up in forty-eight hours. That’s the way the gas works.”
“But suppose Lagwood figures it out?”
“What difference does that make? Do you think any croaker would go around refusing credit? You bet none of them would. That sawbones will hog all the medals he can get.”
“That’s right, Wolf. He’ll probably figure he woke up the dummies anyway. But just the same — I can’t see where Lagwood is going to help the game. Skeet slipped me the word that he’s been working heavy on these mugs that we put under.”
“Yeah?” Wolf’s inquiry came with a puff of cigarette smoke. “I was just going to ask you about Skeet. He’s got more brains than that guy Zug. What’s Skeet got to say?”
“He landed that job up at the hospital. Pushing wheel chairs in and out of a store room. Bringing up packages. Running errands. Sort of a general handy man. Got a look in on Doctor Lagwood’s experimental room, but didn’t have a chance to snoop around it. I told him to lay off.”
“That’s right. Has he seen his nibs?”
“Yeah.” Spud pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Lagwood sent him down to a drug store to bring back some prescriptions. Here’s a list of the stuff.”
WOLF received the sheet of paper. Instead of being listed as prescriptions, in the usual pharmaceutical fashion, the items bore special names that were apparently of Doctor Lagwood’s devising. These were odd abbreviations and each bore a number.
“That’s funny,” observed Wolf. “Wonder why the medico made up a list like this?”
“He explained it to Skeet,” stated Spud. “Told him that if Hoffer — that’s the old druggist — wasn’t in the shop, to give it to anybody there. Said he always had his preparations marked so that a dumb clerk could locate them.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“That ain’t all. Skeet got talking to one of them men nurses — a trained seal, Skeet called him — and asked him about this drug-store guy, Hoffer. Skeet found out that Lagwood and a couple of other fussy croakers won’t have nobody else mix their prescriptions except that old timer. All the stuff that Lagwood gets comes from there.”
Wolf began to eye the list. He noted that a line had been drawn through one item. He read the abbreviation “Neut-Number 6.” He pointed it out to Spud.
“Skeet have anything to say about this?” questioned Wolf.
“Yeah,” responded Spud. “Lagwood crossed it off. Told Skeet to tell Hoffer that he wouldn’t need no more of it. Not for a while, anyway. Wanted the old boy to tuck it off in some safe place.”
“Did Skeet see Hoffer?”
“Yeah. Old wizened guy about eighty years old. Skeet told him about this line that Lagwood crossed off. Showed him the list.”
“What did Hoffer do about it?”
“Dug under a counter and pulled out a gallon jug of some green stuff. When Skeet went out, the old boy was taking it down into the cellar. Going to put it with the cobwebs, I guess.”
TO Spud, the matter was of little consequence. Wolf, however, had another impression. The big shot studied the list; then stared from the window and a smile appeared upon his bloated lips. He picked up the newspaper and began to turn the pages. Spud wondered what was up when he heard Wolf chuckle.
“A couple of dumb clucks, you and Skeet,” affirmed the big shot. “Say — what time does Skeet get off duty up there at the hospital?”
“Eight o’clock tonight,” answered Spud. “Why? Got something for him to do?”
“You bet I have. It means he chucks that job. Get hold of him and have him do something dumb enough to get fired. Crack up a wheel chair — anything — just so he can fade out in a neat way.”
“But then he won’t be watching Lagwood?”
“I don’t want him to watch Lagwood,” Wolf glowered savagely. “He’s done enough of that. Look here. Did you read this statement that the medico made?”
“About sleeping sickness and all that hooey? With all them long words, in letters that lay over on one side?”
“That’s it.”
“I passed it up,” admitted Spud. “Couldn’t figure out that it meant anything.”
“It means plenty,” growled Wolf. “Here’s where Lagwood says he has abandoned the theory of a gas causing this death sleep. Says that he had been working on a vapor treatment, using a neutralizer that he doped out after making blood tests.”