“Who are you?” demanded Arberg. “How did you enter here?”
“I knocked at the door,” said the visitor, in a suave tone. “I found it unlocked, and I entered. You were telephoning.”
“The door wass locked!” challenged Arberg.
“I found it otherwise,” returned the visitor.
“What iss your purpose here?” questioned Arberg, in his thick voice, forgetting the matter of the door.
“To discuss an ethical problem with you,” replied the sallow-faced man. “I, too, am a physician. My name is Martin Hamprell.”
“Sit down,” invited Arberg, waving his visitor to a chair.
Hamprell responded. Doctor Arberg remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. The elderly man was evidently waiting for the visitor to present his problem.
MARTIN HAMPRELL began.
“First, Doctor Arberg,” he said, “you must believe me when I say that I was not eavesdropping. I chanced to hear a portion of your conversation across the telephone. However, I was already familiar with the matter.”
“You mean the case of Cyril Wycliff?”
“Exactly. Cyril Wycliff, as I understand it, is being treated for thrombosis under your direction. Doctor Barton Keyes is the New York physician attending him.”
“Yess. That iss right.”
“As I understand your treatment,” continued Hamprell, “your method is to destroy a thrombus or embolism by the means of carefully prepared injections—”
“Let me explain,” interjected Doctor Arberg, drawing himself up as though addressing a class. “I haff proved my theories, Doctor Hamprell. It iss a very useful method which I use.
“When a blood clot forms in a vein of the body, it iss called a thrombus, and iss very dangerous. If it becomes detached, it will pass to a spot where it will bring quick death. You, of course, as a medical man, know this.
“The patient who hass thrombosis, I keep in bed for a long time, no matter how healthy he iss. Then, by the injections, I cause the blood clot to dissolve. The blood, itself made stronger by the injections, will carry away the clot. With this done, the disease of thrombosis comes to an end. The clot, made so tiny before it iss taken away, can do no harm.”
“I understand,” nodded Hamprell. “Doctor Keyes is using your injections. His patient, Cyril Wycliff, is improving. Moreover, Keyes has already cured other cases of thrombosis through the use of your injections.”
“Yess,” agreed Arberg. “From Copenhagen, I haff sent Doctor Keyes the word of how he must giff the injections. He hass asked me to stop here in New York. He wants me to see how well the patient, Cyril Wycliff, hass been doing under the treatment. I am going to the house tonight.”
Hamprell nodded wisely. A scornful smile appeared upon his lips. Arberg stared wonderingly. With the Dane’s curiosity aroused, Hamprell offered his explanation.
“Doctor Arberg,” he declared suavely, “this man Keyes is using you to benefit his own practice. He has been taking the credit for his cures upon himself. He claims that he is the originator of your treatment.
“Here is his game. You have come from Denmark to America. You are stopping here in New York. Doctor Keyes is inviting you to see what he has accomplished. The word will go around that you came to learn from him. You, the master, will be marked as the pupil.”
Martin Hamprell paused to study the effect of his words upon the Danish specialist. Hamprell’s tone had carried conviction. His face, however, marked him as a schemer. Perhaps it was that fact that made Doctor Arberg blaze with anger.
“This iss a lie!” cried the specialist. “It cannot be so! It iss a lie, I tell you!”
“It is a question of ethics,” interposed Hamprell suavely. “I can assure you, Doctor Arberg, that you will be nothing more than a dupe if you visit Cyril Wycliff’s home. Doctor Keyes has been counting on your visit to further his game. If you refuse to go to Wycliff’s, you will defeat his motive.”
FOR a moment, Arberg began to appear convinced. His white head nodded. He strode across the room and reached the telephone.
“I shall call Doctor Keyes,” he announced. “I shall ask him of this. I shall tell him what I haff been told—”
“Wait!” interposed Hamprell, rising. “Do not act foolishly, Doctor Arberg. If you call Keyes, he will deny all that I have said. He will be on guard. You can do better by following the plan that I have to offer.”
“What iss that?”
“Do not go to see Doctor Keyes. Forget all about this appointment at Wycliff’s home. Wait until tomorrow. That will be the test. If Keyes calls up and asks why you did not come, it will prove that he is playing fair.
“But if Keyes is crooked, then he will suspect that you have learned his game. He will be afraid to call you again. You will have your answer.”
The old physician stared thoughtfully. Then, with a gesture of resignation, he laid down the telephone. He walked toward the window and looked out at the lights of the city. His face, turned away from Martin Hamprell, became suddenly tense, but the white beard hid the expression.
Doctor Arberg was in doubt. He had held long correspondence with Doctor Barton Keyes. He believed the man to be a sincere practitioner of the Arberg system that counteracted thrombosis. Considering the problem, Arberg came to a very keen decision.
This unknown visitor, Martin Hamprell, who claimed to be a physician, had accused Doctor Barton Keyes of unethical practices. If Hamprell spoke the truth, Keyes must be investigated. On the contrary, if Keyes should be the honest man that Arberg supposed, what of Hamprell? Such circumstances, obviously, would mark Hamprell as the man who played a hidden game.
Doctor Arberg looked from the corner of his eye. He caught the reflection of Martin Hamprell’s face in the mirror. He detected a gloating expression. Hamprell, believing himself unwatched, had allowed an insidious smile to spread upon his lips. Seeing this, Doctor Arberg knew the truth.
Martin Hamprell, he decided, was some impostor. It was essential to deal with him as such. Doctor Arberg turned from the window and went back to the writing desk.
“I thank you for coming here, sir,” he declared. “I shall follow your advice. I haff another appointment which I can make this evening. I shall call those people on the telephone, yess. The number iss here, in this drawer.”
Martin Hamprell watched the old physician fumble in the table drawer. The shrewd visitor still wore his gloating smile. It changed, of a sudden, when Doctor Arberg wheeled away from the table.
In his hand the white-bearded Dane held a small revolver. With it, he covered the intruder. Eyes blazing, Johan Arberg cried out his accusations of the other.
“You are the one who plays a game!” he challenged. “It iss you — not Doctor Keyes — who iss the bad one! Stand where you are! It iss the police who shall hear of this!”
Martin Hamprell began to back away. The distance between himself and Arberg was too great to warrant a wild forward rush. Covered by a loaded gun, the intruder was taken unaware. He held his position as he saw Doctor Arberg reach for the telephone.
Then, with the knowledge that arrest awaited him, Hamprell did the unexpected. Still moving backward, he turned his body a trifle to the right. With a quick movement of his right hand, he reached in his coat pocket and snatched forth a short, stub-barreled revolver.
DOCTOR ARBERG saw the weapon flash. The Dane proved his mettle. Forgetting the telephone, he quickly pressed the trigger of his small gun, just as Hamprell made a forward leap. Hasty, with faltering aim, the old man missed his mark.
The revolver report brought an immediate response. Hamprell, now that a shot had been fired, threw caution to the winds. He fired in return. Doctor Arberg staggered, a bullet in his left shoulder. Bravely, the old Dane delivered another shot. His tottering destroyed his aim. Hamprell, leaping to close range, fired once again. Doctor Johan Arberg fell back upon the table, a bullet through his heart.