Dutch Shoe Mystery Read Free

operate immediately.”
    “Too bad. Who is your first citizen?”
    “Abby Doorn.” Minchen looked grave. “She’s over seventy, and although she’s well preserved for her age the diabetic condition makes the operation for rupture fairly serious. The only compensating feature of the whole business is that she is in a coma, and anæsthesia won’t be necessary. We’ve all been expecting the old lady to go under the knife for mildly chronic appendicitis next month, but I know that Janney won’t touch the appendix this morning—just not to complicate her condition. It’s not so serious as I’m probably making it sound. If the patient weren’t Mrs. Doorn, Janney would consider the case interesting but nothing more.” He consulted his wrist watch. “Operation’s at 10:45—it’s almost 10:00 now—how would you like to witness Janney’s work?”
    “Well …”
    “He’s a marvel, you know. Best surgeon in the East. And Head Surgeon of the Dutch Memorial, partly because of Mrs. Doorn’s friendship and of course through his genius with the knife. Why not stay? Janney will pull her through—he’s operating in the Amphitheater across the corridor. Janney says she’ll be all right and when he says so, you can bank on it.”
    “I suppose I’m in for it,” said Ellery ruefully. “To tell the truth, I’ve never witnessed a surgical operation. Think I’ll have the horrors? I’m afraid I’m a wee bit squeamish, John. …” They laughed. “Millionaire, philanthropist, social dowager, financial power—damn the mortality of the flesh!”
    “It hits us all,” mused Minchen, stretching his legs comfortably under the desk. “Yes, Abigail Doorn. … I suppose you know she founded this Hospital, Ellery? Her idea, her money—really her institution. … We were all shocked, I can tell you. Janney more than the rest of us—she’s been fairy godmother to him practically all his life—sent him through Johns Hopkins—Vienna—the Sorbonne—just about made him what he is to-day. Naturally he insisted on operating, and naturally he’ll do the job. No finer nerves in the business.”
    “How did it happen?” asked Ellery curiously.
    “Fate, I guess. … You see, Monday mornings she always comes down here to inspect the Charity Wards—her pet idea—and as she was about to walk down a flight of steps on the third floor she went into a diabetic coma, fell down the stairs and landed on her abdomen. … Luckily Janney was here. Examined her at once, and even from a superficial examination saw that the gall bladder had been ruptured by the fall—abdomen swollen, bloated. … Well, there was only one thing to do. Janney began to give her the insulin-glucose emergency treatment. …”
    “What caused the coma?”
    “We’ve discovered it was negligence on the part of Mrs. Doorn’s companion, Sarah Fuller—middle-aged woman who has been with Abby for years, runs the house, keeps her company. You see, Abby’s condition called for an insulin injection three times a day. Janney’s always insisted on doing it himself, although in most cases of this sort even the patient may inject the insulin. Last night Janney was kept by a very important case, and as he usually did when he couldn’t run over to the Doorn house, he ’phoned for Hulda, Abby’s daughter. But Hulda wasn’t home, and he left word with this Fuller woman to tell Hulda when she got in to administer the insulin. Fuller woman forgot or something. Abby is generally careless about it—the result was the dose wasn’t given last night. Hulda slept late this morning, never knowing of Janney’s message, and again this morning Abby didn’t get her injection. And on top of it ate a hearty breakfast. The breakfast finished the job. Sugar content in her blood quickly overbalanced the insulin, and coma inevitably followed. As luck would have it, it struck her at the top of a flight of stairs. And there you are.”
    “Sad!” murmured Ellery. “I suppose