Abraham Merritt - Burn, Witch, Burn!

"The lootenant's there an' the sergeant an' a coupla flatties. I marches up an' sticks the doll on the top of the desk in front of the lootenant.

"'What's this?' he says, grinnin'. 'Another kidnapin'?'

"Show him your legs," I tells the drunk. 'Not unless they're better than the Follies,' grins this potato–brained ape. But the drunk's rolled up his pants an' down his socks an' shows 'em.

"'What t'hell done that?' says the lootenant, standin' up.

"'The doll,' says the drunk. The lootenant looks at him, and sits back blinkin'. An' I tells him about answerin' the drunk's yells, an' what he tells me, an' what I see. The sergeant laughs an' the flatties laugh but the lootenant gets red in the face an' says, 'Are you tryin' to kid me, Shevlin?' An' I says, 'I'm tellin' you what he tells me an' what I seen, an' there's the doll.' An' he says, 'This bootleg is fierce but I never knew it was catchin'.' An' he crooks his finger at me an' says, 'Come up here, I want t' smell your breath.' An' then I knows it's all up, because t' tell the truth the drunk had a flask an' I'd took one wit' him. Only one an' the only one I'd had. But there it was on me breath. An' the lootenant says, 'I thought so. Get down.‘

"An' then he starts bellerin' an' hollerin' at the drunk, 'You wit' your soup–an'–nuts an' your silk hat, you ought to be a credit to your city an' what t' hell you think you can do, corrupt a good officer an' kid me? You done the first but you ain't doin' the second,' he yelps. 'Put him in the cooler,' he yelps. 'An' throw his damned doll in wit' him t' keep him company!' An' at that the drunk lets out a screech an' drops t' the floor. He' out good an' plenty. An' the lootenant says, 'The poor damned fool by God he believes his own lie! Bring him around an' let him go.' An' he says t' me, 'If you weren't such a good man, Tim, I'd have you up for this. Take your degen'ret doll an' go home,' he says, 'I'll send a relief t' your beat. An' take t–morrow off an' sober up,' says he. An' I says t' him, 'All right, but I seen what I seen. An' t' hell wit' you all," I says t' the flatties. An' everybody's laughin' fit t' split. An' I says t' the lootenant, 'If you break me for it or not, t' hell wit' you too.' But they keep on laughin', so I take the doll an' walk out."

He paused.

"I take the doll home," he resumed. "I tell it all t' Maggie, me wife. An' what does she tell me? 'T' think you've been off the hard stuff or near off so long,' she says, 'an' now look at you!' she says, 'wit' this talk of stabbin' dolls, an' insultin' the lootenant, an' maybe gettin' sent t' Staten Island,' she says. 'An' Jenny just gettin' in high school! Go t' bed,' she says, 'an' sleep it off, an' throw the doll in the garbage,' she says. But by now I am gettin' good an' mad, an' I do not throw it in the garbage but I take it with me. An' awhile ago I meet McCann, an' somehow he knows somethin', I tell him an' he brings me here. An' just fer what, I don't know."

"Do you want me to speak to the lieutenant?" I asked.

"What could you say?" he replied, reasonably enough. "If you tell him the drunk was right, an' that I'm right an' I did see the doll run, what'll he think? He'll think you're as crazy as I must be. An' if you explain maybe I was a little off me nut just for the minute, it's to the hospital they'll be sendin' me. No, Doctor. I'm much obliged, but all I can do is say nothin' more an' be dignified an' maybe hand out a shiner or two if they get too rough. It's grateful I am fer the kindly way you've listened. It makes me feel better."

Shevlin got to his feet, sighing heavily.

"An' what do you think? I mean about what the drunk said he seen, an' what I seen?" he asked somewhat nervously.

"I cannot speak for the inebriate," I answered cautiously. "As for yourself—well, it might be that the doll had been lying out there in the street, and that a cat or dog ran across just as the automobile went by. Dog or cat escaped, but the action directed your attention to the doll and you thought—"

He interrupted me with a wave of his hand.

"All right. All right. 'Tis enough. I'll just leave the doll wit' you to pay for the diagnoses, sir."

With considerable dignity and perceptibly heightened color Shevlin stalked from the room. McCann was shaking with silent laughter. I picked up the doll and laid it on my table. I looked at the subtly malignant little face and I did not feel much like laughing.

For some obscure reason I took the Walters doll out of the drawer and placed it beside the other, took out the strangely knotted cord and set it between them. McCann was standing at my side, watching. I heard him give a low whistle.

"Where did you get that, Doc?" he pointed to the cord. I told him. He whistled again.

"The boss never knew he had it, that's sure," he said. "Wonder who slipped it over on him? The hag, of course. But how?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Why, the witch's ladder," he pointed again to the cord. "That's what they call it down Mexico way. It's bad medicine. The witch slips it to you and then she has power over you." He bent over the cord… "Yep, it's the witch's ladder—the nine knots an' woman's hair…an' in the boss's pocket!"

He stood staring at the cord. I noticed he made no attempt to pick it up.

"Take it up and look at it closer, McCann," I said.

"Not me!" He stepped back. "I'm telling you it's bad medicine, Doc."

I had been steadily growing more and more irritated against the fog of superstition gathering ever heavier around me, and now I lost my patience.

"See here, McCann," I said, hotly, "are you, to use Shevlin's expression, trying to kid me? Every time I see you I am brought face to face with some fresh outrage against credibility. First it is your doll in the car. Then Shevlin. And now your witch's ladder. What's your idea?"

He looked at me with narrowed eyes, a faint flush reddening the high check–bones.

"The only idea I got," he drawled more slowly than usual, "is to see the boss on his feet. An' to get whoever got him. As for Shevlin— you don't think he was faking, do you?"

"I do not," I answered. "But I am reminded that you were beside Ricori in the car when he was stabbed. And I cannot help wondering how it was that you discovered Shevlin so quickly today."

"Meaning by that?" he asked.

"Meaning," I answered, "that your drunken man has disappeared. Meaning that it would be entirely possible for him to have been your confederate. Meaning that the episode which so impressed the worthy Shevlin could very well have been merely a clever bit of acting, and the doll in the street and the opportunely speeding automobile a carefully planned maneuver to bring about the exact result it had accomplished. After all, I have only your word and the chauffeur's word that the doll was not down in the car the whole time you were here last night. Meaning that—"

I stopped, realizing that, essentially, I was only venting upon him the bad temper aroused by my perplexity.

"I'll finish for you," he said. "Meaning that I'm the one behind the whole thing."

His face was white, and his muscles tense.

"It's a good thing for you that I like you, Doc," he continued. "It's a better thing for you that I know you're on the level with the boss. Best of all, maybe that you're the only one who can help him, if he can be helped. That's all."

"McCann," I said, "I'm sorry, deeply sorry. Not for what I said, but for having to say it. After all, the doubt is there. And it is a reasonable doubt. You must admit that. Better to spread it before you than keep it hidden."

"What might be my motive?"

"Ricori has powerful enemies. He also has powerful friends. How convenient to his enemies if he could be wiped out without suspicion, and a physician of highest repute and unquestionable integrity be inveigled into giving the death a clean bill of health. It is my professional pride, not personal egotism, that I am that kind of a physician, McCann."