The Penalty Part 46

And he thought, "to save her from that!" and once more nodded.

"Shall I tell them to bring the ether, doctor?"

Dr. Ferris turned his head slowly.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he said, in his smiling professional voice.

"You ought to be undressed, scrubbed, and ready for the anaesthetic yourself."

"But I thought--I thought you'd make sure of the legs first, before you did anything to me."

"The success of graftage," said the doctor, "lies in the speed with which the parts to be grafted can be transferred from one patient to the other. In this case, the two operations will proceed at the same time--side by side. There are four of us, and two nurses to do what is necessary--now if you will go and get ready."

"Frankly, doctor, do you think the chances of success are good?"

Dr. Ferris's voice rang out heartily. "Splendid!" he said, "splendid!"

He turned once more to Wilmot. "I am sorry for you," he said kindly, "but you are willing that we should go ahead, aren't you?"

Blizzard stood, hesitating.

"Not losing your nerve?" asked the surgeon, and there was the least hint of mockery in his voice.

"Hope this is the last time I have to walk on stumps," Blizzard answered, and he began to move toward the door.

"I hope so, too, Blizzard," said Dr. Ferris, "with all my heart." And with an encouraging nod to Wilmot he followed the beggar out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

In the operating quarter were two nurses on whom Dr. Ferris had been able to rely for many years, and three clean-cut young surgeons, in whom he had detected more than ordinary talents.

"He said he'd send word when he was ready," said one of the nurses.

"Good," said Dr. Ferris, "for I have a few words to say to you all, knowing that, because of the etiquette of our profession, these words will not go any further."

For five minutes he spoke quietly and gravely. He told them his relations with Blizzard since the beginning. And something of Blizzard's relations, subsequent to the loss of his legs, with the rest of the world. Then he explained the operation which he was _expected_ to perform, enlarging upon both its chances for success and for failure.

And then, much to the astonishment of his audience, he brought his talk to an end with these words:

"But in this instance the operation has no chance whatever of success.

The stump of a limb amputated in childhood does not keep pace with the rest of the body-growth. And we should be trying to graft the legs of a grown man upon the hips of a child. It seems, therefore, that I have brought you here under false pretenses. Technically I am going to commit a crime--I am going to perform an operation not thought of or sanctioned by the patient. But my conscience is clear. When I examined the child Blizzard after he had been run over, I did not give the attention which would be given nowadays to minor injuries, bruises, and contusions which he had sustained. From all accounts the boy was a good boy up to the time of his accident. In taking off his legs I have blamed myself for the whole of his subsequent downfall. I think I have been wrong. The man was once arrested for a crime, and freed on police perjury. During his incarceration, however, accurate measurements and a description of him were made. Only to-day a copy of this doc.u.ment has been shown to me, by a gentleman high in the secret service. And it seems that Blizzard is differentiated from other legless men, by a mole under one arm, and by a curious protuberance on the back of his head--and I believe that his moral delinquency is not owing to the despair and humiliation of being a cripple, but to skull-pressure upon the brain."

The three young surgeons looked at each other. One of them started to voice a protest.

"But, doctor--it's--you're asking a good deal of us. I don't know that I personally--"

Three knocks sounded quietly on a door of the room. Dr. Ferris, breaking into a smile of relief, sprang to open it.

In the rectangle appeared Lichtenstein; he was dripping wet from head to foot and carried in one hand a heavy blue automatic.

"'Fraid you couldn't make it," exclaimed the surgeon.

"Had to dynamite a safe down in the cellar--hear anything?"

Dr. Ferris shook his head, and turned to the others.

"Mr. Lichtenstein," he said, "of the secret service ... Lichtenstein, some of these youngsters don't want to mix up in this. Tell them things."

Lichtenstein smiled broadly. "Then I'll have to operate," he said. And he lifted his pistol ostentatiously. "Young men," he went on, "if you aren't willing to make a decent citizen of Blizzard, why I must arrest him, and send him to the chair, or if he resists arrest, I must make a decent dead man of him--"

In the distance there rose suddenly the powerful cries of the legless man. "All ready," he cried, "bring on your ether."

"Who's going to help me?" asked Dr. Ferris.

The three young surgeons stepped quickly forward.

"Good," said Dr. Ferris. "He's strong as a bull. You come with me, Jordyce, and you two wait within hearing just outside the door."

"One moment," said Lichtenstein, "where's young Allen?"

"In there," said Dr. Ferris.

"I'll just introduce myself," said the Jew, "and tell him what's up. He must be in a most unpleasant state of mind."

To Wilmot there appeared the figure of a little stout man with red hair and a pug nose, who was dripping wet, and who smiled in an engaging fashion.

"You're safe as you'd be in your own house," said the kindly Jew; "no ether--no amputation--no nothing. And here's a note from Miss Barbara.

I'm dripping wet, but I guess the ink hasn't run so's you can't read it."

Wilmot read his note, and a great light of happiness came into his eyes,

"After a while," said Lichtenstein, "I'll hunt up more clothes for you, and you can jump into a car and run out to Clovelly. Don't let Miss Barbara see you in that beard, though."

"I won't," said Wilmot. "Tell me what's happened. Has Blizzard been arrested? You're--"

"I'm Abe Lichtenstein--"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Wilmot, "if I'd only gone straight to you--"

"If you had you might never have known that Beauty would have married the Beast--just to save young Mr. Allen pain. But why come to me?"

"With information from Harry West. He had run the whole conspiracy down.

It seems--"

"Names--did he give names?"

"Yes--unbelievable names."

Lichtenstein's eyes narrowed with excitement.

In the next room there arose suddenly the sound of many feet shuffling, as if men were carrying a heavy weight, and presently the smell of ether began to come to them through the key-hole. And they heard groans, and a dull, pa.s.sionless voice that spoke words of blasphemy and obscenity.