The Doctor Prescribes Doom

Larry frowned. “We better get her into a bed,” he said. He glanced up at Joe Beloise, who was at the wheel, peering in through the sliding panel, which was open.

“Better get going, Joe. I’ll treat her as we ride.” He turned to the cop. “Are you riding with us to the hospital?”

“Sure,” said the cop. “Regulations. Let’s get started. That crowd out there won’t break up till we leave. It’s a wonder, he grumbled, “where a crowd comes from, at this unholy hour! Just give ‘em an accident, and you get a crowd out of nowhere—”

He stopped short, as a quick series of staccato revolver shots sounded from somewhere around the corner. There were five blasting shots in quick succession, then a single shot. And then silence.

“I’ll be damned!” shouted the cop. He dropped his notebook, yanked out his police positive, and jumped out of the ambulance. The crowd scattered before him, and he raced away around the corner toward the shooting. The crowd wavered; then, almost like a mass of cattle, started after the policeman. The attraction around the corner was far greater than this. In a moment, the street around the ambulance was deserted, while the echo of those six revolver shots rolled around in the still night air.

Joe Beloise, looking in from the driver’s seat, grinned. “Never a dull moment! And to think we get paid for this—” Joe’s voice suddenly choked, his eyes popped, and then he emitted a single strangled word: “Hey!” He was staring toward the open door at the rear of the ambulance.

LARRY swung his head to follow Joe’s startled gaze. He saw a man at the ambulance door, hat-brim drawn low over his face, and a gun in his hand. The gun was pointed at Kate O’Day.

Something between blind panic and murderous rage swept Larry Meade into instinctive action. He was hunkered on his knees beside Kate. Almost without thinking, his legs straightened like pistons, and he catapulted himself directly at that man with the gun.