Read Online The Loner: Trail Of Blood by J.A. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

sanitarium. Dr. Futrelle handles different kinds of ailments.”
    Yet there might be something to what Arturo said, Conrad mused. When Futrelle’s patients were drying out from booze or trying to get away from opium or other drugs, there might well be times when they would have to be locked up, perhaps even restrained, as lunatics were in asylums. In order to do that, Futrelle would have to have some tough, burly orderlies working for him.
    “But don’t worry, Arturo, I’ll be careful.” Conrad’s face and voice grew grim. “These probably won’t be the last risks I’ll have to run before I find my children.”
    The valet couldn’t argue with that. He inclined his head in acknowledgment that for Conrad Browning, there were more important considerations than his personal safety.
    Clancy arrived with the carriage at the appointed time. A slight bulkiness under the left sleeve of his coat where the bandage was wrapped around his arm was the only sign of his injury. He thumbed his plug hat back on his head and asked, “Where is it we’re headed this afternoon, sir?”
    “A private sanitarium in Cambridge, Clancy.”
    The big Irishman frowned. “Are ye havin’medical problems, sir? I hope you’re not thinkin’ about havin’ this arm o’ mine looked at. ’Tis not necessary.”
    “No, I’m just looking for information,” Conrad assured him.
    They crossed the Charles River on the West Boston Bridge and rolled into Cambridge, where Conrad had attended Harvard. He saw a lot of familiar sights from those days but felt no particular nostalgia for them. When he was in college, he had thought he knew everything there was to know. It had taken life itself to teach him how ignorant he truly was.
    The Futrelle Sanitarium and Private Hospital was located behind a high stone wall lined with hedges. When the carriage pulled up to a pair of massive wrought-iron gates, Conrad looked between the bars and saw a squarish, three-story building of brown brick squatting in the middle of a landscaped lawn that covered several acres. The grounds were fairly attractive, with plenty of green grass, trees, and flower beds with flagstone walks winding between them. The sanitarium itself was plain and ugly.
    A stocky guard in a blue uniform and black cap that made him look a little like a police officer stepped out of a guardhouse next to the gates. He carried a single-barreled shotgun tucked under his arm and regarded Clancy with narrow, suspicious eyes. “What can I do for you?”
    Conrad had told Clancy what to say. “Mr. Conrad Browning to see Dr. Futrelle, if ye don’t mind.”
    “Wait there.” The guard ducked back into the little building and was gone for a minute or so. When he came back, he shook his head and said, “Mr. Browning isn’t on the list of the doctor’s appointments. Sorry, you can’t come in.”
    Conrad opened the carriage door and stepped down to the ground. He smiled at the guard. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I won’t take up much of the doctor’s time. He and I have a number of mutual friends.”
    “You need to see him about a medical matter?” the guard asked.
    “That’s right.”
    Working there, the man would know wealth when he saw it. He thought it over for a second, then said, “If you can wait a minute, Mr. Browning, I’ll check with the doctor’s secretary.”
    “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
    They had some way of communicating between the guardhouse and the main building, Conrad thought. Either a telephone line or some sort of speaking tube. He filed the information away in his mind. You never knew when such a thing might come in handy.
    The wait was longer, but when the guard came back out, he said, “Dr. Futrelle will see you for a few minutes.” He shoved a lever that sent the gates rumbling back. “Drive straight to the main building and someone will meet you.”
    “Thank you.” Conrad climbed back into the carriage.
    By the time they reached the main