I had worked previously with Mr. Dooley, as I had first known him, when Brodie was taken off in another direction on an inquiry case.
I was pleased for him when he made inspector, however he informed me that‘Mr. Dooley’would do, as he was most familiar with that, the same as his wife called him, usually when she was in a temper.
He was congenial and likable, yet most proficient in his responsibilities, and a valuable resource for our inquiry cases.
He asked our driver to wait in the carriage park across from the hospital. Rupert remained there as well.
I waited in the room that had been set aside for visitors and families as Mr. Dooley made inquiries regarding the physician who had attended Blackwood when he was brought to hospital.
He eventually returned.
“The man we’re to see is Dr. Metcalf. He was the physician on duty the morning Blackwood was brought in. The nurse will take us to his office.”
It was located in the ward adjacent to the main hall, a substantial walk, then a climb to the second floor of the ward.
We waited in a small office until Dr. Metcalf joined us, a scholarly man with greying hair and that calm manner one would hope for in a physician. He greeted us, then took the chair behind a desk.
Mr. Dooley explained the reason we were there. Dr. Metcalf shook his head.
“A highly regrettable situation for a prisoner to escape. Has he been returned?”
“Not as yet,” Mr. Dooley replied, after introducing me as a ‘consultant’ with the Metropolitan Police. “That is the reason we are here, in the hope that you might be able to provide information that could be useful.”
“I will try, although there is very little I can tell you about the man. He was here briefly, examined and treated, then gone.”
“Can you tell us the reason he was brought here?” I inquired.
“He had apparently been suffering for some time with symptoms that were quite severe and had grown worse, together with a constant fever. There was a concern it was something that could be contagious and might spread.”
“What was it?”
“A cancer and quite advanced. Not contagious as first feared, but eventually fatal.”
“Was he treated?” I inquired.
He nodded. “In such cases, the treatment is more for the comfort of the patient, if possible. We treated him for the pain. As for the fever, there is little that could be done. Pneumonia will eventually occur.”
“And treatment for the pain?”
“The options are limited; however, he was given a strong measure of medicinal morphine. It can provide relief when carefully administered, as it can become habit-forming. Though, I suppose that is of little concern to the person who is dying from the disease.”
It did explain the morphine stain Brodie had found on the chief inspector’s clothes, apparently from the attack when he was murdered.
“How long might he live?” Mr. Dooley asked.
“That is unknown and depends very much on the patient. However, the cancer will progress, and the prisoner’s conditionwas already substantially deteriorated. The treatment for pain is only a temporary solution. He would, however, undoubtedly seek out more of the drug, if possible, to control it.”
He was thoughtful. “A very sad outcome in spite of the man’s situation. The length of time he may have is unknown.”
Unknown. Yet Blackwood had managed to carry out his revenge on those he believed had wronged him.
Mr. Dooley thanked the doctor for the information, and we returned to the carriage park where our driver waited, along with Rupert.
It was late in the day as Mr. Dooley escorted me back to the office.
“Not to worry,” he assured me. “With the man’s condition, alone on the street, with no money or persons he can rely upon, it is possible Blackwood is already dead.”
I was well aware what he was attempting to do.
