Doc. Turner Visits A Slaughter House E-Book

Arthur Leo Zagat

• Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Doc. Turner Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 28

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Doc. Turner Visits A Slaughter House by Arthur Leo Zagat is a gripping and unsettling mystery that will haunt your imagination. When Dr. Turner, a renowned and unflappable investigator, is summoned to a local slaughterhouse, he expects a routine inspection. However, he quickly uncovers a chilling and gruesome secret hidden behind the meatpacking facade. As Turner delves deeper into the macabre operations of the slaughterhouse, he finds himself entangled in a web of corruption, murder, and dark rituals. With danger lurking at every corner, can he unravel the horrifying truth before it's too late? Enter a world where every corner hides a new shock, and the truth is far more sinister than it appears.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Doc. Turner Visits A Slaughter House

Synopsis

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2

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Cover

Doc. Turner Visits A Slaughter House

Doc. Turner Series

By: Arthur Leo Zagat

Analyzed, summrized, and edited by: Rafat Allam

Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq Bookstore

First published in The Spider, August 1934

No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author

Synopsis

A waddling, quacking, wandering duck whose feathers drip with human blood, leads Doc Turner to his most spine-tingling duel with death!

1

"OI, Meester Toiner! Look it vat ees here!" There was hysteric laughter in the boyish pipe shrilling from the front of the Morris Street drugstore, laughter—and fright. "Ah dock! Ah dock! Qveek! Come qveek!"

"A dock! Abie, what on earth...?" The white-haired little druggist dropped an ointment-smeared spatula and whipped out through the prescription room door. His errand boy was staring at something on the floor, something that moved with a peculiar scraping sound. Abe's thick lips were twisted in a laugh, but his heavy-browed black eyes were scared.

Doc Turner got past the sales counter that screened from him what the boy was looking at. "Good Lord!" the exclamation ripped from under the pharmacist's bushy white mustache. He stopped stock-still, and gazed unbelievingly at the queerest visitor the old drugstore had ever had.

With the ludicrous dignity of its kind, a duck, a white duck, was waddling towards him! The flat-footed progression of its webbed claws, the perky poise of its little head and the grotesque disproportion of its huge, flat bill brought a quick smile to the druggist's face, a smile that vanished as quickly when, upon a sudden awkward swerve of the astounding fowl, he saw that its back and one side were stained by a crimson fluid that gleamed dully in the grimy light. "Good Lord!" Andrew Turner exclaimed once more, and knelt to the bird. "It's hurt, Abe. It's bleeding!"

"Ain't I kin see dot?" the boy responded. "So mooch blood and eet kin valk yet!"

"That is queer!" Doc snatched at the duck, and it scuttled away with ungainly agility. "There's at least a pint spilled."

"Quack," said the duck, "quack, quack!"

The pharmacist reached for the bird again, and once more it evaded him.

"Close the door," he shouted. "Don't stand there gawking!" There was a peculiar tension in his voice and there was no longer any humor in his faded but still keen old eyes. "Help me catch it!"

The boy moved into action, and the Morris Street pharmacy saw a strange sight as its usually dignified proprietor, a Hebraic countenanced small boy, and a wing-flapping, open-beaked waterfowl engaged in a scuttering, scrambling game of tag.

And the duck taunted both of them with its "Quack—Quack-quack-quack" as it dodged, and turned, and scuttled among showcases and pyramided displays. White feathers, red-dyed, flew as the chase went on.

At last the hard-pressed bird scampered into what looked like the dark safety of the telephone booth, and was cornered. A quick movement, and the druggist had the duck by the neck. Disregarding its struggles, an acid-stained thumb probed under the gory feathers, "Queer," Doc murmured. "There isn't any wound. This blood came from somewhere else. But it is fresh, hasn't started to clot yet."