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diff --git a/5054-0.txt b/5054-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e16f3f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/5054-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11048 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAM DOCTOR *** + + + + +THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES + + + + +THE DREAM DOCTOR + + +BY ARTHUR B. REEVE + + + + +FRONTISPIECE BY WILL FOSTER + + + + +Contents + + +CHAPTER + + I The Dream Doctor + + II The Soul Analysis + + III The Sybarite + + IV The Beauty Shop + + V The Phantom Circuit + + VI The Detectaphone + + VII The Green Curse + + VIII The Mummy Case + + IX The Elixir of Life + + X The Toxin of Death + + XI The Opium Joint + + XII The “Dope Trust” + + XIII The Kleptomaniac + + XIV The Crimeometer + + XV The Vampire + + XVI The Blood Test + + XVII The Bomb Maker + +XVIII The “Coke” Fiend + + XIX The Submarine Mystery + + XX The Wireless Detector + + XXI The Ghouls + + XXII The X-Ray “Movies” + +XXIII The Death House + + XXIV The Final Day + + + + +THE DREAM DOCTOR + + +I + +THE DREAM DOCTOR + + +“Jameson, I want you to get the real story about that friend of yours, +Professor Kennedy,” announced the managing editor of the Star, early +one afternoon when I had been summoned into the sanctum. + +From a batch of letters that had accumulated in the litter on the top +of his desk, he selected one and glanced over it hurriedly. + +“For instance,” he went on reflectively, “here’s a letter from a +Constant Reader who asks, ‘Is this Professor Craig Kennedy really all +that you say he is, and, if so, how can I find out about his new +scientific detective method?’” + +He paused and tipped back his chair. + +“Now, I don’t want to file these letters in the waste basket. When +people write letters to a newspaper, it means something. I might reply, +in this case, that he is as real as science, as real as the fight of +society against the criminal. But I want to do more than that.” + +The editor had risen, as if shaking himself momentarily loose from the +ordinary routine of the office. + +“You get me?” he went on, enthusiastically, “In other words, your +assignment, Jameson, for the next month is to do nothing except follow +your friend Kennedy. Start in right now, on the first, and +cross-section out of his life just one month, an average month. Take +things just as they come, set them down just as they happen, and when +you get through give me an intimate picture of the man and his work.” + +He picked up the schedule for the day and I knew that the interview was +at an end. I was to “get” Kennedy. + +Often I had written snatches of Craig’s adventures, but never before +anything as ambitious as this assignment, for a whole month. At first +it staggered me. But the more I thought about it, the better I liked it. + +I hastened uptown to the apartment on the Heights which Kennedy and I +had occupied for some time. I say we occupied it. We did so during +those hours when he was not at his laboratory at the Chemistry Building +on the University campus, or working on one of those cases which +fascinated him. Fortunately, he happened to be there as I burst in upon +him. + +“Well?” he queried absently, looking up from a book, one of the latest +untranslated treatises on the new psychology from the pen of the +eminent scientist, Dr. Freud of Vienna, “what brings you uptown so +early?” + +Briefly as I could, I explained to him what it was that I proposed to +do. He listened without comment and I rattled on, determined not to +allow him to negative it. + +“And,” I added, warming up to the subject, “I think I owe a debt of +gratitude to the managing editor. He has crystallised in my mind an +idea that has long been latent. Why, Craig,” I went on, “that is +exactly what you want—to show people how they can never hope to beat +the modern scientific detective, to show that the crime-hunters have +gone ahead faster even than—” + +The telephone tinkled insistently. + +Without a word, Kennedy motioned to me to “listen in” on the extension +on my desk, which he had placed there as a precaution so that I could +corroborate any conversation that took place over our wire. + +His action was quite enough to indicate to me that, at least, he had no +objection to the plan. + +“This is Dr. Leslie—the coroner. Can you come to the Municipal +Hospital—right away?” + +“Right away, Doctor,” answered Craig, hanging up the receiver. “Walter, +you’ll come, too?” + +A quarter of an hour later we were in the courtyard of the city’s +largest hospital. In the balmy sunshine the convalescing patients were +sitting on benches or slowly trying their strength, walking over the +grass, clad in faded hospital bathrobes. + +We entered the office and quickly were conducted by an orderly to a +little laboratory in a distant wing. + +“What’s the matter?” asked Craig, as we hurried along. + +“I don’t know exactly,” replied the man, “except that it seems that +Price Maitland, the broker, you know, was picked up on the street and +brought here dying. He died before the doctors could relieve him.” + +Dr. Leslie was waiting impatiently for us. “What do you make of that, +Professor Kennedy?” + +The coroner spread out on the table before us a folded half-sheet of +typewriting and searched Craig’s face eagerly to see what impression it +made on him. + +“We found it stuffed in Maitland’s outside coat pocket,” he explained. + +It was dateless and brief: + +Dearest Madeline: + +May God in his mercy forgive me for what I am about to do. I have just +seen Dr. Ross. He has told me the nature of your illness. I cannot bear +to think that I am the cause, so I am going simply to drop out of your +life. I cannot live with you, and I cannot live without you. Do not +blame me. Always think the best you can of me, even if you could not +give me all. Good-bye. + +Your distracted husband, + +PRICE. + +At once the idea flashed over me that Maitland had found himself +suffering from some incurable disease and had taken the quickest means +of settling his dilemma. + +Kennedy looked up suddenly from the note. + +“Do you think it was a suicide?” asked the coroner. + +“Suicide?” Craig repeated. “Suicides don’t usually write on +typewriters. A hasty note scrawled on a sheet of paper in trembling pen +or pencil, that is what they usually leave. No, some one tried to +escape the handwriting experts this way.” + +“Exactly my idea,” agreed Dr. Leslie, with evident satisfaction. “Now +listen. Maitland was conscious almost up to the last moment, and yet +the hospital doctors tell me they could not get a syllable of an +ante-mortem statement from him.” + +“You mean he refused to talk?” I asked. + +“No,” he replied; “it was more perplexing than that Even if the police +had not made the usual blunder of arresting him for intoxication +instead of sending him immediately to the hospital, it would have made +no difference. The doctors simply could not have saved him, apparently. +For the truth is, Professor Kennedy, we don’t even know what was the +matter with him.” + +Dr. Leslie seemed much excited by the case, as well he might be. + +“Maitland was found reeling and staggering on Broadway this morning,” +continued the coroner. “Perhaps the policeman was not really at fault +at first for arresting him, but before the wagon came Maitland was +speechless and absolutely unable to move a muscle.” + +Dr. Leslie paused as he recited the strange facts, then resumed: “His +eyes reacted, all right. He seemed to want to speak, to write, but +couldn’t. A frothy saliva dribbled from his mouth, but he could not +frame a word. He was paralysed, and his breathing was peculiar. They +then hurried him to the hospital as soon as they could. But it was of +no use.” + +Kennedy was regarding the doctor keenly as he proceeded. Dr. Leslie +paused again to emphasise what he was about to say. + +“Here is another strange thing. It may or may not be of importance, but +it is strange, nevertheless. Before Maitland died they sent for his +wife. He was still conscious when she reached the hospital, could +recognise her, seemed to want to speak, but could neither talk nor +move. It was pathetic. She was grief-stricken, of course. But she did +not faint. She is not of the fainting kind. It was what she said that +impressed everyone. ‘I knew it—I knew it,’ she cried. She had dropped +on her knees by the side of the bed. ‘I felt it. Only the other night I +had the horrible dream. I saw him in a terrific struggle. I could not +see what it was—it seemed to be an invisible thing. I ran to him—then +the scene shifted. I saw a funeral procession, and in the casket I +could see through the wood—his face—oh, it was a warning! It has come +true. I feared it, even though I knew it was only a dream. Often I have +had the dream of that funeral procession and always I saw the same +face, his face. Oh, it is horrible—terrible!’” + +It was evident that Dr. Leslie at least was impressed by the dream. + +“What have you done since?” asked Craig. + +“I have turned loose everyone I could find available,” replied Dr. +Leslie, handing over a sheaf of reports. + +Kennedy glanced keenly over them as they lay spread out on the table. +“I should like to see the body,” he said, at length. + +It was lying in the next room, awaiting Dr. Leslie’s permission to be +removed. + +“At first,” explained the doctor, leading the way, “we thought it might +be a case of knock-out drops, chloral, you know—or perhaps chloral and +whiskey, a combination which might unite to make chloroform in the +blood. But no. We have tested for everything we can think of. In fact +there seems to be no trace of a drug present. It is inexplicable. If +Maitland really committed suicide, he must have taken SOMETHING—and as +far as we can find out there is no trace of anything. As far as we have +gone we have always been forced back to the original idea that it was a +natural death—perhaps due to shock of some kind, or organic weakness.” + +Kennedy had thoughtfully raised one of the lifeless hands and was +examining it. + +“Not that,” he corrected. “Even if the autopsy shows nothing, it +doesn’t prove that it was a natural death. Look!” + +On the back of the hand was a tiny, red, swollen mark. Dr. Leslie +regarded it with pursed-up lips as though not knowing whether it was +significant or not. + +“The tissues seemed to be thickly infiltrated with a reddish serum and +the blood-vessels congested,” he remarked slowly. “There was a frothy +mucus in the bronchial tubes. The blood was liquid, dark, and didn’t +clot. The fact of the matter is that the autopsical research revealed +absolutely nothing but a general disorganisation of the +blood-corpuscles, a most peculiar thing, but one the significance of +which none of us here can fathom. If it was poison that he took or that +had been given to him, it was the most subtle, intangible, elusive, +that ever came to my knowledge. Why, there is absolutely no trace or +clue—” + +“Nor any use in looking for one in that way,” broke in Kennedy +decisively. “If we are to make any progress in this case, we must look +elsewhere than to an autopsy. There is no clue beyond what you have +found, if I am right. And I think I am right. It was the venom of the +cobra.” + +“Cobra venom?” repeated the coroner, glancing up at a row of technical +works. + +“Yes. No, it’s no use trying to look it up. There is no way of +verifying a case of cobra poisoning except by the symptoms. It is not +like any other poisoning in the world.” + +Dr. Leslie and I looked at each other, aghast at the thought of a +poison so subtle that it defied detection. + +“You think he was bitten by a snake?” I blurted out, half incredulous. + +“Oh, Walter, on Broadway? No, of course not. But cobra venom has a +medicinal value. It is sent here in small quantities for various +medicinal purposes. Then, too, it would be easy to use it. A scratch on +the hand in the passing crowd, a quick shoving of the letter into the +pocket of the victim—and the murderer would probably think to go +undetected.” + +We stood dismayed at the horror of such a scientific murder and the +meagreness of the materials to work on in tracing it out. + +“That dream was indeed peculiar,” ruminated Craig, before we had really +grasped the import of his quick revelation. + +“You don’t mean to say that you attach any importance to a dream?” I +asked hurriedly, trying to follow him. + +Kennedy merely shrugged his shoulders, but I could see plainly enough +that he did. + +“You haven’t given this letter out to the press?” he asked. + +“Not yet,” answered Dr. Leslie. + +“Then don’t, until I say to do so. I shall need to keep it.” + +The cab in which we had come to the hospital was still waiting. “We +must see Mrs. Maitland first,” said Kennedy, as we left the nonplused +coroner and his assistants. + +The Maitlands lived, we soon found, in a large old-fashioned brownstone +house just off Fifth Avenue. + +Kennedy’s card with the message that it was very urgent brought us in +as far as the library, where we sat for a moment looking around at the +quiet refinement of a more than well-to-do home. + +On a desk at one end of the long room was a typewriter. Kennedy rose. +There was not a sound of any one in either the hallway or the adjoining +rooms. A moment later he was bending quietly over the typewriter in the +corner, running off a series of characters on a sheet of paper. A sound +of a closing door upstairs, and he quickly jammed the paper into his +pocket, retraced his steps, and was sitting quietly opposite me again. + +Mrs. Maitland was a tall, perfectly formed woman of baffling age, but +with the impression of both youth and maturity which was very +fascinating. She was calmer now, and although she seemed to be of +anything but a hysterical nature, it was quite evident that her +nervousness was due to much more than the shock of the recent tragic +event, great as that must have been. It may have been that I recalled +the words of the note, “Dr. Ross has told me the nature of your +illness,” but I fancied that she had been suffering from some nervous +trouble. + +“There is no use prolonging our introduction, Mrs. Maitland,” began +Kennedy. “We have called because the authorities are not yet fully +convinced that Mr. Maitland committed suicide.” + +It was evident that she had seen the note, at least. “Not a suicide?” +she repeated, looking from one to the other of us. + +“Mr. Masterson on the wire, ma’am,” whispered a maid. “Do you wish to +speak to him? He begged to say that he did not wish to intrude, but he +felt that if there—” + +“Yes, I will talk to him—in my room,” she interrupted. + +I thought that there was just a trace of well-concealed confusion, as +she excused herself. + +We rose. Kennedy did not resume his seat immediately. Without a word or +look he completed his work at the typewriter by abstracting several +blank sheets of paper from the desk. + +A few moments later Mrs. Maitland returned, calmer. + +“In his note,” resumed Kennedy, “he spoke of Dr. Ross and—” + +“Oh,” she cried, “can’t you see Dr. Ross about it? Really I—I oughtn’t +to be—questioned in this way—not now, so soon after what I’ve had to +go through.” + +It seemed that her nerves were getting unstrung again. Kennedy rose to +go. + +“Later, come to see me,” she pleaded. “But now—you must realise—it is +too much. I cannot talk—I cannot.” + +“Mr. Maitland had no enemies that you know of?” asked Kennedy, +determined to learn something now, at least. + +“No, no. None that would—do that.” + +“You had had no quarrel?” he added. + +“No—we never quarrelled. Oh, Price—why did you? How could you?” + +Her feelings were apparently rapidly getting the better of her. Kennedy +bowed, and we withdrew silently. He had learned one thing. She believed +or wanted others to believe in the note. + +At a public telephone, a few minutes later, Kennedy was running over +the names in the telephone book. “Let me see—here’s an Arnold +Masterson,” he considered. Then turning the pages he went on, “Now we +must find this Dr. Ross. There—Dr. Sheldon Ross—specialist in nerve +diseases—that must be the one. He lives only a few blocks further +uptown.” + +Handsome, well built, tall, dignified, in fact distinguished, Dr. Ross +proved to be a man whose very face and manner were magnetic, as should +be those of one who had chosen his branch of the profession. + +“You have heard, I suppose, of the strange death of Price Maitland?” +began Kennedy when we were seated in the doctor’s office. + +“Yes, about an hour ago.” It was evident that he was studying us. + +“Mrs. Maitland, I believe, is a patient of yours?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Maitland is one of my patients,” he admitted +interrogatively. Then, as if considering that Kennedy’s manner was not +to be mollified by anything short of a show of confidence, he added: +“She came to me several months ago. I have had her under treatment for +nervous trouble since then, without a marked improvement.” + +“And Mr. Maitland,” asked Kennedy, “was he a patient, too?” + +“Mr. Maitland,” admitted the doctor with some reticence, “had called on +me this morning, but no, he was not a patient.” + +“Did you notice anything unusual?” + +“He seemed to be much worried,” Dr. Ross replied guardedly. + +Kennedy took the suicide note from his pocket and handed it to him. + +“I suppose you have heard of this?” asked Craig. + +The doctor read it hastily, then looked up, as if measuring from +Kennedy’s manner just how much he knew. “As nearly as I could make +out,” he said slowly, his reticence to outward appearance gone, +“Maitland seemed to have something on his mind. He came inquiring as to +the real cause of his wife’s nervousness. Before I had talked to him +long I gathered that he had a haunting fear that she did not love him +any more, if ever. I fancied that he even doubted her fidelity.” + +I wondered why the doctor was talking so freely, now, in contrast with +his former secretiveness. + +“Do you think he was right?” shot out Kennedy quickly, eying Dr. Ross +keenly. + +“No, emphatically, no; he was not right,” replied the doctor, meeting +Craig’s scrutiny without flinching. “Mrs. Maitland,” he went on more +slowly as if carefully weighing every word, “belongs to a large and +growing class of women in whom, to speak frankly, sex seems to be +suppressed. She is a very handsome and attractive woman—you have seen +her? Yes? You must have noticed, though, that she is really frigid, +cold, intellectual.” + +The doctor was so sharp and positive about his first statement and so +careful in phrasing the second that I, at least, jumped to the +conclusion that Maitland might have been right, after all. I imagined +that Kennedy, too, had his suspicions of the doctor. + +“Have you ever heard of or used cobra venom in any of your medical +work?” he asked casually. + +Dr. Ross wheeled in his chair, surprised. + +“Why, yes,” he replied quickly. “You know that it is a test for blood +diseases, one of the most recently discovered and used parallel to the +old tests. It is known as the Weil cobra-venom test.” + +“Do you use it often?” + +“N—no,” he replied. “My practice ordinarily does not lie in that +direction. I used it not long ago, once, though. I have a patient under +my care, a well-known club-man. He came to me originally—” + +“Arnold Masterson?” asked Craig. + +“Yes—how did you know his name?” + +“Guessed it,” replied Craig laconically, as if he knew much more than +he cared to tell. “He was a friend of Mrs. Maitland’s, was he not?” + +“I should say not,” replied Dr. Ross, without hesitation. He was quite +ready to talk without being urged. “Ordinarily,” he explained +confidentially, “professional ethics seals my lips, but in this +instance, since you seem to know so much, I may as well tell more.” + +I hardly knew whether to take him at his face value or not. Still he +went on: “Mrs. Maitland is, as I have hinted at, what we specialists +would call a consciously frigid but unconsciously passionate woman. As +an intellectual woman she suppresses nature. But nature does and will +assert herself, we believe. Often you will find an intellectual woman +attracted unreasonably to a purely physical man—I mean, speaking +generally, not in particular cases. You have read Ellen Key, I presume? +Well, she expresses it well in some of the things she has written about +affinities. Now, don’t misunderstand me,” he cautioned. “I am speaking +generally, not of this individual case.” + +I was following Dr. Ross closely. When he talked so, he was a most +fascinating man. + +“Mrs. Maitland,” he resumed, “has been much troubled by her dreams, as +you have heard, doubtless. The other day she told me of another dream. +In it she seemed to be attacked by a bull, which suddenly changed into +a serpent. I may say that I had asked her to make a record of her +dreams, as well as other data, which I thought might be of use in the +study and treatment of her nervous troubles. I readily surmised that +not the dream, but something else, perhaps some recollection which it +recalled, worried her. By careful questioning I discovered that it +was—a broken engagement.” + +“Yes,” prompted Kennedy. + +“The bull-serpent, she admitted, had a half-human face—the face of +Arnold Masterson!” + +Was Dr. Ross desperately shifting suspicion from himself? I asked. + +“Very strange—very,” ruminated Kennedy. “That reminds me again. I +wonder if you could let me have a sample of this cobra venom?” + +“Surely. Excuse me; I’ll get you some.” + +The doctor had scarcely shut the door when Kennedy began prowling +around quietly. In the waiting-room, which was now deserted, stood a +typewriter. + +Quickly Craig ran over the keys of the machine until he had a sample of +every character. Then he reached into drawer of the desk and hastily +stuffed several blank sheets of paper into his pocket. + +“Of course I need hardly caution you in handling this,” remarked Dr. +Ross, as he returned. “You are as well acquainted as I am with the +danger attending its careless and unscientific uses.” + +“I am, and I thank you very much,” said Kennedy. + +We were standing in the waiting-room. + +“You will keep me advised of any progress you make in the case?” the +doctor asked. “It complicates, as you can well imagine, my treatment of +Mrs. Maitland.” + +“I shall be glad to do so,” replied Kennedy, as we departed. + +An hour later found us in a handsomely appointed bachelor apartment in +a fashionable hotel overlooking the lower entrance to the Park. + +“Mr. Masterson, I believe?” inquired Kennedy, as a slim, debonair, +youngish-old man entered the room in which we had been waiting. + +“I am that same,” he smiled. “To what am I indebted for this pleasure?” + +We had been gazing at the various curios with which he had made the +room a veritable den of the connoisseur. + +“You have evidently travelled considerably,” remarked Kennedy, avoiding +the question for the time. + +“Yes, I have been back in this country only a few weeks,” Masterson +replied, awaiting the answer to the first question. + +“I called,” proceeded Kennedy, “in the hope that you, Mr. Masterson, +might be able to shed some light on the rather peculiar case of Mr. +Maitland, of whose death, I suppose, you have already heard.” + +“I?” + +“You have known Mrs. Maitland a long time?” ignored Kennedy. + +“We went to school together.” + +“And were engaged, were you not?” + +Masterson looked at Kennedy in ill-concealed surprise. + +“Yes. But how did you know that? It was a secret—only between us +two—I thought. She broke it off—not I.” + +“She broke off the engagement?” prompted Kennedy. + +“Yes—a story about an escapade of mine and all that sort of thing, you +know—but, by Jove! I like your nerve, sir.” Masterson frowned, then +added: “I prefer not to talk of that. There are some incidents in a +man’s life, particularly where a woman is concerned, that are +forbidden.” + +“Oh, I beg pardon,” hastened Kennedy, “but, by the way, you would have +no objection to making a statement regarding your trip abroad and your +recent return to this country—subsequent to—ah—the incident which we +will not refer to?” + +“None whatever. I left New York in 1908, disgusted with everything in +general, and life here in particular—” + +“Would you object to jotting it down so that I can get it straight?” +asked Kennedy. “Just a brief resume, you know.” + +“No. Have you a pen or a pencil?” + +“I think you might as well dictate it; it will take only a minute to +run it off on the typewriter.” + +Masterson rang the bell. A young man appeared noiselessly. + +“Wix,” he said, “take this: ‘I left New York in 1908, travelling on the +Continent, mostly in Paris, Vienna, and Rome. Latterly I have lived in +London, until six weeks ago, when I returned to New York.’ Will that +serve?” + +“Yes, perfectly,” said Kennedy, as he folded up the sheet of paper +which the young secretary handed to him. “Thank you. I trust you won’t +consider it an impertinence if I ask you whether you were aware that +Dr. Ross was Mrs. Maitland’s physician?” + +“Of course I knew it,” Masterson replied frankly. “I have given him up +for that reason, although he does not know it yet. I most strenuously +object to being the subject of—what shall I call it?—his mental +vivisection.” + +“Do you think he oversteps his position in trying to learn of the +mental life of his patients?” queried Craig. + +“I would rather say nothing further on that, either,” replied +Masterson. “I was talking over the wire to Mrs. Maitland a few moments +ago, giving her my condolences and asking if there was anything I could +do for her immediately, just as I would have done in the old days—only +then, of course, I should have gone to her directly. The reason I did +not go, but telephoned, was because this Ross seems to have put some +ridiculous notions into her head about me. Now, look here; I don’t want +to discuss this. I’ve told you more than I intended, anyway.” + +Masterson had risen. His suavity masked a final determination to say no +more. + + + + +II + +The Soul Analysis + + +The day was far advanced after this series of very unsatisfactory +interviews. I looked at Kennedy blankly. We seemed to have uncovered so +little that was tangible that I was much surprised to find that +apparently he was well contented with what had happened in the case so +far. + +“I shall be busy for a few hours in the laboratory, Walter,” he +remarked, as we parted at the subway. “I think, if you have nothing +better to do, that you might employ the time in looking up some of the +gossip about Mrs. Maitland and Masterson, to say nothing of Dr. Ross,” +he emphasised. “Drop in after dinner.” + +There was not much that I could find. Of Mrs. Maitland there was +practically nothing that I already did not know from having seen her +name in the papers. She was a leader in a certain set which was +devoting its activities to various social and moral propaganda. +Masterson’s early escapades were notorious even in the younger smart +set in which he had moved, but his years abroad had mellowed the +recollection of them. He had not distinguished himself in any way since +his return to set gossip afloat, nor had any tales of his doings abroad +filtered through to New York clubland. Dr. Ross, I found to my +surprise, was rather better known than I had supposed, both as a +specialist and as a man about town. He seemed to have risen rapidly in +his profession as physician to the ills of society’s nerves. + +I was amazed after dinner to find Kennedy doing nothing at all. + +“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Have you struck a snag?” + +“No,” he replied slowly, “I was only waiting. I told them to be here +between half-past eight and nine.” + +“Who?” I queried. + +“Dr. Leslie,” he answered. “He has the authority to compel the +attendance of Mrs. Maitland, Dr. Ross, and Masterson.” + +The quickness with which he had worked out a case which was, to me, one +of the most inexplicable he had had for a long time, left me standing +speechless. + +One by one they dropped in during the next half-hour, and, as usual, it +fell to me to receive them and smooth over the rough edges which always +obtruded at these little enforced parties in the laboratory. + +Dr. Leslie and Dr. Ross were the first to arrive. They had not come +together, but had met at the door. I fancied I saw a touch of +professional jealousy in their manner, at least on the part of Dr. +Ross. Masterson came, as usual ignoring the seriousness of the matter +and accusing us all of conspiring to keep him from the first night of a +light opera which was opening. Mrs. Maitland followed, the unaccustomed +pallor of her face heightened by the plain black dress. I felt most +uncomfortable, as indeed I think the rest did. She merely inclined her +head to Masterson, seemed almost to avoid the eye of Dr. Ross, glared +at Dr. Leslie, and absolutely ignored me. + +Craig had been standing aloof at his laboratory table, beyond a nod of +recognition paying little attention to anything. He seemed to be in no +hurry to begin. + +“Great as science is,” he commenced, at length, “it is yet far removed +from perfection. There are, for instance, substances so mysterious, +subtle, and dangerous as to set the most delicate tests and powerful +lenses at naught, while they carry death most horrible in their train.” + +He could scarcely have chosen his opening words with more effect. + +“Chief among them,” he proceeded, “are those from nature’s own +laboratory. There are some sixty species of serpents, for example, with +deadly venom. Among these, as you doubtless have all heard, none has +brought greater terror to mankind than the cobra-di-capello, the Naja +tripudians of India. It is unnecessary for me to describe the cobra or +to say anything about the countless thousands who have yielded up their +lives to it. I have here a small quantity of the venom”—he indicated +it in a glass beaker. “It was obtained in New York, and I have tested +it on guinea-pigs. It has lost none of its potency.” + +I fancied that there was a feeling of relief when Kennedy by his +actions indicated that he was not going to repeat the test. + +“This venom,” he continued, “dries in the air into a substance like +small scales, soluble in water but not in alcohol. It has only a +slightly acrid taste and odour, and, strange to say, is inoffensive on +the tongue or mucous surfaces, even in considerable quantities. All we +know about it is that in an open wound it is deadly swift in action.” + +It was difficult to sit unmoved at the thought that before us, in only +a few grains of the stuff, was enough to kill us all if it were +introduced into a scratch of our skin. + +“Until recently chemistry was powerless to solve the enigma, the +microscope to detect its presence, or pathology to explain the reason +for its deadly effect. And even now, about all we know is that +autopsical research reveals absolutely nothing but the general +disorganisation of the blood corpuscles. In fact, such poisoning is +best known by the peculiar symptoms—the vertigo, weak legs, and +falling jaw. The victim is unable to speak or swallow, but is fully +sensible. He has nausea, paralysis, an accelerated pulse at first +followed rapidly by a weakening, with breath slow and laboured. The +pupils are contracted, but react to the last, and he dies in +convulsions like asphyxia. It is both a blood and a nerve poison.” + +As Kennedy proceeded, Mrs. Maitland never took her large eyes from his +face. + +Kennedy now drew from a large envelope in which he protected it, the +typewritten note which had been found on Maitland. He said nothing +about the “suicide” as he quietly began a new line of accumulating +evidence. + +“There is an increasing use of the typewriting machine for the +production of spurious papers,” he began, rattling the note +significantly. “It is partly due to the great increase in the use of +the typewriter generally, but more than all is it due to the erroneous +idea that fraudulent typewriting cannot be detected. The fact is that +the typewriter is perhaps a worse means of concealing identity than is +disguised handwriting. It does not afford the effective protection to +the criminal that is supposed. On the contrary, the typewriting of a +fraudulent document may be the direct means by which it can be traced +to its source. First we have to determine what kind of machine a +certain piece of writing was done with, then what particular machine.” + +He paused and indicated a number of little instruments on the table. + +“For example,” he resumed, “the Lovibond tintometer tells me its story +of the colour of the ink used in the ribbon of the machine that wrote +this note as well as several standard specimens which I have been able +to obtain from three machines on which it might have been written. + +“That leads me to speak of the quality of the paper in this half-sheet +that was found on Mr. Maitland. Sometimes such a half-sheet may be +mated with the other half from which it was torn as accurately as if +the act were performed before your eyes. There was no such good fortune +in this case, but by measurements made by the vernier micrometer +caliper I have found the precise thickness of several samples of paper +as compared to that of the suicide note. I need hardly add that in +thickness and quality, as well as in the tint of the ribbon, the note +points to person as the author.” + +No one moved. + +“And there are other proofs—unescapable,” Kennedy hurried on. “For +instance, I have counted the number of threads to the inch in the +ribbon, as shown by the letters of this note. That also corresponds to +the number in one of the three ribbons.” + +Kennedy laid down a glass plate peculiarly ruled in little squares. + +“This,” he explained, “is an alignment test plate, through which can be +studied accurately the spacing and alignment of typewritten characters. +There are in this pica type ten to the inch horizontally and six to the +inch vertically. That is usual. Perhaps you are not acquainted with the +fact that typewritten characters are in line both ways, horizontally +and vertically. There are nine possible positions for each character +which may be assumed with reference to one of these little standard +squares of the test plate. You cannot fail to appreciate what an +immense impossibility there is that one machine should duplicate the +variations out of the true which the microscope detects for several +characters on another. + +“Not only that, but the faces of many letters inevitably become broken, +worn, battered, as well as out of alignment, or slightly shifted in +their position on the type bar. The type faces are not flat, but a +little concave to conform to the roller. There are thousands of +possible divergences, scars, and deformities in each machine. + +“Such being the case,” he concluded, “typewriting has an individuality +like that of the Bertillon system, finger-prints, or the portrait +parle.” + +He paused, then added quickly: “What machine was it in this case? I +have samples here from that of Dr. Boss, from a machine used by Mr. +Masterson’s secretary, and from a machine which was accessible to both +Mr. and Mrs. Maitland.” + +Kennedy stopped, but he was not yet prepared to relieve the suspense of +two of those whom his investigation would absolve. + +“Just one other point,” he resumed mercilessly, “a point which a few +years ago would have been inexplicable—if not positively misleading +and productive of actual mistake. I refer to the dreams of Mrs. +Maitland.” + +I had been expecting it, yet the words startled me. What must they have +done to her? But she kept admirable control of herself. + +“Dreams used to be treated very seriously by the ancients, but until +recently modern scientists, rejecting the ideas of the dark ages, have +scouted dreams. To-day, however, we study them scientifically, for we +believe that whatever is, has a reason. Dr. Ross, I think, is +acquainted with the new and remarkable theories of Dr. Sigmund Freud, +of Vienna?” + +Dr. Ross nodded. “I dissent vigorously from some of Freud’s +conclusions,” he hastened. + +“Let me state them first,” resumed Craig. “Dreams, says Freud, are very +important. They give us the most reliable information concerning the +individual. But that is only possible”—Kennedy emphasised the +point—“if the patient is in entire rapport with the doctor. + +“Now, the dream is not an absurd and senseless jumble, but a perfect +mechanism and has a definite meaning in penetrating the mind. It is as +though we had two streams of thought, one of which we allow to flow +freely, the other of which we are constantly repressing, pushing back +into the subconscious, or unconscious. This matter of the evolution of +our individual mental life is too long a story to bore you with at such +a critical moment. + +“But the resistances, the psychic censors of our ideas, are always +active, except in sleep. Then the repressed material comes to the +surface. But the resistances never entirely lose their power, and the +dream shows the material distorted. Seldom does one recognise his own +repressed thoughts or unattained wishes. The dream really is the +guardian of sleep to satisfy the activity of the unconscious and +repressed mental processes that would otherwise disturb sleep by +keeping the censor busy. In the case of a nightmare the watchman or +censor is aroused, finds himself overpowered, so to speak, and calls on +consciousness for help. + +“There are three kinds of dreams—those which represent an unrepressed +wish as fulfilled, those that represent the realisation of a repressed +wish in an entirely concealed form, and those that represent the +realisation of a repressed wish in a form insufficiently or only +partially concealed. + +“Dreams are not of the future, but of the past, except as they show +striving for unfulfilled wishes. Whatever may be denied in reality we +nevertheless can realise in another way—in our dreams. And probably +more of our daily life, conduct, moods, beliefs than we think, could be +traced to preceding dreams.” + +Dr. Ross was listening attentively, as Craig turned to him. “This is +perhaps the part of Freud’s theory from which you dissent most +strongly. Freud says that as soon as you enter the intimate life of a +patient you begin to find sex in some form. In fact, the best +indication of abnormality would be its absence. Sex is one of the +strongest of human impulses, yet the one subjected to the greatest +repression. For that reason it is the weakest point in our cultural +development. In a normal life, he says, there are no neuroses. Let me +proceed now with what the Freudists call the psychanalysis, the soul +analysis, of Mrs. Maitland.” + +It was startling in the extreme to consider the possibilities to which +this new science might lead, as he proceeded to illustrate it. + +“Mrs. Maitland,” he continued, “your dream of fear was a dream of what +we call the fulfilment of a suppressed wish. Moreover, fear always +denotes a sexual idea underlying the dream. In fact, morbid anxiety +means surely unsatisfied love. The old Greeks knew it. The gods of fear +were born of the goddess of love. Consciously you feared the death of +your husband because unconsciously you wished it.” + +It was startling, dramatic, cruel, perhaps, merciless—this dissecting +of the soul of the handsome woman before us; but it had come to a point +where it was necessary to get at the truth. + +Mrs. Maitland, hitherto pale, was now flushed and indignant. Yet the +very manner of her indignation showed the truth of the new psychology +of dreams, for, as I learned afterward, people often become indignant +when the Freudists strike what is called the “main complex.” + +“There are other motives just as important,” protested Dr. Boss. “Here +in America the money motive, ambition—” + +“Let me finish,” interposed Kennedy. “I want to consider the other +dream also. Fear is equivalent to a wish in this sort of dream. It +also, as I have said, denotes sex. In dreams animals are usually +symbols. Now, in this second dream we find both the bull and the +serpent, from time immemorial, symbols of the continuing of the +life-force. Dreams are always based on experiences or thoughts of the +day preceding the dreams. You, Mrs. Maitland, dreamed of a man’s face +on these beasts. There was every chance of having him suggested to you. +You think you hate him. Consciously you reject him; unconsciously you +accept him. Any of the new psychologists who knows the intimate +connection between love and hate, would understand how that is +possible. Love does not extinguish hate; or hate, love. They repress +each other. The opposite sentiment may very easily grow.” + +The situation was growing more tense as he proceeded. Was not Kennedy +actually taxing her with loving another? + +“The dreamer,” he proceeded remorselessly, “is always the principal +actor in a dream, or the dream centres about the dreamer most +intimately. Dreams are personal. We never dream about matters that +really concern others, but ourselves. + +“Years ago,” he continued, “you suffered what the new psychologists +call a ‘psychic trauma’—a soul-wound. You were engaged, but your +censored consciousness rejected the manner of life of your fiance. In +pique you married Price Maitland. But you never lost your real, +subconscious love for another.” + +He stopped, then added in a low tone that was almost inaudible, yet +which did not call for an answer, “Could you—be honest with yourself, +for you need say not a word aloud—could you always be sure of yourself +in the face of any situation?” + +She looked startled. Her ordinarily inscrutable face betrayed +everything, though it was averted from the rest of us and could be seen +only by Kennedy. She knew the truth that she strove to repress; she was +afraid of herself. + +“It is dangerous,” she murmured, “to be with a person who pays +attention to such little things. If every one were like you, I would no +longer breathe a syllable of my dreams.” + +She was sobbing now. + +What was back of it all? I had heard of the so-called resolution +dreams. I had heard of dreams that kill, of unconscious murder, of the +terrible acts of the subconscious somnambulist of which the actor has +no recollection in the waking state until put under hypnotism. Was it +that which Kennedy was driving at disclosing? + +Dr. Ross moved nearer to Mrs. Maitland as if to reassure her. Craig was +studying attentively the effect of his revelation both on her and on +the other faces before him. + +Mrs. Maitland, her shoulders bent with the outpouring of the +long-suppressed emotion of the evening and of the tragic day, called +for sympathy which, I could see, Craig would readily give when he had +reached the climax he had planned. + +“Kennedy,” exclaimed Masterson, pushing aside Dr. Ross, as he bounded +to the side of Mrs. Maitland, unable to restrain himself longer, +“Kennedy, you are a faker—nothing but a damned dream doctor—in +scientific disguise.” + +“Perhaps,” replied Craig, with a quiet curl of the lip. “But the +threads of the typewriter ribbon, the alignment of the letters, the +paper, all the ‘fingerprints’ of that type-written note of suicide were +those of the machine belonging to the man who caused the soul-wound, +who knew Madeline Maitland’s inmost heart better than herself—because +he had heard of Freud undoubtedly, when he was in Vienna—who knew that +he held her real love still, who posed as a patient of Dr. Ross to +learn her secrets as well as to secure the subtle poison of the cobra. +That man, perhaps, merely brushed against Price Maitland in the crowd, +enough to scratch his hand with the needle, shove the false note into +his pocket—anything to win the woman who he knew loved him, and whom +he could win. Masterson, you are that man!” + +The next half hour was crowded kaleidoscopically with events—the call +by Dr. Leslie for the police, the departure of the Coroner with +Masterson in custody, and the efforts of Dr. Ross to calm his now +almost hysterical patient, Mrs. Maitland. + +Then a calm seemed to settle down over the old laboratory which had so +often been the scene of such events, tense with human interest. I could +scarcely conceal my amazement, as I watched Kennedy quietly restoring +to their places the pieces of apparatus he had used. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked, catching my eye as he paused with the +tintometer in his hand. + +“Why,” I exclaimed, “that’s a fine way to start a month! Here’s just +one day gone and you’ve caught your man. Are you going to keep that up? +If you are—I’ll quit and skip to February. I’ll choose the shortest +month, if that’s the pace!” + +“Any month you please,” he smiled grimly, as he reluctantly placed the +tintometer in its cabinet. + +There was no use. I knew that any other month would have been just the +same. + +“Well,” I replied weakly, “all I can hope is that every day won’t be as +strenuous as this has been. I hope, at least, you will give me time to +make some notes before you start off again.” + +“Can’t say,” he answered, still busy returning paraphernalia to its +accustomed place. “I have no control over the cases as they come to +me—except that I can turn down those that don’t interest me.” + +“Then,” I sighed wearily, “turn down the next one. I must have rest. +I’m going home to sleep.” + +“Very well,” he said, making no move to follow me. + +I shook my head doubtfully. It was impossible to force a card on +Kennedy. Instead of showing any disposition to switch off the +laboratory lights, he appeared to be regarding a row of half-filled +test-tubes with the abstraction of a man who has been interrupted in +the midst of an absorbing occupation. + +“Good night,” I said at length. + +“Good night,” he echoed mechanically. + +I know that he slept that night—at least his bed had been slept in +when I awoke in the morning. But he was gone. But then, it was not +unusual for him, when the fever for work was on him, to consider even +five or fewer hours a night’s rest. It made no difference when I argued +with him. The fact that he thrived on it himself and could justify it +by pointing to other scientists was refutation enough. + +Slowly I dressed, breakfasted, and began transcribing what I could from +the hastily jotted down notes of the day before. I knew that the work, +whatever it was, in which he was now engaged must be in the nature of +research, dear to his heart. Otherwise, he would have left word for me. + +No word came from him, however, all day, and I had not only caught up +in my notes, but, my appetite whetted by our first case, had become +hungry for more. In fact I had begun to get a little worried at the +continued silence. A hand on the knob of the door or a ring of the +telephone would hare been a welcome relief. I was gradually becoming +aware of the fact that I liked the excitement of the life as much as +Kennedy did. + +I knew it when the sudden sharp tinkle of the telephone set my heart +throbbing almost as quickly as the little bell hammer buzzed. + +“Jameson, for Heaven’s sake find Kennedy immediately and bring him over +here to the Novella Beauty Parlour. We’ve got the worst case I’ve been +up against in a long time. Dr. Leslie, the coroner, is here, and says +we must not make a move until Kennedy arrives.” + +I doubt whether in all our long acquaintance I had ever heard First +Deputy O’Connor more wildly excited and apparently more helpless than +he seemed over the telephone that night. + +“What is it?” I asked. + +“Never mind, never mind. Find Kennedy,” he called back almost +brusquely. “It’s Miss Blanche Blaisdell, the actress—she’s been found +dead here. The thing is an absolute mystery. Now get him, GET HIM.” + +It was still early in the evening, and Kennedy had not come in, nor had +he sent any word to our apartment. O’Connor had already tried the +laboratory. As for myself, I had not the slightest idea where Craig +was. I knew the case must be urgent if both the deputy and the coroner +were waiting for him. Still, after half an hour’s vigorous telephoning, +I was unable to find a trace of Kennedy in any of his usual haunts. + +In desperation I left a message for him with the hall-boy in case he +called up, jumped into a cab, and rode over to the laboratory, hoping +that some of the care-takers might still be about and might know +something of his whereabouts. The janitor was able to enlighten me to +the extent of telling me that a big limousine had called for Kennedy an +hour or so before, and that he had left in great haste. + +I had given it up as hopeless and had driven back to the apartment to +wait for him, when the hall-boy made a rush at me just as I was paying +my fare. + +“Mr. Kennedy on the wire, sir,” he cried as he half dragged me into the +hall. + +“Walter,” almost shouted Kennedy, “I’m over at the Washington Heights +Hospital with Dr. Barron—you remember Barron, in our class at college? +He has a very peculiar case of a poor girl whom he found wandering on +the street and brought here. Most unusual thing. He came over to the +laboratory after me in his car. Yes, I have the message that you left +with the hall-boy. Come up here and pick me up, and we’ll ride right +down to the Novella. Goodbye.” + +I had not stopped to ask questions and prolong the conversation, +knowing as I did the fuming impatience of O’Connor. It was relief +enough to know that Kennedy was located at last. + +He was in the psychopathic ward with Barron, as I hurried in. The girl +whom he had mentioned over the telephone was then quietly sleeping +under the influence of an opiate, and they were discussing the case +outside in the hall. + +“What do you think of it yourself?” Barron was asking, nodding to me to +join them. Then he added for my enlightenment: “I found this girl +wandering bareheaded in the street. To tell the truth, I thought at +first that she was intoxicated, but a good look showed me better than +that. So I hustled the poor thing into my car and brought her here. All +the way she kept crying over and over: ‘Look, don’t you see it? She’s +afire! Her lips shine—they shine, they shine.’ I think the girl is +demented and has had some hallucination.” + +“Too vivid for a hallucination,” remarked Kennedy decisively. “It was +too real to her. Even the opiate couldn’t remove the picture, whatever +it was, from her mind until you had given her almost enough to kill +her, normally. No, that wasn’t any hallucination. Now, Walter, I’m +ready.” + + + + +III + +THE SYBARITE + + +We found the Novella Beauty Parlour on the top floor of an +office-building just off Fifth Avenue on a side street not far from +Forty-second Street. A special elevator, elaborately fitted up, wafted +us up with express speed. As the door opened we saw a vista of +dull-green lattices, little gateways hung with roses, windows of +diamond-paned glass set in white wood, rooms with little white +enamelled manicure-tables and chairs, amber lights glowing with soft +incandescence in deep bowers of fireproof tissue flowers. There was a +delightful warmth about the place, and the seductive scents and +delicate odours betokened the haunt of the twentieth-century Sybarite. + +Both O’Connor and Leslie, strangely out of place in the enervating +luxury of the now deserted beauty-parlour, were still waiting for +Kennedy with a grim determination. + +“A most peculiar thing,” whispered O’Connor, dashing forward the moment +the elevator door opened. “We can’t seem to find a single cause for her +death. The people up here say it was a suicide, but I never accept the +theory of suicide unless there are undoubted proofs. So far there have +been none in this case. There was no reason for it.” + +Seated in one of the large easy-chairs of the reception-room, in a +corner with two of O’Connor’s men standing watchfully near, was a man +who was the embodiment of all that was nervous. He was alternately +wringing his hands and rumpling his hair. Beside him was a +middle-sized, middle-aged lady in a most amazing state of preservation, +who evidently presided over the cosmetic mysteries beyond the male ken. +She was so perfectly groomed that she looked as though her clothes were +a mould into which she had literally been poured. + +“Professor and Madame Millefleur—otherwise Miller,”—whispered +O’Connor, noting Kennedy’s questioning gaze and taking his arm to hurry +him down a long, softly carpeted corridor, flanked on either side by +little doors. “They run the shop. They say one of the girls just opened +the door and found her dead.” + +Near the end, one of the doors stood open, and before it Dr. Leslie, +who had preceded us, paused. He motioned to us to look in. It was a +little dressing-room, containing a single white-enamelled bed, a +dresser, and a mirror. But it was not the scant though elegant +furniture that caused us to start back. + +There under the dull half-light of the corridor lay a woman, most +superbly formed. She was dark, and the thick masses of her hair, ready +for the hairdresser, fell in a tangle over her beautifully chiselled +features and full, rounded shoulders and neck. A scarlet bathrobe, +loosened at the throat, actually accentuated rather than covered the +voluptuous lines of her figure, down to the slender ankle which had +been the beginning of her fortune as a danseuse. + +Except for the marble pallor of her face it was difficult to believe +that she was not sleeping. And yet there she was, the famous Blanche +Blaisdell, dead—dead in the little dressing-room of the Novella Beauty +Parlour, surrounded as in life by mystery and luxury. + +We stood for several moments speechless, stupefied. At last O’Connor +silently drew a letter from his pocket. It was written on the latest +and most delicate of scented stationery. + +“It was lying sealed on the dresser when we arrived,” explained +O’Connor, holding it so that we could not see the address. “I thought +at first she had really committed suicide and that this was a note of +explanation. But it is not. Listen. It is just a line or two. It reads: +‘Am feeling better now, though that was a great party last night. +Thanks for the newspaper puff which I have just read. It was very kind +of you to get them to print it. Meet me at the same place and same time +to-night. Your Blanche.’ The note was not stamped, and was never sent. +Perhaps she rang for a messenger. At any rate, she must have been dead +before she could send it. But it was addressed to—Burke Collins.” + +“Burke Collins!” exclaimed Kennedy and I together in amazement. + +He was one of the leading corporation lawyers in the country, director +in a score of the largest companies, officer in half a dozen charities +and social organisations, patron of art and opera. It seemed +impossible, and I at least did not hesitate to say so. For answer +O’Connor simply laid the letter and envelope down on the dresser. + +It seemed to take some time to convince Kennedy. There it was in black +and white, however, in Blanche Blaisdell’s own vertical hand. Try to +figure it out as I could, there seemed to be only one conclusion, and +that was to accept it. What it was that interested him I did not know, +but finally he bent down and sniffed, not at the scented letter, but at +the covering on the dresser. When he raised his head I saw that he had +not been looking at the letter at all, but at a spot on the cover near +it. + +“Sn-ff, sn-ff,” he sniffed, thoughtfully closing his eyes as if +considering something. “Yes—oil of turpentine.” + +Suddenly he opened his eyes, and the blank look of abstraction that had +masked his face was broken through by a gleam of comprehension that I +knew flashed the truth to him intuitively. + +“Turn out that light in the corridor,” he ordered quickly. + +Dr. Leslie found and turned the switch. There we were alone, in the now +weird little dressing-room, alone with that horribly lovely thing lying +there cold and motionless on the little white bed. + +Kennedy moved forward in the darkness. Gently, almost as if she were +still the living, pulsing, sentient Blanche Blaisdell who had entranced +thousands, he opened her mouth. + +A cry from O’Connor, who was standing in front of me, followed. “What’s +that, those little spots on her tongue and throat? They glow. It is the +corpse light!” + +Surely enough, there were little luminous spots in her mouth. I had +heard somewhere that there is a phosphorescence appearing during decay +of organic substances which once gave rise to the ancient superstition +of “corpse lights” and the will-o’-the-wisp. It was really due, I knew, +to living bacteria. But there surely had been no time for such +micro-organisms to develop, even in the almost tropic heat of the +Novella. Could she have been poisoned by these phosphorescent bacilli? +What was it—a strange new mouth-malady that had attacked this +notorious adventuress and woman of luxury? + +Leslie had flashed up the light again before Craig spoke. We were all +watching him keenly. + +“Phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric salve,” Craig said slowly, +looking eagerly about the room as if in search of something that would +explain it. He caught sight of the envelope still lying on the dresser. +He picked it up, toyed with it, looked at the top where O’Connor had +slit it, then deliberately tore the flap off the back where it had been +glued in sealing the letter. + +“Put the light out again,” he asked. + +Where the thin line of gum was on the back of the flap, in the darkness +there glowed the same sort of brightness that we had seen in a speck +here and there on Blanche Blaisdell’s lips and in her mouth. The truth +flashed over me. Some one had placed the stuff, whatever it was, on the +flap of the envelope, knowing that she must touch her lips to it to +seal it She had done so, and the deadly poison had entered her mouth. + +As the light went up again Kennedy added: “Oil of turpentine removes +traces of phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric salve, which are +insoluble in anything else except ether and absolute alcohol. Some one +who knew that tried to eradicate them, but did not wholly succeed. +O’Connor, see if you can find either phosphorus, the oil, or the salve +anywhere in the shop.” + +Then as O’Connor and Leslie hurriedly disappeared he added to me: +“Another of those strange coincidences, Walter. You remember the girl +at the hospital? ‘Look, don’t you see it? She’s afire. Her lips +shine—they shine, they shine!’” + +Kennedy was still looking carefully over the room. In a little wicker +basket was a newspaper which was open at the page of theatrical news, +and as I glanced quickly at it I saw a most laudatory paragraph about +her. + +Beneath the paper were some torn scraps. Kennedy picked them up and +pieced them together. “Dearest Blanche,” they read. “I hope you’re +feeling better after that dinner last night. Can you meet me to-night? +Write me immediately. Collie.” + +He placed the scraps carefully in his wallet. There was nothing more to +be done here apparently. As we passed down the corridor we could hear a +man apparently raving in good English and bad French. It proved to be +Millefleur—or Miller—and his raving was as overdone as that of a +third-rate actor. Madame was trying to calm him. + +“Henri, Henri, don’t go on so,” she was saying. + +“A suicide—in the Novella. It will be in all the papers. We shall be +ruined. Oh—oh!” + +“Here, can that sob stuff,” broke in one of O’Connor’s officers. “You +can tell it all when the chief takes you to headquarters, see?” + +Certainly the man made no very favourable impression by his actions. +There seemed to be much that was forced about them, that was more +incriminating than a stolid silence would have been. + +Between them Monsieur and Madame made out, however, to repeat to +Kennedy their version of what had happened. It seemed that a note +addressed to Miss Blaisdell had been left by some one on the desk in +the reception-room. No one knew who left it, but one of the girls had +picked it up and delivered it to her in her dressing-room. A moment +later she rang her bell and called for one of the girls named Agnes, +who was to dress her hair. Agnes was busy, and the actress asked her to +get paper, a pen, and ink. At least it seemed that way, for Agnes got +them for her. A few minutes later her bell rang again, and Agnes went +down, apparently to tell her that she was now ready to dress her hair. + +The next thing any one knew was a piercing shriek from the girl. She +ran down the corridor, still shrieking, out into the reception-room and +rushed into the elevator, which happened to be up at the time. That was +the last they had seen of her. The other girls saw Miss Blaisdell lying +dead, and a panic followed. The customers dressed quickly and fled, +almost in panic. All was confusion. By that time a policeman had +arrived, and soon after O’Connor and the coroner had come. + +There was little use in cross-questioning the couple. They had +evidently had time to agree on the story; that is, supposing it were +not true. Only a scientific third degree could have shaken them, and +such a thing was impossible just at that time. + +From the line of Kennedy’s questions I could see that he believed that +there was a hiatus somewhere in their glib story, at least some point +where some one had tried to eradicate the marks of the poison. + +“Here it is. We found it,” interrupted O’Connor, holding up in his +excitement a bottle covered with black cloth to protect it from the +light. “It was in the back of a cabinet in the operating-room, and it +is marked ‘Ether phosphore’. Another of oil of turpentine was on a +shelf in another cabinet. Both seem to have been used lately, judging +by the wetness of the bottoms of the glass stoppers.” + +“Ether phosphore, phosphorated ether,” commented Kennedy, reading the +label to himself. “A remedy from the French Codex, composed, if I +remember rightly, of one part phosphorus and fifty parts sulphuric +ether. Phosphorus is often given as a remedy for loss of nerve power, +neuralgia, hysteria, and melancholia. In quantities from a fiftieth to +a tenth or so of a grain free phosphorus is a renovator of nerve tissue +and nerve force, a drug for intense and long-sustained anxiety of mind +and protracted emotional excitement—in short, for fast living.” + +He uncorked the bottle, and we tasted the stuff. It was unpleasant and +nauseous. “I don’t see why it wasn’t used in the form of pills. The +liquid form of a few drops on gum arabic is hopelessly antiquated.” + +The elevator door opened with a clang, and a well-built, athletic +looking man of middle age with an acquired youngish look about his +clothes and clean-shaven face stepped out. His face was pale, and his +hand shook with emotion that showed that something had unstrung his +usually cast-iron nerves. I recognised Burke Collins at once. + +In spite of his nervousness he strode forward with the air of a man +accustomed to being obeyed, to having everything done for him merely +because he, Burke Collins, could afford to pay for it and it was his +right. He seemed to know whom he was seeking, for he immediately +singled out O’Connor. + +“This is terrible, terrible,” he whispered hoarsely. “No, no, no, I +don’t want to see her. I can’t, not yet. You know I thought the world +of that poor little girl. Only,” and here the innate selfishness of the +man cropped out, “only I called to ask you that nothing of my +connection with her be given out. You understand? Spare nothing to get +at the truth. Employ the best men you have. Get outside help if +necessary. I’ll pay for anything, anything. Perhaps I can use some +influence for you some day, too. But, you understand—the scandal, you +know. Not a word to the newspapers.” + +At another time I feel sure that O’Connor would have succumbed. Collins +was not without a great deal of political influence, and even a first +deputy may be “broke” by a man with influence. But now here was +Kennedy, and he wished to appear in the best light. + +He looked at Craig. “Let me introduce Professor Kennedy,” he said. +“I’ve already called him in.” + +“Very happy to have the pleasure of meeting you,” said Collins, +grasping Kennedy’s hand warmly. “I hope you will take me as your client +in this case. I’ll pay handsomely. I’ve always had a great admiration +for your work, and I’ve heard a great deal about it.” + +Kennedy is, if anything, as impervious to blandishment as a stone, as +the Blarney Stone is itself, for instance. “On one condition,” he +replied slowly, “and that is that I go ahead exactly as if I were +employed by the city itself to get at the truth.” + +Collins bit his lip. It was evident that he was not accustomed to being +met in this independent spirit. “Very well,” he answered at last. +“O’Connor has called you in. Work for him and—well, you know, if you +need anything just draw on me for it. Only if you can, keep me out of +it. I’ll tell everything I can to help you—but not to the newspapers.” + +He beckoned us outside. “Those people in there,” he nodded his head +back in the direction of the Millefleurs, “do you suspect them? By +George, it does look badly for them, doesn’t it, when you come to think +of it? Well, now, you see, I’m frank and confidential about my +relations with Blan—er—Miss Blaisdell. I was at a big dinner with her +last night with a party of friends. I suppose she came here to get +straightened out. I hadn’t been able to get her on the wire to-day, but +at the theatre when I called up they told me what had happened, and I +came right over here. Now please remember, do everything, anything but +create a scandal. You realise what that would mean for me.” + +Kennedy said nothing. He simply laid down on the desk, piece by piece, +the torn letter which he had picked up from the basket, and beside it +he spread out the reply which Blanche had written. + +“What?” gasped Collins as he read the torn letter. “I send that? Why, +man alive, you’re crazy. Didn’t I just tell you I hadn’t heard from her +until I called up the theatre just now?” + +I could not make out whether he was lying or not when he said that he +had not sent the note. Kennedy picked up a pen. “Please write the same +thing as you read in the note on this sheet of the Novella paper. It +will be all right. You have plenty of witnesses to that.” + +It must have irked Collins even to have his word doubted, but Kennedy +was no respecter of persons. He took the pen and wrote. + +“I’ll keep your name out of it as much as possible,” remarked Kennedy, +glancing intently at the writing and blotting it. + +“Thank you,” said Collins simply, for once in his life at a loss for +words. Once more he whispered to O’Connor, then he excused himself. The +man was so obviously sincere, I felt, as far as his selfish and sensual +limitations would permit, that I would not have blamed Kennedy for +giving him much more encouragement than he had given. + +Kennedy was not through yet, and now turned quickly again to the +cosmetic arcadia which had been so rudely stirred by the tragedy. + +“Who is this girl Agnes who discovered Miss Blaisdell?” he shot out at +the Millefleurs. + +The beauty-doctor was now really painful in his excitement. Like his +establishment, even his feelings were artificial. + +“Agnes?” he repeated. “Why, she was one of Madame’s best hair-dressers. +See—my dear—show the gentlemen the book of engagements.” + +It was a large book full of girls’ names, each an expert in curls, +puffs, “reinforcements,” hygienic rolls, transformators, and the +numberless other things that made the fearful and wonderful +hair-dresses of the day. Agnes’s dates were full, for a day ahead. + +Kennedy ran his eye over the list of patrons. “Mrs. Burke Collins, +3:30,” he read. “Was she a patron, too?” + +“Oh, yes,” answered Madame. “She used to come here three times a week. +It was not vanity. We all knew her, and we all liked her.” + +Instantly I could read between the lines, and I felt that I had been +too charitable to Burke Collins. Here was the wife slaving to secure +that beauty which would win back the man with whom she had worked and +toiled in the years before they came to New York and success. The +“other woman” came here, too, but for a very different reason. + +Nothing but business seemed to impress Millefleur, however. “Oh, yes,” +he volunteered, “we have a fine class. Among my own patients I have +Hugh Dayton, the actor, you know, leading man in Blanche Blaisdell’s +company. He is having his hair restored. Why, I gave him a treatment +this afternoon. If ever there is a crazy man, it is he. I believe he +would kill Mr. Collins for the way Blanche Blaisdell treats him. They +were engaged—but, oh, well,” he gave a very good imitation of a French +shrug, “it is all over now. Neither of them will get her, and I—I am +ruined. Who will come to the Novella now?” + +Adjoining Millefleur’s own room was the writing room from which the +poisoned envelope had been taken to Miss Blaisdell. Over the little +secretary was the sign, “No woman need be plain who will visit the +Novella,” evidently the motto of the place. The hair-dressing room was +next to the little writing-room. There were manicure rooms, +steam-rooms, massage-rooms, rooms of all descriptions, all bearing mute +testimony to the fundamental instinct, the feminine longing for +personal beauty. + +Though it was late when Kennedy had finished his investigation, he +insisted on going directly to his laboratory. There he pulled out from +a corner a sort of little square table on which was fixed a powerful +light such as might be used for a stereopticon. + +“This is a simple little machine,” he explained, as be pasted together +the torn bits of the letter which he had fished out of the +scrap-basket, “which detectives use in studying forgeries. I don’t know +that it has a name, although it might be called a ‘rayograph.’ You see, +all you have to do is to lay the thing you wish to study flat here, and +the system of mirrors and lenses reflects it and enlarges it on a +sheet.” + +He had lowered a rolled-up sheet of white at the opposite end of the +room, and there, in huge characters, stood forth plainly the writing of +the note. + +“This letter,” he resumed, studying the enlargement carefully, “is +likely to prove crucial. It’s very queer. Collins says he didn’t write +it, and if he did he surely is a wonder at disguising his hand. I doubt +if any one could disguise what the rayograph shows. Now, for instance, +this is very important. Do you see how those strokes of the long +letters are—well, wobbly? You’d never see that in the original, but +when it is enlarged you see how plainly visible the tremors of the hand +become? Try as you may, you can’t conceal them. The fact is that the +writer of this note suffered from a form of heart disease. Now let us +look at the copy that Collins made at the Novella.” + +He placed the copy on the table of the rayograph. It was quite evident +that the two had been written by entirely different persons. “I thought +he was telling the truth,” commented Craig, “by the surprised look on +his face the moment I mentioned the note to Miss Blaisdell. Now I know +he was. There is no such evidence of heart trouble in his writing as in +the other. Of course that’s all aside from what a study of the +handwriting itself might disclose. They are not similar at all. But +there is an important clue there. Find the writer of that note who has +heart trouble, and we either have the murderer or some one close to the +murderer.” + +I remembered the tremulousness of the little beauty-doctor, his +third-rate artificial acting of fear for the reputation of the Novella, +and I must confess I agreed with O’Connor and Collins that it looked +black for him. At one time I had suspected Collins himself, but now I +could see perfectly why he had not concealed his anxiety to hush up his +connection with the case, while at the same time his instinct as a +lawyer, and I had almost added, lover, told him that justice must be +done. I saw at once how, accustomed as he was to weigh evidence, he had +immediately seen the justification for O’Connor’s arrest of the +Millefleurs. + +“More than that,” added Kennedy, after examining the fibres of the +paper under a microscope, “all these notes are written on the same kind +of paper. That first torn note to Miss Blaisdell was written right in +the Novella and left so as to seem to have been sent in from outside.” + +It was early the following morning when Kennedy roused me with the +remark: “I think I’ll go up to the hospital. Do you want to come along? +We’ll stop for Barron on the way. There is a little experiment I want +to try on that girl up there.” + +When we arrived, the nurse in charge of the ward told us that her +patient had passed a fairly good night, but that now that the influence +of the drug had worn off she was again restless and still repeating the +words that she had said over and over before. Nor had she been able to +give any clearer account of herself. Apparently she had been alone in +the city, for although there was a news item about her in the morning +papers, so far no relative or friend had called to identify her. + +Kennedy had placed himself directly before her, listening intently to +her ravings. Suddenly he managed to fix her eye, as if by a sort of +hypnotic influence. + +“Agnes!” he called in a sharp tone. + +The name seemed to arrest her fugitive attention. Before she could +escape from his mental grasp again he added: “Your date-book is full. +Aren’t you going to the Novella this morning?” + +The change in her was something wonderful to see. It was as though she +had come out of a trance. She sat up in bed and gazed about blankly. + +“Yes, yes, I must go,” she cried as if it were the most natural thing +in the world. Then she realised the strange surroundings and faces. +“Where is my hat—wh-where am I? What has happened?” + +“You are all right,” soothed Kennedy gently. “Now rest. Try to forget +everything for a little while, and you will be all right. You are among +friends.” + +As Kennedy led us out she fell back, now physically exhausted, on the +pillow. + +“I told you, Barron,” he whispered, “that there was more to this case +than you imagined. Unwittingly you brought me a very important +contribution to a case of which the papers are full this morning, the +case of the murdered actress, Blanche Blaisdell.” + + + + +IV + +THE BEAUTY SHOP + + +It was only after a few hours that Kennedy thought it wise to try to +question the poor girl at the hospital. Her story was simple enough in +itself, but it certainly complicated matters considerably without +throwing much light on the case. She had been busy because her day was +full, and she had yet to dress the hair of Miss Blaisdell for her play +that night. Several times she had been interrupted by impatient +messages from the actress in her little dressing-booth, and one of the +girls had already demolished the previous hair-dressing in order to +save time. Once Agnes had run down for a few seconds to reassure her +that she would be through in time. + +She had found the actress reading a newspaper, and when Kennedy +questioned her she remembered seeing a note lying on the dresser. +“Agnes,” Miss Blaisdell had said, “will you go into the writing-room +and bring me some paper, a pen, and ink? I don’t want to go in there +this way. There’s a dear good girl.” Agnes had gone, though it was +decidedly no part of her duty as one of the highest paid employes of +the Novella. But they all envied the popular actress, and were ready to +do anything for her. The next thing she remembered was finishing the +coiffure she was working on and going to Miss Blaisdell. There lay the +beautiful actress. The light in the corridor had not been lighted yet, +and it was dark. Her lips and mouth seemed literally to shine. Agnes +called her, but she did not move; she touched her, but she was cold. +Then she screamed and fled. That was the last she remembered. + +“The little writing-room,” reasoned Kennedy as we left the poor little +hair-dresser quite exhausted by her narrative, “was next to the sanctum +of Millefleur, where they found that bottle of ether phosphore and the +oil of turpentine. Some one who knew of that note or perhaps wrote it +must have reasoned that an answer would be written immediately. That +person figured that the note would be the next thing written and that +the top envelope of the pile would be used. That person knew of the +deadly qualities of too much phosphorised ether, and painted the gummed +flap of the envelope with several grains of it. The reasoning held +good, for Agnes took the top envelope with its poisoned flap to Miss +Blaisdell. No, there was no chance about that. It was all clever, quick +reasoning.” + +“But,” I objected, “how about the oil of turpentine?” + +“Simply to remove the traces of the poison. I think you will see why +that was attempted before we get through.” + +Kennedy would say no more, but I was content because I could see that +he was now ready to put his theories, whatever they were, to the final +test. He spent the rest of the day working at the hospital with Dr. +Barron, adjusting a very delicate piece of apparatus down in a special +room, in the basement. I saw it, but I had no idea what it was or what +its use might be. + +Close to the wall was a stereopticon which shot a beam of light through +a tube to which I heard them refer as a galvanometer, about three feet +distant. In front of this beam whirled a five-spindled wheel, governed +by a chronometer which erred only a second a day. Between the poles of +the galvanometer was stretched a slender thread of fused quartz plated +with silver, only one one-thousandth of a millimetre in diameter, so +tenuous that it could not be seen except in a bright light. It was a +thread so slender that it might have been spun by a microscopic spider. + +Three feet farther away was a camera with a moving film of sensitised +material, the turning of which was regulated by a little flywheel. The +beam of light focused on the thread in the galvanometer passed to the +photographic film, intercepted only by the five spindles of the wheel, +which turned once a second, thus marking the picture off into exact +fifths of a second. The vibrations of the microscopic quartz thread +were enormously magnified on the sensitive film by a lens and resulted +in producing a long zig-zag, wavy line. The whole was shielded by a +wooden hood which permitted no light, except the slender ray, to strike +it. The film revolved slowly across the field, its speed regulated by +the flywheel, and all moved by an electric motor. + +I was quite surprised, then, when Kennedy told me that the final tests +which he was arranging were not to be held at the hospital at all, but +in his laboratory, the scene of so many of his scientific triumphs over +the cleverest of criminals. + +While he and Dr. Barren were still fussing with the machine he +despatched me on the rather ticklish errand of gathering together all +those who had been at the Novella at the time and might possibly prove +important in the case. + +My first visit was to Hugh Dayton, whom I found in his bachelor +apartment on Madison Avenue, apparently waiting for me. One of +O’Connor’s men had already warned him that any attempt to evade putting +in an appearance when he was wanted would be of no avail. He had been +shadowed from the moment that it was learned that he was a patient of +Millefleur’s and had been at the Novella that fatal afternoon. He +seemed to realise that escape was impossible. Dayton was one of those +typical young fellows, tall, with sloping shoulders and a carefully +acquired English manner, whom one sees in scores on Fifth Avenue late +in the afternoon. His face, which on the stage was forceful and +attractive, was not prepossessing at close range. Indeed it showed too +evident marks of excesses, both physical and moral, and his hand was +none too steady. Still, he was an interesting personality, if not +engaging. + +I was also charged with delivering a note to Burke Collins at his +office. The purport of it was, I knew, a request couched in language +that veiled a summons that Mrs. Collins was of great importance in +getting at the truth, and that if he needed an excuse himself for being +present it was suggested that he appear as protecting his wife’s +interests as a lawyer. Kennedy had added that I might tell him orally +that he would pass over the scandal as lightly as possible and spare +the feelings of both as much as he could. I was rather relieved when +this mission was accomplished, for I had expected Collins to demur +violently. + +Those who gathered that night, sitting expectantly in the little +armchairs which Kennedy’s students used during his lectures, included +nearly every one who could cast any light on what had happened at the +Novella. Professor and Madame Millefleur were brought up from the house +of detention, to which both O’Connor and Dr. Leslie had insisted that +they be sent. Millefleur was still bewailing the fate of the Novella, +and Madame had begun to show evidences of lack of the constant +beautification which she was always preaching as of the utmost +importance to her patrons. Agnes was so far recovered as to be able to +be present, though I noticed that she avoided the Millefleurs and sat +as far from them as possible. + +Burke Collins and Mrs. Collins arrived together. I had expected that +there would be an icy coolness if not positive enmity between them. +They were not exactly cordial, though somehow I seemed to feel that now +that the cause of estrangement was removed a tactful mutual friend +might have brought about a reconciliation. Hugh Dayton swaggered in, +his nervousness gone or at least controlled. I passed behind him once, +and the odour that smote my olfactory sense told me too plainly that he +had fortified himself with a stimulant on his way from the apartment to +the laboratory. Of course O’Connor and Dr. Leslie were there, though in +the background. + +It was a silent gathering, and Kennedy did not attempt to relieve the +tension even by small talk as he wrapped the forearms of each of us +with cloths steeped in a solution of salt. Upon these cloths he placed +little plates of German silver to which were attached wires which led +back of a screen. At last he was ready to begin. + +“The long history of science,” he began as he emerged from behind the +screen, “is filled with instances of phenomena, noted at first only for +their beauty or mystery, which have been later proved to be of great +practical value to mankind. A new example is the striking phenomenon of +luminescence. Phosphorus, discovered centuries ago, was first merely a +curiosity. Now it is used for many practical things, and one of the +latest uses is as a medicine. It is a constituent of the body, and many +doctors believe that the lack of it causes, and that its presence will +cure, many ills. But it is a virulent and toxic drug, and no physician +except one who knows his business thoroughly should presume to handle +it. Whoever made a practice of using it at the Novella did not know his +business, or he would have used it in pills instead of in the nauseous +liquid. It is not with phosphorised ether as a medicine that we have to +deal in this case. It is with the stuff as a poison, a poison +administered by a demon.” + +Craig shot the word out so that it had its full effect on his little +audience. Then he paused, lowered his voice, and resumed on a new +subject. + +“Up in the Washington Heights Hospital,” he went on, “is an apparatus +which records the secrets of the human heart. That is no figure of +speech, but a cold scientific fact. This machine records every +variation of the pulsations of the heart with such exquisite accuracy +that it gives Dr. Barron, who is up there now, not merely a diagram of +the throbbing organ of each of you seated here in my laboratory a mile +away, but a sort of moving-picture of the emotions by which each heart +here is swayed. Not only can Dr. Barron diagnose disease, but he can +detect love, hate, fear, joy, anger, and remorse. This machine is known +as the Einthoven ‘string galvanometer,’ invented by that famous Dutch +physiologist of Leyden.” + +There was a perceptible movement in our little audience at the thought +that the little wires that ran back of the screen from the arms of each +were connected with this uncanny instrument so far away. + +“It is all done by the electric current that the heart itself +generates,” pursued Kennedy, hammering home the new and startling idea. +“That current is one of the feeblest known to science, for the dynamo +that generates it is no ponderous thing of copper wire and steel +castings. It is just the heart itself. The heart sends over the wire +its own telltale record to the machine which registers it. The thing +takes us all the way back to Galvani, who was the first to observe and +study animal electricity. The heart makes only one three-thousandth of +a volt of electricity at each beat. It would take over two hundred +thousand men to light one of these incandescent lamps, two million or +more to run a trolley-car. Yet just that slight little current is +enough to sway the gossamer strand of quartz fibre up there at what we +call the ‘heart station.’ So fine is this machine that the +pulse-tracings produced by the sphygmograph, which I have used in other +cases up to this time, are clumsy and inexact.” + +Again he paused as if to let the fear of discovery sink deep into the +minds of all of us. + +“This current, as I have said, passes from each one of you in turn over +a wire and vibrates a fine quartz fibre up there in unison with each +heart here. It is one of the most delicate bits of mechanism ever made, +beside which the hairspring of a watch is coarse. Each of you in turn, +is being subjected to this test. More than that, the record up there +shows not only the beats of the heart but the successive waves of +emotion that vary the form of those beats. Every normal individual +gives what we call an ‘electro-cardiogram,’ which follows a certain +type. The photographic film on which this is being recorded is ruled so +that at the heart station Dr. Barron can read it. There are five waves +to each heart-beat, which he letters P, Q, R, S, and T, two below and +three above a base line on the film. They have all been found to +represent a contraction of a certain portion of the heart. Any change +of the height, width, or time of any one of those lines shows that +there is some defect or change in the contraction of that part of the +heart. Thus Dr. Barron, who has studied this thing carefully, can tell +infallibly not only disease but emotion.” + +It seemed as if no one dared look at his neighbour, as if all were +trying vainly to control the beating of their own hearts. + +“Now,” concluded Kennedy solemnly as if to force the last secret from +the wildly beating heart of some one in the room, “it is my belief that +the person who had access to the operating-room of the Novella was a +person whose nerves were run down, and in addition to any other +treatment that person was familiar with the ether phosphore. This +person knew Miss Blaisdell well, saw her there, knew she was there for +the purpose of frustrating that person’s own dearest hopes. That person +wrote her the note, and knowing that she would ask for paper and an +envelope in order to answer it, poisoned the flap of the envelope. +Phosphorus is a remedy for hysteria, vexatious emotions, want of +sympathy, disappointed and concealed affections—but not in the +quantities that this person lavished on that flap. Whoever it was, not +life, but death, and a ghastly death, was uppermost in that person’s +thoughts.” + +Agnes screamed. “I saw him take something and rub it on her lips, and +the brightness went away. I—I didn’t mean to tell, but, God help me, I +must.” + +“Saw whom?” demanded Kennedy, fixing her eye as he had when he had +called her back from aphasia. + +“Him—Millefleur—Miller,” she sobbed, shrinking back as if the very +confession appalled her. + +“Yes,” added Kennedy coolly, “Miller did try to remove the traces of +the poison after he discovered it, in order to protect himself and the +reputation of the Novella.” + +The telephone bell tinkled. Craig seized the receiver. + +“Yes, Barron, this is Kennedy. You received the impulses all right? +Good. And have you had time to study the records? Yes? What’s that? +Number seven? All right. I’ll see you very soon and go over the records +again with you. Good-bye.” + +“One word more,” he continued, now facing us. “The normal heart traces +its throbs in regular rhythm. The diseased or overwrought heart throbs +in degrees of irregularity that vary according to the trouble that +affects it, both organic and emotional. The expert like Barron can tell +what each wave means, just as he can tell what the lines in a spectrum +mean. He can see the invisible, hear the inaudible, feel the +intangible, with mathematical precision. Barron has now read the +electro-cardiograms. Each is a picture of the beating of the heart that +made it, and each smallest variation has a meaning to him. Every +passion, every emotion, every disease, is recorded with inexorable +truth. The person with murder in his heart cannot hide it from the +string galvanometer, nor can that person who wrote the false note in +which the very lines of the letters betray a diseased heart hide that +disease. The doctor tells me that that person was number—” + +Mrs. Collins had risen wildly and was standing before us with blazing +eyes. “Yes,” she cried, pressing her hands on her breast as if it were +about to burst and tell the secret before her lips could frame the +words, “yes, I killed her, and I would follow her to the end of the +earth if I had not succeeded. She was there, the woman who had stolen +from me what was more than life itself. Yes, I wrote the note, I +poisoned the envelope. I killed her.” + +All the intense hatred that she had felt for that other woman in the +days that she had vainly striven to equal her in beauty and win back +her husband’s love broke forth. She was wonderful, magnificent, in her +fury. She was passion personified; she was fate, retribution. + +Collins looked at his wife, and even he felt the spell. It was not +crime that she had done; it was elemental justice. + +For a moment she stood, silent, facing Kennedy. Then the colour slowly +faded from her cheeks. She reeled. + +Collins caught her and imprinted a kiss, the kiss that for years she +had longed and striven for again. She looked rather than spoke +forgiveness as he held her and showered them on her. + +“Before Heaven,” I heard him whisper into her ear, “with all my power +as a lawyer I will free you from this.” + +Gently Dr. Leslie pushed him aside and felt her pulse as she dropped +limply into the only easy chair in the laboratory. + +“O’Connor,” he said at length, “all the evidence that we really have +hangs on an invisible thread of quartz a mile away. If Professor +Kennedy agrees, let us forget what has happened here to-night. I will +direct my jury to bring in a verdict of suicide. Collins, take good +care of her.” He leaned over and whispered so she could not hear. “I +wouldn’t promise her six weeks otherwise.” + +I could not help feeling deeply moved as the newly reunited Collinses +left the laboratory together. Even the bluff deputy, O’Connor, was +touched by it and under the circumstances did what seemed to him his +higher duty with a tact of which I had believed him scarcely capable. +Whatever the ethics of the case, he left it entirely to Dr. Leslie’s +coroner’s jury to determine. + +Burke Collins was already making hasty preparations for the care of his +wife so that she might have the best medical attention to prolong her +life for the few weeks or months before nature exacted the penalty +which was denied the law. + +“That’s a marvellous piece of apparatus,” I remarked, standing over the +connections with the string galvanometer, after all had gone. “Just +suppose the case had fallen into the hands of some of these +old-fashioned detectives—” + +“I hate post-mortems—on my own cases,” interrupted Kennedy brusquely. +“To-morrow will be time enough to clear up this mess. Meanwhile, let us +get this thing out of our minds.” + +He clapped his hat on his head decisively and deliberately walked out +of the laboratory, starting off at a brisk pace in the moonlight across +the campus to the avenue where now the only sound was the noisy rattle +of an occasional trolley car. + +How long we walked I do not know. But I do know that for genuine +relaxation after a long period of keen mental stress, there is nothing +like physical exercise. We turned into our apartment, roused the sleepy +hall-boy, and rode up. + +“I suppose people think I never rest,” remarked Kennedy, carefully +avoiding any reference to the exciting events of the past two days. +“But I do. Like every one else, I have to. When I am working hard on a +case—well, I have my own violent reaction against it—more work of a +different kind. Others choose white lights, red wines and blue feelings +afterwards. But I find, when I reach that state, that the best +anti-toxin is something that will chase the last case from your brain +by getting you in trim for the next unexpected event.” + +He had sunk into an easy chair where he was running over in his mind +his own plans for the morrow. + +“Just now I must recuperate by doing no work at all,” he went on slowly +undressing. “That walk was just what I needed. When the fever of +dissipation comes on again, I’ll call on you. You won’t miss anything, +Walter.” + +Like the famous Finnegan, however, he was on again and gone again in +the morning. This time I had no misgivings, although I should have +liked to accompany him, for on the library table he had scrawled a +little note, “Studying East Side to-day. Will keep in touch with you. +Craig.” My daily task of transcribing my notes was completed and I +thought I would run down to the Star to let the editor know how I was +getting along on my assignment. + +I had scarcely entered the door when the office boy thrust a message +into my hand. It stopped me even before I had a chance to get as far as +my own desk. It was from Kennedy at the laboratory and bore a time +stamp that showed that it must have been received only a few minutes +before I came in. + +“Meet me at the Grand Central,” it read, “immediately.” + +Without going further into the office, I turned and dropped down in the +elevator to the subway. As quickly as an express could take me, I +hurried up to the new station. + +“Where away?” I asked breathlessly, as Craig met me at the entrance +through which he had reasoned I would come. “The coast or Down East?” + +“Woodrock,” he replied quickly, taking my arm and dragging me down a +ramp to the train that was just leaving for that fashionable suburb. + +“Well,” I queried eagerly, as the train started. “Why all this secrecy?” + +“I had a caller this afternoon,” he began, running his eye over the +other passengers to see if we were observed. “She is going back on this +train. I am not to recognise her at the station, but you and I are to +walk to the end of the platform and enter a limousine bearing that +number.” + +He produced a card on the back of which was written a number in six +figures. Mechanically I glanced at the name as he handed the card to +me. Craig was watching intently the expression on my face as I read, +“Miss Yvonne Brixton.” + +“Since when were you admitted into society?” I gasped, still staring at +the name of the daughter of the millionaire banker, John Brixton. + +“She came to tell me that her father is in a virtual state of siege, as +it were, up there in his own house,” explained Kennedy in an undertone, +“so much so that, apparently, she is the only person he felt he dared +trust with a message to summon me. Practically everything he says or +does is spied on; he can’t even telephone without what he says being +known.” + +“Siege?” I repeated incredulously. “Impossible. Why, only this morning +I was reading about his negotiations with a foreign syndicate of +bankers from southeastern Europe for a ten-million-dollar loan to +relieve the money stringency there. Surely there must be some mistake +in all this. In fact, as I recall it, one of the foreign bankers who is +trying to interest him is that Count Wachtmann who, everybody says, is +engaged to Miss Brixton, and is staying at the house at Woodrock. +Craig, are you sure nobody is hoaxing you?” + +“Read that,” he replied laconically, handing me a piece of thin +letter-paper such as is often used for foreign correspondence. “Such +letters have been coming to Mr. Brixton, I understand, every day.” + +The letter was in a cramped foreign scrawl: + + JOHN BRIXTON, Woodrock, New York. + + American dollars must not endanger the peace of Europe. Be + warned in time. In the name of liberty and progress we have + raised the standard of conflict without truce or quarter + against reaction. If you and the American bankers associated + with you take up these bonds you will never live to receive + the first payment of interest. + + THE RED BROTHERHOOD OF THE BALKANS. + +I looked up inquiringly. “What is the Red Brotherhood?” I asked. + +“As nearly as I can make out,” replied Kennedy, “it seems to be a sort +of international secret society. I believe it preaches the gospel of +terror and violence in the cause of liberty and union of some of the +peoples of southeastern Europe. Anyhow, it keeps its secrets well. The +identity of the members is a mystery, as well as the source of its +funds, which, it is said, are immense.” + +“And they operate so secretly that Brixton can trust no one about him?” +I asked. + +“I believe he is ill,” explained Craig. “At any rate, he evidently +suspects almost every one about him except his daughter. As nearly as I +could gather, however, he does not suspect Wachtmann himself. Miss +Brixton seemed to think that there were some enemies of the Count at +work. Her father is a secretive man. Even to her, the only message he +would entrust was that he wanted to see me immediately.” + +At Woodrock we took our time in getting off the train. Miss Brixton, a +tall, dark-haired, athletic girl just out of college, had preceded us, +and as her own car shot out from the station platform we leisurely +walked down and entered another bearing the number she had given +Kennedy. + +We seemed to be expected at the house. Hardly had we been admitted +through the door from the porte-cochere, than we were led through a +hall to a library at the side of the house. From the library we entered +another door, then down a flight of steps which must have brought us +below an open courtyard on the outside, under a rim of the terrace in +front of the house for a short distance to a point where we descended +three more steps. + +At the head of these three steps was a great steel and iron door with +heavy bolts and a combination lock of a character ordinarily found only +on a safe in a banking institution. + +The door was opened, and we descended the steps, going a little farther +in the same direction away from the side of the house. Then we turned +at a right angle facing toward the back of the house but well to one +side of it. It must have been, I figured out later, underneath the open +courtyard. A few steps farther brought us to a fair-sized, vaulted room. + + + + +V + +THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT + + +Brixton had evidently been waiting impatiently for our arrival. “Mr. +Kennedy?” he inquired, adding quickly without waiting for an answer: “I +am glad to see you. I suppose you have noticed the precautions we are +taking against intruders? Yet it seems to be all of no avail. I can not +be alone even here. If a telephone message comes to me over my private +wire, if I talk with my own office in the city, it seems that it is +known. I don’t know what to make of it. It is terrible. I don’t know +what to expect next.” + +Brixton had been standing beside a huge mahogany desk as we entered. I +had seen him before at a distance as a somewhat pompous speaker at +banquets and the cynosure of the financial district. But there was +something different about his looks now. He seemed to have aged, to +have grown yellower. Even the whites of his eyes were yellow. + +I thought at first that perhaps it might be the effect of the light in +the centre of the room, a huge affair set in the ceiling in a sort of +inverted hemisphere of glass, concealing and softening the rays of a +powerful incandescent bulb which it enclosed. It was not the light that +gave him the altered appearance, as I concluded from catching a casual +confirmatory glance of perplexity from Kennedy himself. + +“My personal physician says I am suffering from jaundice,” explained +Brixton. Rather than seeming to be offended at our notice of his +condition he seemed to take it as a good evidence of Kennedy’s keenness +that he had at once hit on one of the things that were weighing on +Brixton’s own mind. “I feel pretty badly, too. Curse it,” he added +bitterly, “coming at a time when it is absolutely necessary that I +should have all my strength to carry through a negotiation that is only +a beginning, important not so much for myself as for the whole world. +It is one of the first times New York bankers have had a chance to +engage in big dealings in that part of the world. I suppose Yvonne has +shown you one of the letters I am receiving?” + +He rustled a sheaf of them which he drew from a drawer of his desk, and +continued, not waiting for Kennedy even to nod: + +“Here are a dozen or more of them. I get one or two every day, either +here or at my town house or at the office.” + +Kennedy had moved forward to see them. + +“One moment more,” Brixton interrupted, still holding them. “I shall +come back to the letters. That is not the worst. I’ve had threatening +letters before. Have you noticed this room?” + +We had both seen and been impressed by it. + +“Let me tell you more about it,” he went on. “It was designed +especially to be, among other things, absolutely soundproof.” + +We gazed curiously about the strong room. It was beautifully decorated +and furnished. On the walls was a sort of heavy, velvety green +wall-paper. Exquisite hangings were draped about, and on the floor were +thick rugs. In all I noticed that the prevailing tint was green. + +“I had experiments carried out,” he explained languidly, “with the +object of discovering methods and means for rendering walls and +ceilings capable of effective resistance to sound transmission. One of +the methods devised involved the use under the ceiling or parallel to +the wall, as the case might be, of a network of wire stretched tightly +by means of pulleys in the adjacent walls and not touching at any point +the surface to be protected against sound. Upon the wire network is +plastered a composition formed of strong glue, plaster of Paris, and +granulated cork, so as to make a flat slab, between which and the wall +or ceiling is a cushion of confined air. The method is good in two +respects: the absence of contact between the protective and protected +surfaces and the colloid nature of the composition used. I have gone +into the thing at length because it will make all the more remarkable +what I am about to tell you.” + +Kennedy had been listening attentively. As Brixton proceeded I had +noticed Kennedy’s nostrils dilating almost as if he were a hound and +had scented his quarry. I sniffed, too. Yes, there was a faint odour, +almost as if of garlic in the room. It was unmistakable. Craig was +looking about curiously, as if to discover a window by which the odour +might have entered. Brixton, with his eyes following keenly every move, +noticed him. + +“More than that” he added quickly, “I have had the most perfect system +of modern ventilation installed in this room, absolutely independent +from that in the house.” + +Kennedy said nothing. + +“A moment ago, Mr. Kennedy, I saw you and Mr. Jameson glancing up at +the ceiling. Sound-proof as this room is, or as I believe it to be, +I—I hear voices, voices from—not through, you understand, but +from—that very ceiling. I do not hear them now. It is only at certain +times when I am alone. They repeat the words in some of these +letters—‘You must not take up those bonds. You must not endanger the +peace of the world. You will never live to get the interest.’ Over and +over I have heard such sentences spoken in this very room. I have +rushed out and up the corridor. There has been no one there. I have +locked the steel door. Still I have heard the voices. And it is +absolutely impossible that a human being could get close enough to say +them without my knowing and finding out where he is.” + +Kennedy betrayed by not so much as the motion of a muscle even a shade +of a doubt of Brixton’s incredible story. Whether because he believed +it or because he was diplomatic, Craig took the thing at its face +value. He moved a blotter so that he could stand on the top of +Brixton’s desk in the centre of the room. Then he unfastened and took +down the glass hemisphere over the light. + +“It is an Osram lamp of about a hundred candlepower, I should judge,” +he observed. + +Apparently he had satisfied himself that there was nothing concealed in +the light itself. Laboriously, with such assistance as the memory of +Mr. Brixton could give, he began tracing out the course of both the +electric light and telephone wires that led down into the den. + +Next came a close examination of the ceiling and side walls, the floor, +the hangings, the pictures, the rugs, everything. Kennedy was tapping +here and there all over the wall, as if to discover whether there was +any such hollow sound as a cavity might make. There was none. + +A low exclamation from him attracted my attention, though it escaped +Brixton. His tapping had raised the dust from the velvety wall-paper +wherever he had tried it. Hastily, from a corner where it would not be +noticed, he pulled off a piece of the paper and stuffed it into his +pocket. Then followed a hasty examination of the intake of the +ventilating apparatus. + +Apparently satisfied with his examination of things in the den, Craig +now prepared to trace out the course of the telephone and light wires +in the house. Brixton excused himself, asking us to join him in the +library up-stairs after Craig had completed his investigation. + +Nothing was discovered by tracing the lines back, as best we could, +from the den. Kennedy therefore began at the other end, and having +found the points in the huge cellar of the house where the main trunk +and feed wires entered, he began a systematic search in that direction. + +A separate line led, apparently, to the den, and where this line +feeding the Osram lamp passed near a dark storeroom in a corner Craig +examined more closely than ever. Seemingly his search was rewarded, for +he dived into the dark storeroom and commenced lighting matches +furiously to discover what was there. + +“Look, Walter,” he exclaimed, holding a match so that I could see what +he had unearthed. There, in a corner concealed by an old chest of +drawers, stood a battery of five storage-cells connected with an +instrument that looked very much like a telephone transmitter, a +rheostat, and a small transformer coil. + +“I suppose this is a direct-current lighting circuit,” he remarked, +thoughtfully regarding his find. “I think I know what this is, all +right. Any amateur could do it, with a little knowledge of electricity +and a source of direct current. The thing is easily constructed, the +materials are common, and a wonderfully complicated result can be +obtained. What’s this?” + +He had continued to poke about in the darkness as he was speaking. In +another corner he had discovered two ordinary telephone receivers. + +“Connected up with something, too, by George!” he ejaculated. + +Evidently some one had tapped the regular telephone wires running into +the house, had run extensions into the little storeroom, and was +prepared to overhear everything that was said either to or by those in +the house. + +Further examination disclosed that there were two separate telephone +systems running into Brixton’s house. One, with its many extensions, +was used by the household and by the housekeeper; the other was the +private wire which led, ultimately, down into Brixton’s den. No sooner +had he discovered it than Kennedy became intensely interested. For the +moment he seemed entirely to forget the electric-light wires and became +absorbed in tracing out the course of the telephone trunk-line and its +extensions. Continued search rewarded him with the discovery that both +the household line and the private line were connected by hastily +improvised extensions with the two receivers he had discovered in the +out-of-the-way corner of a little dark storeroom. + +“Don’t disturb a thing,” remarked Kennedy, cautiously picking up even +the burnt matches he had dropped in his hasty search. “We must devise +some means of catching the eavesdropper red handed. It has all the +marks of being an inside job.” + +We had completed our investigation of the basement without attracting +any attention, and Craig was careful to make it seem that in entering +the library we came from the den, not from the cellar. As we waited in +the big leather chairs Kennedy was sketching roughly on a sheet of +paper the plan of the house, drawing in the location of the various +wires. + +The door opened. We had expected John Brixton. Instead, a tall, spare +foreigner with a close-cropped moustache entered. I knew at once that +it must be Count Wachtmann, although I had never seen him. + +“Ah, I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed in English which betrayed that he +had been under good teachers in London. “I thought Miss Brixton was +here.” + +“Count Wachtmann?” interrogated Kennedy, rising. + +“The same,” he replied easily, with a glance of inquiry at us. + +“My friend and I are from the Star” said Kennedy. + +“Ah! Gentlemen of the press?” He elevated his eyebrows the fraction of +an inch. It was so politely contemptuous that I could almost have +throttled him. + +“We are waiting to see Mr. Brixton,” explained Kennedy. + +“What is the latest from the Near East?” Wachtmann asked, with the air +of a man expecting to hear what he could have told you yesterday if he +had chosen. + +There was a movement of the portieres, and a woman entered. She stopped +a moment. I knew it was Miss Brixton. She had recognised Kennedy, but +her part was evidently to treat him as a total stranger. + +“Who are these men, Conrad?” she asked, turning to Wachtmann. + +“Gentlemen of the press, I believe, to see your father, Yvonne,” +replied the count. + +It was evident that it had not been mere newspaper talk about this +latest rumored international engagement. + +“How did you enjoy it?” he asked, noticing the title of a history which +she had come to replace in the library. + +“Very well—all but the assassinations and the intrigues,” she replied +with a little shudder. + +He shot a quick, searching look at her face. “They are a violent +people—some of them,” he commented quickly. + +“You are going into town to-morrow?” I heard him ask Miss Brixton, as +they walked slowly down the wide hall to the conservatory a few moments +later. + +“What do you think of him?” I whispered to Kennedy. + +I suppose my native distrust of his kind showed through, for Craig +merely shrugged his shoulders. Before he could reply Mr. Brixton joined +us. + +“There’s another one—just came,” he ejaculated, throwing a letter down +on the library table. It was only a few lines this time: + +“The bonds will not be subject to a tax by the government, they say. +No—because if there is a war there won’t be any government to tax +them!” + +The note did not appear to interest Kennedy as much as what he had +discovered. “One thing is self-evident, Mr. Brixton,” he remarked. +“Some one inside this house is spying, is in constant communication +with a person or persons outside. All the watchmen and Great Danes on +the estate are of no avail against the subtle, underground connection +that I believe exists. It is still early in the afternoon. I shall make +a hasty trip to New York and return after dinner. I should like to +watch with you in the den this evening.” + +“Very well,” agreed Brixton. “I shall arrange to have you met at the +station and brought here as secretly as I can.” + +He sighed, as if admitting that he was no longer master of even his own +house. + +Kennedy was silent during most of our return trip to New York. As for +myself, I was deeply mired in an attempt to fathom Wachtmann. He +baffled me. However, I felt that if there was indeed some subtle, +underground connection between some one inside and someone outside +Brixton’s house, Craig would prepare an equally subtle method of +meeting it on his own account. Very little was said by either of us on +the journey up to the laboratory, or on the return to Woodrock. I +realised that there was very little excuse for a commuter not to be +well informed. I, at least, had plenty of time to exhaust the +newspapers I had bought. + +Whether or not we returned without being observed, I did not know, but +at least we did find that the basement and dark storeroom were +deserted, as we cautiously made our way again it to the corner where +Craig had made his enigmatical discoveries of the afternoon. + +While I held a pocket flashlight Craig was busy concealing another +instrument of his own in the little storeroom. It seemed to be a little +black disk about as big as a watch, with a number of perforated holes +in one face. Carelessly he tossed it into the top drawer of the chest +under some old rubbish, shut the drawer tight and ran a flexible wire +out of the back of the chest. It was a simple matter to lay the wire +through some bins next the storeroom and then around to the passageway +down to the subterranean den of Brixton. There Craig deposited a little +black box about the size of an ordinary kodak. + +For an hour or so we sat with Brixton. Neither of us said anything, and +Brixton was uncommunicatively engaged in reading a railroad report. +Suddenly a sort of muttering, singing noise seemed to fill the room. + +“There it is!” cried Brixton, clapping the book shut and looking +eagerly at Kennedy. + +Gradually the sound increased in pitch. It seemed to come from the +ceiling, not from any particular part of the room, but merely from +somewhere overhead. There was no hallucination about it. We all heard. +As the vibrations increased it was evident that they were shaping +themselves into words. + +Kennedy had grasped the black box the moment the sound began and was +holding two black rubber disks to his ears. + +At last the sound from overhead became articulate It was weird, +uncanny. Suddenly a voice said distinctly: “Let American dollars +beware. They will not protect American daughters.” + +Craig had dropped the two ear-pieces and was gazing intently at the +Osram lamp in the ceiling. Was he, too, crazy? + +“Here, Mr. Brixton, take these two receivers of the detectaphone,” said +Kennedy. “Tell me whether you can recognise the voice.” + +“Why, it’s familiar,” he remarked slowly. “I can’t place it, but I’ve +heard it before. Where is it? What is this thing, anyhow?” + +“It is someone hidden in the storeroom in the basement,” answered +Craig. “He is talking into a very sensitive telephone transmitter and—” + +“But the voice—here?” interrupted Brixton impatiently. + +Kennedy pointed to the incandescent lamp in the ceiling. “The +incandescent lamp,” he said, “is not always the mute electrical +apparatus it is supposed to be. Under the right conditions it can be +made to speak exactly as the famous ‘speaking-arc,’ as it was called by +Professor Duddell, who investigated it. Both the arc-light and the +metal-filament lamp can be made to act as telephone receivers.” + +It seemed unbelievable, but Kennedy was positive. “In the case of the +speaking-arc or ‘arcophone,’ as it might be called,” he continued, “the +fact that the electric arc is sensitive to such small variations in the +current over a wide range of frequency has suggested that a +direct-current arc might be used as a telephone receiver. All that is +necessary is to superimpose a microphone current on the main arc +current, and the arc reproduces sounds and speech distinctly, loud +enough to be heard several feet. Indeed, the arc could be used as a +transmitter, too, if a sensitive receiver replaced the transmitter at +the other end. The things needed are an arc-lamp, an impedance coil, or +small transformer-coil, a rheostat, and a source of energy. The +alternating current is not adapted to reproduce speech, but the +ordinary direct current is. Of course, the theory isn’t half as simple +as the apparatus I have described.” + +He had unscrewed the Osram lamp. The talking ceased immediately. + +“Two investigators named Ort and Ridger have used a lamp like this as a +receiver,” he continued. “They found that words spoken were reproduced +in the lamp. The telephonic current variations superposed on the +current passing through the lamp produce corresponding variations of +heat in the filament, which are radiated to the glass of the bulb, +causing it to expand and contract proportionately, and thus +transmitting vibrations to the exterior air. Of course, in sixteen-and +thirty-two-candle-power lamps the glass is too thick, and the heat +variations are too feeble.” + +Who was it whose voice Brixton had recognised as familiar over +Kennedy’s hastily installed detectaphone? Certainly he must have been a +scientist of no mean attainment. That did not surprise me, for I +realised that from that part of Europe where this mystical Red +Brotherhood operated some of the most famous scientists of the world +had sprung. + +A hasty excursion into the basement netted us nothing. The place was +deserted. + +We could only wait. With parting instructions to Brixton in the use of +the detectaphone we said good night, were met by a watchman and +escorted as far as the lodge safely. + +Only one remark did Kennedy make as we settled ourselves for the long +ride in the accommodation train to the city. “That warning means that +we have two people to protect—both Brixton and his daughter.” + +Speculate as I might, I could find no answer to the mystery, nor to the +question, which was also unsolved, as to the queer malady of Brixton +himself, which his physician diagnosed as jaundice. + + + + +VI + +THE DETECTAPHONE + + +Far after midnight though it had been when we had at last turned in at +our apartment, Kennedy was up even earlier than usual in the morning. I +found him engrossed in work at the laboratory. + +“Just in time to see whether I’m right in my guess about the illness of +Brixton,” he remarked, scarcely looking up at me. + +He had taken a flask with a rubber stopper. Through one hole in it was +fitted a long funnel; through another ran a glass tube, connecting with +a large U-shaped drying-tube filled with calcium chloride, which in +turn connected with a long open tube with an up-turned end. + +Into the flask Craig dropped some pure granulated zinc coated with +platinum. Then he covered it with dilute sulphuric acid through the +funnel tube. “That forms hydrogen gas,” he explained, “which passes +through the drying-tube and the ignition-tube. Wait a moment until all +the air is expelled from the tubes.” + +He lighted a match and touched it to the open upturned end. The +hydrogen, now escaping freely, was ignited with a pale-blue flame. + +Next, he took the little piece of wall-paper I had seen him tear off in +the den, scraped off some powder from it, dissolved it, and poured it +into the funnel-tube. + +Almost immediately the pale, bluish flame turned to bluish white, and +white fumes were formed. In the ignition-tube a sort of metallic +deposit appeared. Quickly he made one test after another. I sniffed. +There was an unmistakable smell of garlic in the air. + +“Arseniureted hydrogen,” commented Craig. “This is the Marsh test for +arsenic. That wall-paper in Brixton’s den has been loaded down with +arsenic, probably Paris green or Schweinfurth green, which is +aceto-arsenite of copper. Every minute he is there he is breathing +arseniureted hydrogen. Some one has contrived to introduce free +hydrogen into the intake of his ventilator. That acts on the arsenic +compounds in the wall-paper and hangings and sets free the gas. I +thought I knew the smell the moment I got a whiff of it. Besides, I +could tell by the jaundiced look of his face that he was being +poisoned. His liver was out of order, and arsenic seems to accumulate +in the liver.” + +“Slowly poisoned by minute quantities of gas,” I repeated in amazement. +“Some one in that Red Brotherhood is a diabolical genius. Think of +it—poisoned wall-paper!” + +It was still early in the forenoon when Kennedy excused himself, and +leaving me to my own devices disappeared on one of his excursions into +the underworld of the foreign settlements on the East Side. About the +middle of the afternoon he reappeared. As far as I could learn all that +he had found out was that the famous, or rather infamous, Professor +Michael Kumanova, one of the leaders of the Red Brotherhood, was known +to be somewhere in this country. + +We lost no time in returning again to Woodrock late that afternoon. +Craig hastened to warn Brixton of his peril from the contaminated +atmosphere of the den, and at once a servant was set to work with a +vacuum cleaner. + +Carefully Craig reconnoitred the basement where the eavesdropping +storeroom was situated. Finding it deserted, he quickly set to work +connecting the two wires of the general household telephone with what +looked very much like a seamless iron tube, perhaps six inches long and +three inches in diameter. Then he connected the tube also with the +private wire of Brixton in a similar manner. + +“This is a special repeating-coil of high efficiency,” he explained in +answer to my inquiry. “It is absolutely balanced as to resistance, +number of turns, and everything. I shall run this third line from the +coil into Brixton’s den, and then, if you like, you can accompany me on +a little excursion down to the village where I am going to install +another similar coil between the two lines at the local telephone +central station opposite the railroad.” + +Brixton met us about eight o’clock that night in his now renovated den. +Apparently, even the little change from uncertainty to certainty so far +had had a tonic effect on him. I had, however, almost given up the +illusion that it was possible for us to be even in the den without +being watched by an unseen eye. It seemed to me that to one who could +conceive of talking through an incandescent lamp seeing, even through +steel and masonry, was not impossible. + +Kennedy had brought with him a rectangular box of oak, in one of the +large faces of which were two square holes. As he replaced the black +camera-like box of the detectaphone with this oak box he remarked: +“This is an intercommunicating telephone arrangement of the +detectaphone. You see, it is more sensitive than anything of the sort +ever made before. The arrangement of these little square holes is such +as to make them act as horns or magnifiers of a double receiver. We can +all hear at once what is going on by using this machine.” + +We had not been waiting long before a peculiar noise seemed to issue +from the detectaphone. It was as though a door had been opened and shut +hastily. Some one had evidently entered the storeroom. A voice called +up the railroad station and asked for Michael Kronski, Count +Wachtmann’s chauffeur. + +“It is the voice I heard last night,” exclaimed Brixton. “By the Lord +Harry, do you know, it is Janeff the engineer who has charge of the +steam heating, the electric bells, and everything of the sort around +the place. My own engineer—I’ll land the fellow in jail before I’ll—” + +Kennedy raised his hand. “Let us hear what he has to say,” remonstrated +Craig calmly. “I suppose you have wondered why I didn’t just go down +there last night and grab the fellow. Well, you see now. It is my +invariable rule to get the man highest up. This fellow is only one +tool. Arrest him, and as likely as not we should allow the big criminal +to escape.” + +“Hello, Kronski!” came over the detectaphone. “This is Janeff. How are +things going?” + +Wachtmann’s chauffeur must have answered that everything was all right. + +“You knew that they had discovered the poisoned wall-paper?” asked +Janeff. + +A long parley followed. Finally, Janeff repeated what apparently had +been his instructions. “Now, let me see,” he said. “You want me to stay +here until the last minute so that I can overhear whether any alarm is +given for her? All right. You’re sure it is the nine-o’clock train she +is due on? Very well. I shall meet you at the ferry across the Hudson. +I’ll start from here as soon as I hear the train come in. We’ll get the +girl this time. That will bring Brixton to terms sure. You’re right. +Even if we fail this time, we’ll succeed later. Don’t fail me. I’ll be +at the ferry as soon as I can get past the guards and join you. There +isn’t a chance of an alarm from the house. I’ll cut all the wires the +last thing before I leave. Good-bye.” + +All at once it dawned on me what they were planning—the kidnapping of +Brixton’s only daughter, to hold her, perhaps, as a hostage until he +did the bidding of the gang. Wachtmann’s chauffeur was doing it and +using Wachtmann’s car, too. Was Wachtmann a party to it? + +What was to be done? I looked at my watch. It was already only a couple +of minutes of nine, when the train would be due. + +“If we could seize that fellow in the closet and start for the station +immediately we might save Yvonne,” cried Brixton, starting for the door. + +“And if they escape you make them more eager than ever to strike a blow +at you and yours,” put in Craig coolly. “No, let us get this thing +straight. I didn’t think it was as serious as this, but I’m prepared to +meet any emergency.” + +“But, man,” shouted Brixton, “you don’t suppose anything in the world +counts beside her, do you?” + +“Exactly the point,” urged Craig. “Save her and capture them—both at +once.” + +“How can you?” fumed Brixton. “If you attempt to telephone from here, +that fellow Janeff will overhear and give a warning.” + +Regardless of whether Janeff was listening or not, Kennedy was eagerly +telephoning to the Woodrock central down in the village. He was using +the transmitter and receiver that were connected with the iron tube +which he had connected to the two regular house lines. + +“Have the ferry held at any cost,” he was ordering. “Don’t let the next +boat go out until Mr. Brixton gets there, under any circumstances. Now +put that to them straight, central. You know Mr. Brixton has just a +little bit of influence around here, and somebody’s head will drop if +they let that boat go out before he gets there.” + +“Humph!” ejaculated Brixton. “Much good that will do. Why, I suppose +our friend Janeff down in the storeroom knows it all now. Come on, +let’s grab him.” + +Nevertheless there was no sound from the detectaphone which would +indicate that he had overheard and was spreading the alarm. He was +there yet, for we could hear him clear his throat once or twice. + +“No,” replied Kennedy calmly, “he knows nothing about it. I didn’t use +any ordinary means to prepare against the experts who have brought this +situation about. That message you heard me send went out over what we +call the ‘phantom circuit.’” + +“The phantom circuit?” repeated Brixton, chafing at the delay. + +“Yes, it seems fantastic at first, I suppose,” pursued Kennedy calmly; +“but, after all, it is in accordance with the laws of electricity. It’s +no use fretting and fuming, Mr. Brixton. If Janeff can wait, we’ll have +to do so, too. Suppose we should start and this Kronski should change +his plans at the last minute? How would we find it out? By telepathy? +Believe me, sir, it is better to wait here a minute and trust to the +phantom circuit than to mere chance.” + +“But suppose he should cut the line,” I put in. + +Kennedy smiled. “I have provided for that, Walter, in the way I +installed the thing. I took good care that we could not be cut off that +way. We can hear everything ourselves, but we cannot be overheard. He +knows nothing. You see, I took advantage of the fact that additional +telephones or so-called phantom lines can be superposed on existing +physical lines. It is possible to obtain a third circuit from two +similar metallic circuits by using for each side of this third circuit +the two wires of each of the other circuits in multiple. All three +circuits are independent, too. + +“The third telephone current enters the wires of the first circuit, as +it were, and returns along the wires of the second circuit. There are +several ways of doing it. One is to use retardation or choke-coils +bridged across the two metallic circuits at both ends, with taps taken +from the middle points of each. But the more desirable method is the +one you saw me install this afternoon. I introduced repeating-coils +into the circuits at both ends. Technically, the third circuit is then +taken off from the mid-points of the secondaries or line windings of +these repeating coils. + +“The current on a long-distance line is alternating in character, and +it passes readily through a repeating-coil. The only effect it has on +the transmission is slightly reducing the volume. The current passes +into the repeating-coil, then divides and passes through the two line +wires. At the other end the halves balance, so to speak. Thus, currents +passing over a phantom circuit don’t set up currents in the terminal +apparatus of the side circuits. Consequently, a conversation carried on +over the phantom circuit will not be heard in either side circuit, nor +does a conversation on one side circuit affect the phantom. We could +all talk at once without interfering with each other.” + +“At any other time I should be more than interested,” remarked Brixton +grimly, curbing his impatience to be doing something. + +“I appreciate that, sir,” rejoined Kennedy. “Ah, here it is. I have the +central down in the village. Yes? They will hold the boat for us? Good. +Thank you. The nine-o’clock train is five minutes late? Yes—what? +Count Wachtmann’s car is there? Oh, yes, the train is just pulling in. +I see. Miss Brixton has entered his car alone. What’s that? His +chauffeur has started the car without waiting for the Count, who is +coming down the platform?” + +Instantly Kennedy was on his feet. He was dashing up the corridor and +the stairs from the den and down into the basement to the little +storeroom. + +We burst into the place. It was empty. Janeff had cut the wires and +fled. There was not a moment to lose. Craig hastily made sure that he +had not discovered or injured the phantom circuit. + +“Call the fastest car you have in your garage, Mr. Brixton,” ordered +Kennedy. “Hello, hello, central! Get the lodge at the Brixton estate. +Tell them if they see the engineer Janeff going out to stop him. Alarm +the watchman and have the dogs ready. Catch him at any cost, dead, or +alive.” + +A moment later Brixton’s car raced around, and we piled in and were off +like a whirlwind. Already we could see lights moving about and hear the +baying of dogs. Personally, I wouldn’t have given much for Janeff’s +chances of escape. + +As we turned the bend in the road just before we reached the ferry, we +almost ran into two cars standing before the ferry house. It looked as +though one had run squarely in front of the other and blocked it off. +In the slip the ferry boat was still steaming and waiting. + +Beside the wrecked car a man was lying on the ground groaning, while +another man was quieting a girl whom he was leading to the waiting-room +of the ferry. + +Brixton, weak though he was from his illness, leaped out of our car +almost before we stopped and caught the girl in his arms. + +“Father!” she exclaimed, clinging to him. + +“What’s this?” he demanded sternly, eying the man. It was Wachtmann +himself. + +“Conrad saved me from that chauffeur of his,” explained Miss Brixton. +“I met him on the train, and we were going to ride up to the house +together. But before Conrad could get into the car this fellow, who had +the engine running, started it. Conrad jumped into another car that was +waiting at the station. He overlook us and dodged in front so as to cut +the chauffeur off from the ferry.” + +“Curse that villain of a chauffeur,” muttered Wachtmann, looking down +at the wounded man. + +“Do you know who he is?” asked Craig with a searching glance at +Wachtmann’s face. + +“I ought to. His name is Kronski, and a blacker devil an employment +bureau never furnished.” + +“Kronski? No,” corrected Kennedy. “It is Professor Kumanova, whom you +perhaps have heard of as a leader of the Red Brotherhood, one of the +cleverest scientific criminals who ever lived. I think you’ll have no +more trouble negotiating your loan or your love affair, Count,” added +Craig, turning on his heel. + +He was in no mood to receive the congratulations of the supercilious +Wachtmann. As far as Craig was concerned, the case was finished, +although I fancied from a flicker of his eye as he made some passing +reference to the outcome that when he came to send in a bill to Brixton +for his services he would not forget the high eyebrowed Count. + +I followed in silence as Craig climbed into the Brixton car and +explained to the banker that it was imperative that he should get back +to the city immediately. Nothing would do but that the car must take us +all the way back, while Brixton summoned another from the house for +himself. + +The ride was accomplished swiftly in record time. Kennedy said little. +Apparently the exhilaration of the on-rush of cool air was quite in +keeping with his mood, though for my part, I should have preferred +something a little more relaxing of the nervous tension. + +“We’ve been at it five days, now,” I remarked wearily as I dropped into +an easy chair in our own quarters. “Are you going to keep up this +debauch?” + +Kennedy laughed. + +“No,” he said with a twinkle of scientific mischief, “no, I’m going to +sleep it off.” + +“Thank heaven!” I muttered. + +“Because,” he went on seriously, “that case interrupted a long series +of tests I am making on the sensitiveness of selenium to light, and I +want to finish them up soon. There’s no telling when I shall be called +on to use the information.” + +I swallowed hard. He really meant it. He was laying out more work for +himself. + +Next morning I fully expected to find that he had gone. Instead he was +preparing for what he called a quiet day in the laboratory. + +“Now for some REAL work,” he smiled. “Sometimes, Walter, I feel that I +ought to give up this outside activity and devote myself entirely to +research. It is so much more important.” + +I could only stare at him and reflect on how often men wanted to do +something other than the very thing that nature had evidently intended +them to do, and on how fortunate it was that we were not always free +agents. + +He set out for the laboratory and I determined that as long as he would +not stop working, neither would I. I tried to write. Somehow I was not +in the mood. I wrote AT my story, but succeeded only in making it more +unintelligible. I was in no fit condition for it. + +It was late in the afternoon. I had made up my mind to use force, if +necessary, to separate Kennedy from his study of selenium. My idea was +that anything from the Metropolitan to the “movies” would do him good, +and I had almost carried my point when a big, severely plain black +foreign limousine pulled up with a rush at the laboratory door. A large +man in a huge fur coat jumped out and the next moment strode into the +room. He needed no introduction, for we recognised at once J. Perry +Spencer, one of the foremost of American financiers and a trustee of +the university. + +With that characteristic directness which I have always thought +accounted in large measure for his success, he wasted scarcely a word +in coming straight to the object of his visit. “Professor Kennedy,” he +began, chewing his cigar and gazing about with evident interest at the +apparatus Craig had collected in his warfare of science with crime, “I +have dropped in here as a matter of patriotism. I want you to preserve +to America those masterpieces of art and literature which I have +collected all over the world during many years. They are the objects of +one of the most curious pieces of vandalism of which I have ever heard. +Professor Kennedy,” he concluded earnestly, “could I ask you to call on +Dr. Hugo Lith, the curator of my private museum, as soon as you can +possibly find it convenient?” + +“Most assuredly, Mr. Spencer,” replied Craig, with a whimsical side +glance at me that told without words that this was better relaxation to +him than either the Metropolitan or the “movies.” “I shall be glad to +see Dr. Lith at any time—right now, if it is convenient to him.” + +The millionaire connoisseur consulted his watch. “Lith will be at the +museum until six, at least. Yes, we can catch him there. I have a +dinner engagement at seven myself. I can give you half an hour of the +time before then. If you’re ready, just jump into the car, both of you.” + +The museum to which he referred was a handsome white marble building, +in Renaissance, fronting on a side street just off Fifth Avenue and in +the rear of the famous Spencer house, itself one of the show places of +that wonderful thoroughfare. Spencer had built the museum at great cost +simply to house those treasures which were too dear to him to entrust +to a public institution. It was in the shape of a rectangle and planned +with special care as to the lighting. + +Dr. Lith, a rather stout, mild-eyed German savant, plunged directly +into the middle of things as soon as we had been introduced. “It is a +most remarkable affair, gentlemen,” he began, placing for us chairs +that must have been hundreds of years old. “At first it was only those +objects in the museum, that were green that were touched, like the +collection of famous and historic French emeralds. But soon we found it +was other things, too, that were missing—old Roman coins of gold, a +collection of watches, and I know not what else until we have gone over +the—” + +“Where is Miss White?” interrupted Spencer, who had been listening +somewhat impatiently. + +“In the library, sir. Shall I call her?” + +“No, I will go myself. I want her to tell her experience to Professor +Kennedy exactly as she told it to me. Explain while I am gone how +impossible it would be for a visitor to do one, to say nothing of all, +of the acts of vandalism we have discovered.” + + + + +VII + +THE GREEN CURSE + + +The American Medici disappeared into his main library, where Miss White +was making a minute examination to determine what damage had been done +in the realm over which she presided. + +“Apparently every book with a green binding has been mutilated in some +way,” resumed Dr. Lith, “but that was only the beginning. Others have +suffered, too, and some are even gone. It is impossible that any +visitor could have done it. Only a few personal friends of Mr. Spencer +are ever admitted here, and they are never alone. No, it is weird, +mysterious.” + +Just then Spencer returned with Miss White. She was an extremely +attractive girl, slight of figure, but with an air about her that all +the imported gowns in New York could not have conferred. They were +engaged in animated conversation, so much in contrast with the bored +air with which Spencer had listened to Dr. Lith that even I noticed +that the connoisseur was completely obliterated in the man, whose love +of beauty was by no means confined to the inanimate. I wondered if it +was merely his interest in her story that impelled Spencer. The more I +watched the girl the more I was convinced that she knew that she was +interesting to the millionaire. + +“For example,” Dr. Lith was saying, “the famous collection of emeralds +which has disappeared has always been what you Americans call +‘hoodooed.’ They have always brought ill luck, and, like many things of +the sort to which superstition attaches, they have been ‘banked,’ so to +speak, by their successive owners in museums.” + +“Are they salable; that is, could any one dispose of the emeralds or +the other curios with reasonable safety and at a good price?” + +“Oh, yes, yes,” hastened Dr. Lith, “not as collections, but separately. +The emeralds alone cost fifty thousand dollars. I believe Mr. Spencer +bought them for Mrs. Spencer some years before she died. She did not +care to wear them, however, and had them placed here.” + +I thought I noticed a shade of annoyance cross the face of the magnate. +“Never mind that,” he interrupted. “Let me introduce Miss White. I +think you will find her story one of the most uncanny you have ever +heard.” + +He had placed a chair for her and, still addressing us but looking at +her, went on: “It seems that the morning the vandalism was first +discovered she and Dr. Lith at once began a thorough search of the +building to ascertain the extent of the depredations. The search lasted +all day, and well into the night. I believe it was midnight before you +finished?” + +“It was almost twelve,” began the girl, in a musical voice that was too +Parisian to harmonize with her plain Anglo-Saxon name, “when Dr. Lith +was down here in his office checking off the objects in the catalogue +which were either injured or missing. I had been working in the +library. The noise of something like a shade flapping in the wind +attracted my attention. I listened. It seemed to come from the +art-gallery, a large room up-stairs where some of the greatest +masterpieces in this country are hung. I hurried up there. + +“Just as I reached the door a strange feeling seemed to come over me +that I was not alone in that room. I fumbled for the electric light +switch, but in my nervousness could not find it. There was just enough +light in the room to make out objects indistinctly. I thought I heard a +low, moaning sound from an old Flemish copper ewer near me. I had heard +that it was supposed to groan at night.” + +She paused and shuddered at her recollection, and looked about as if +grateful for the flood of electric light that now illuminated +everything. Spencer reached over and touched her arm to encourage her +to go on. She did not seem to resent the touch. + +“Opposite me, in the middle of the open floor,” she resumed, her eyes +dilated and her breath coming and going rapidly, “stood the mummy-case +of Ka, an Egyptian priestess of Thebes, I think. The case was empty, +but on the lid was painted a picture of the priestess! Such wonderful +eyes! They seem to pierce right through your very soul. Often in the +daytime I have stolen off to look at them. But at night—remember the +hour of night, too—oh, it was awful, terrible. The lid of the +mummy-case moved, yes, really moved, and seemed to float to one side. I +could see it. And back of that carved and painted face with the +piercing eyes was another face, a real face, real eyes, and they looked +out at me with such hatred from the place that I knew was empty—” + +She had risen and was facing us with wild terror written on her face as +if in appeal for protection against something she was powerless to +name. Spencer, who had not taken his hand off her arm, gently pressed +her back into the easy chair and finished the story. + +“She screamed and fainted. Dr. Lith heard it and rushed up-stairs. +There she lay on the floor. The lid of the sarcophagus had really been +moved. He saw it. Not a thing else had been disturbed. He carried her +down here and revived her, told her to rest for a day or two, but—” + +“I cannot, I cannot,” she cried. “It is the fascination of the thing. +It brings me back here. I dream of it. I thought I saw those eyes the +other night. They haunt me. I fear them, and yet I would not avoid +them, if it killed me to look. I must meet and defy the power. What is +it? Is it a curse four thousand years old that has fallen on me?” + +I had heard stories of mummies that rose from their sleep of centuries +to tell the fate of some one when it was hanging in the balance, of +mummies that groaned and gurgled and fought for breath, frantically +beating with their swathed hands in the witching hours of the night. +And I knew that the lure of these mummies was so strong for some people +that they were drawn irresistibly to look upon and confer with them. +Was this a case for the oculists, the spiritualists, the Egyptologists, +or for a detective? + +“I should like to examine the art gallery, in fact, go over the whole +museum,” put in Kennedy in his most matter-of-fact tone. + +Spencer, with a glance at his watch, excused himself, nodding to Dr. +Lith to show us about, and with a good night to Miss White which was +noticeable for its sympathy with her fears, said, “I shall be at the +house for another half-hour at least, in case anything really important +develops.” + +A few minutes later Miss White left for the night, with apparent +reluctance, and yet, I thought, with just a little shudder as she +looked back up the staircase that led to the art-gallery. + +Dr. Lith led us into a large vaulted marble hall and up a broad flight +of steps, past beautiful carvings and frescoes that I should have liked +to stop and admire. + +The art-gallery was a long room in the interior and at the top of the +building, windowless but lighted by a huge double skylight each half of +which must have been some eight or ten feet across. The light falling +through this skylight passed through plate glass of marvellous +transparency. One looked up at the sky as if through the air itself. + +Kennedy ignored the gallery’s profusion of priceless art for the time +and went directly to the mummy-case of the priestess Ka. + +“It has a weird history,” remarked Dr. Lith. “No less than seven +deaths, as well as many accidents, have been attributed to the malign +influence of that greenish yellow coffin. You know the ancient +Egyptians used to chant as they buried their sacred dead: ‘Woe to him +who injures the tomb. The dead shall point out the evildoer to the +Devourer of the Underworld. Soul and body shall be destroyed.’” + +It was indeed an awesome thing. It represented a woman in the robes of +an Egyptian priestess, a woman of medium height, with an inscrutable +face. The slanting Egyptian eyes did, as Miss White had said, almost +literally stare through you. I am sure that any one possessing a nature +at all affected by such things might after a few minutes gazing at them +in self-hypnotism really convince himself that the eyes moved and were +real. Even as I turned and looked the other way I felt that those +penetrating eyes were still looking at me, never asleep, always keen +and searching. + +There was no awe about Kennedy. He carefully pushed aside the lid and +peered inside. I almost expected to see some one in there. A moment +later he pulled out his magnifying-glass and carefully examined the +interior. At last he was apparently satisfied with his search. He had +narrowed his attention down to a few marks on the stone, partly in the +thin layer of dust that had collected on the bottom. + +“This was a very modern and material reincarnation,” he remarked, as he +rose. “If I am not mistaken, the apparition wore shoes, shoes with +nails in the heels, and nails that are not like those in American +shoes. I shall have to compare the marks I have found with marks I have +copied from shoe-nails in the wonderful collection of M. Bertillon. +Offhand, I should say that the shoes were of French make.” + +The library having been gone over next without anything attracting +Kennedy’s attention particularly, he asked about the basement or +cellar. Dr. Lith lighted the way, and we descended. + +Down there were innumerable huge packing-cases which had just arrived +from abroad, full of the latest consignment of art treasures which +Spencer had purchased. Apparently Dr. Lith and Miss White had been so +engrossed in discovering what damage had been done to the art treasures +above that they had not had time to examine the new ones in the +basement. + +Kennedy’s first move was to make a thorough search of all the little +grated windows and a door which led out into a sort of little areaway +for the removal of ashes and refuse. The door showed no evidence of +having been tampered with, nor did any of the windows at first sight. A +low exclamation from Kennedy brought us to his side. He had opened one +of the windows and thrust his hand out against the grating, which had +fallen on the outside pavement with a clang. The bars had been +completely and laboriously sawed through, and the whole thing had been +wedged back into place so that nothing would be detected at a cursory +glance. He was regarding the lock on the window. Apparently it was all +right; actually it had been sprung so that it was useless. + +“Most persons,” he remarked, “don’t know enough about jimmies. Against +them an ordinary door-lock or window-catch is no protection. With a +jimmy eighteen inches long even an anaemic burglar can exert a pressure +sufficient to lift two tons. Not one window in a thousand can stand +that strain. The only use of locks is to keep out sneak-thieves and +compel the modern scientific educated burglar to make a noise. But +making a noise isn’t enough here, at night. This place with all its +fabulous treasures must be guarded constantly, now, every hour, as if +the front door were wide open.” + +The bars replaced and the window apparently locked as before, Craig +devoted his efforts to examining the packing cases in the basement. As +yet apparently nothing down there had been disturbed. But while +rummaging about, from an angle formed behind one of the cases he drew +forth a cane, to all appearances an ordinary Malacca walking-stick. He +balanced it in his hand a moment, then shook his head. + +“Too heavy for a Malacca,” he ruminated. Then an idea seemed to occur +to him. He gave the handle a twist. Sure enough, it came off, and as it +did so a bright little light flashed up. + +“Well, what do you think of that?” he exclaimed. “For a scientific +dark-lantern that is the neatest thing I have ever seen. An electric +light cane, with a little incandescent lamp and a battery hidden in it. +This grows interesting. We must at last have found the cache of a real +gentleman burglar such as Bertillon says exists only in books. I wonder +if he has anything else hidden back here.” + +He reached down and pulled out a peculiar little instrument—a single +blue steel cylinder. He fitted a hard rubber cap snugly into the palm +of his hand, and with the first and middle fingers encircled the +cylinder over a steel ring near the other end. + +A loud report followed, and a vase, just unpacked, at the opposite end +of the basement was shattered as if by an explosion. + +“Phew!” exclaimed Kennedy. “I didn’t mean to do that. I knew the thing +was loaded, but I had no idea the hair-spring ring at the end was so +delicate as to shoot it off at a touch. It’s one of those aristocratic +little Apache pistols that one can carry in his vest pocket and hide in +his hand. Say, but that stung! And back here is a little box of +cartridges, too.” + +We looked at each other in amazement at the chance find. Apparently the +vandal had planned a series of visits. + +“Now, let me see,” resumed Kennedy. “I suppose our very human but none +the less mysterious intruder expected to use these again. Well, let him +try. I’ll put them back here for the present. I want to watch in the +art-gallery to-night.” + +I could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be an +inside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind. Or was the +vandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that so often +seems to emanate from objects that have come down from the remote ages +of the world? I could not help asking myself whether the story that +Miss White had told was absolutely true. Had there been anything more +than superstition in the girl’s evident fright? She had seen something, +I felt sure, for it was certain she was very much disturbed. But what +was it she had really seen? So far all that Kennedy had found had +proved that the reincarnation of the priestess Ka had been very +material. Perhaps the “reincarnation” had got in in the daytime and had +spent the hours until night in the mummy-case. It might well have been +chosen as the safest and least suspicious hiding-place. + +Kennedy evidently had some ideas and plans, for no sooner had he +completed arrangements with Dr. Lith so that we could get into the +museum that night to watch, than he excused himself. Scarcely around +the corner on the next business street he hurried into a telephone +booth. + +“I called up First Deputy O’Connor,” he explained as he left the booth +a quarter of an hour later. “You know it is the duty of two of +O’Connor’s men to visit all the pawn-shops of the city at least once a +week, looking over recent pledges and comparing them with descriptions +of stolen articles. I gave him a list from that catalogue of Dr. Lith’s +and I think that if any of the emeralds, for instance, have been pawned +his men will be on the alert and will find it out.” + +We had a leisurely dinner at a near-by hotel, during most of which time +Kennedy gazed vacantly at his food. Only once did he mention the case, +and that was almost as if he were thinking aloud. + +“Nowadays,” he remarked, “criminals are exceptionally well informed. +They used to steal only money and jewels; to-day it is famous pictures +and antiques also. They know something about the value of antique +bronze and marble. In fact, the spread of a taste for art has taught +the enterprising burglar that such things are worth money, and he, in +turn, has educated up the receivers of stolen goods to pay a reasonable +percentage of the value of his artistic plunder. The success of the +European art thief is enlightening the American thief. That’s why I +think we’ll find some of this stuff in the hands of the professional +fences.” + +It was still early in the evening when we returned to the museum and +let ourselves in with the key that Dr. Lith had loaned Kennedy. He had +been anxious to join us in the watch, but Craig had diplomatically +declined, a circumstance that puzzled me and set me thinking that +perhaps he suspected the curator himself. + +We posted ourselves in an angle where we could not possibly be seen +even if the full force of the electrolier were switched on. Hour after +hour we waited. But nothing happened. There were strange and weird +noises in plenty, not calculated to reassure one, but Craig was always +ready with an explanation. + +It was in the forenoon of the day after our long and unfruitful vigil +in the art-gallery that Dr. Lith himself appeared at our apartment in a +great state of perturbation. + +“Miss White has disappeared,” he gasped, in answer to Craig’s hurried +question. “When I opened the museum, she was not there as she is +usually. Instead, I found this note.” + +He laid the following hastily written message on the table: + + Do not try to follow me. It is the green curse that has + pursued me from Paris. I cannot escape it, but I may prevent + it from affecting others. + + LUCILLE WHITE. + +That was all. We looked at each other at a loss to understand the +enigmatic wording—“the green curse.” + +“I rather expected something of the sort,” observed Kennedy. “By the +way, the shoenails were French, as I surmised. They show the marks of +French heels. It was Miss White herself who hid in the mummy-case.” + +“Impossible,” exclaimed Dr. Lith incredulously. As for myself, I had +learned that it was of no use being incredulous with Kennedy. + +A moment later the door opened, and one of O’Connor’s men came in +bursting with news. Some of the emeralds had been discovered in a Third +Avenue pawn-shop. O’Connor, mindful of the historic fate of the Mexican +Madonna and the stolen statue of the Egyptian goddess Neith, had +instituted a thorough search with the result that at least part of the +pilfered jewels had been located. There was only one clue to the thief, +but it looked promising. The pawnbroker described him as “a crazy +Frenchman of an artist,” tall, with a pointed black beard. In pawning +the jewels he had given the name of Edouard Delaverde, and the city +detectives were making a canvass of the better known studios in hope of +tracing him. + +Kennedy, Dr. Lith and myself walked around to the boarding-house where +Miss White lived. There was nothing about it, from the landlady to the +gossip, to distinguish it from scores of other places of the better +sort. We had no trouble in finding out that Miss White had not returned +home at all the night before. The landlady seemed to look on her as a +woman of mystery, and confided to us that it was an open secret that +she was not an American at all, but a French girl whose name, she +believed, was really Lucille Leblanc—which, after all, was White. +Kennedy made no comment, but I wavered between the conclusions that she +had been the victim of foul play and that she might be the criminal +herself, or at least a member of a band of criminals. + +No trace of her could be found through the usual agencies for locating +missing persons. It was the middle of the afternoon, however, when word +came to us that one of the city detectives had apparently located the +studio of Delaverde. It was coupled with the interesting information +that the day before a woman roughly answering the description of Miss +White had been seen there. Delaverde himself was gone. + +The building to which the detective took us was down-town in a +residence section which had remained as a sort of little eddy to one +side of the current of business that had swept everything before it +up-town. It was an old building and large, and was entirely given over +to studios of artists. + +Into one of the cheapest of the suites we were directed. It was almost +bare of furniture and in a peculiarly shiftless state of disorder. A +half-finished picture stood in the centre of the room, and several +completed ones were leaning against the wall. They were of the wildest +character imaginable. Even the conceptions of the futurists looked tame +in comparison. + +Kennedy at once began rummaging and exploring. In a corner of a +cupboard near the door he disclosed a row of dark-colored bottles. One +was filled halfway with an emerald-green liquid. + +He held it up to the light and read the label, “Absinthe.” + +“Ah,” he exclaimed with evident interest, looking first at the bottle +and then at the wild, formless pictures. “Our crazy Frenchman was an +absintheur. I thought the pictures were rather the product of a +disordered mind than of genius.” + +He replaced the bottle, adding: “It is only recently that our own +government placed a ban on the importation of that stuff as a result of +the decision of the Department of Agriculture that it was dangerous to +health and conflicted with the pure food law. In France they call it +the ‘scourge,’ the ‘plague,’ the ‘enemy,’ the ‘queen of poisons.’ +Compared with other alcoholic beverages it has the greatest toxicity of +all. There are laws against the stuff in France, Switzerland, and +Belgium. It isn’t the alcohol alone, although there is from fifty to +eighty per cent. in it, that makes it so deadly. It is the absinthe, +the oil of wormwood, whose bitterness has passed into a proverb. The +active principle absinthin is a narcotic poison. The stuff creates a +habit most insidious and difficult to break, a longing more exacting +than hunger. It is almost as fatal as cocaine in its blasting effects +on mind and body. + +“Wormwood,” he pursued, still rummaging about, “has a special affinity +for the brain-cells and the nervous system in general. It produces a +special affliction of the mind, which might be called absinthism. Loss +of will follows its use, brutishness, softening of the brain. It gives +rise to the wildest hallucinations. Perhaps that was why our absintheur +chose first to destroy or steal all things green, as if there were some +merit in the colour, when he might have made away with so many more +valuable things. Absintheurs have been known to perform some of the +most intricate manoeuvres, requiring great skill and the use of +delicate tools. They are given to disappearing, and have no memory of +their actions afterward.” + +On an ink-spattered desk lay some books, including Lombroso’s +“Degenerate Man” and “Criminal Woman.” Kennedy glanced at them, then at +a crumpled manuscript that was stuck into a pigeonhole. It was written +in a trembling, cramped, foreign hand, evidently part of a book, or an +article. + +“Oh, the wickedness of wealth!” it began. “While millions of the poor +toilers slave and starve and shiver, the slave-drivers of to-day, like +the slave-drivers of ancient Egypt, spend the money wrung from the +blood of the people in useless and worthless toys of art while the +people have no bread, in old books while the people have no homes, in +jewels while the people have no clothes. Thousands are spent on dead +artists, but a dollar is grudged to a living genius. Down with such +art! I dedicate my life to righting the wrongs of the proletariat. Vive +l’anarchism!” + +The thing was becoming more serious. But by far the most serious +discovery in the now deserted studio was a number of large glass tubes +in a corner, some broken, others not yet used and standing in rows as +if waiting to be filled. A bottle labelled “Sulphuric Acid” stood at +one end of a shelf, while at the other was a huge jar full of black +grains, next a bottle of chlorate of potash. Kennedy took a few of the +black grains and placed them on a metal ash-tray. He lighted a match. +There was a puff and a little cloud of smoke. + +“Ah,” he exclaimed, “black gunpowder. Our absintheur was a bomb-maker, +an expert perhaps. Let me see. I imagine he was making an explosive +bomb, ingeniously contrived of five glass tubes. The centre one, I +venture, contained sulphuric acid and chlorate of potash separated by a +close-packed wad of cotton wool. Then the two tubes on each side +probably contained the powder, and perhaps the outside tubes were +filled with spirits of turpentine. When it is placed in position, it is +so arranged that the acid in the center tube is uppermost and will thus +gradually soak through the cotton wool and cause great heat and an +explosion by contact with the potash. That would ignite the powder in +the next tubes, and that would scatter the blazing turpentine, causing +a terrific explosion and a widespread fire. With an imperative idea of +vengeance, such as that manuscript discloses, either for his own wrongs +as an artist or for the fancied wrongs of the people, what may this +absintheur not be planning now? He has disappeared, but perhaps he may +be more dangerous if found than if lost.” + + + + +VIII + +THE MUMMY CASE + + +The horrible thought occurred to me that perhaps he was not alone. I +had seen Spencer’s infatuation with his attractive librarian. The +janitor of the studio-building was positive that a woman answering her +description had been a visitor at the studio. Would she be used to get +at the millionaire and his treasures? Was she herself part of the plot +to victimise, perhaps kill, him? The woman had been much of an enigma +to me at first. She was more so now. It was barely possible that she, +too, was an absintheur, who had shaken off the curse for a time only to +relapse into it again. + +If there were any thoughts like these passing through Kennedy’s mind he +did not show it, at least not in the shape of hesitating in the course +he had evidently mapped out to follow. He said little, but hurried off +from the studio in a cab up-town again to the laboratory. A few minutes +later we were speeding down to the museum. + +There was not much time for Craig to work if he hoped to be ready for +anything that might happen that night. He began by winding coil after +coil of copper wire about the storeroom in the basement of the museum. +It was not a very difficult matter to conceal it, so crowded was the +room, or to lead the ends out through a window at the opposite side +from that where the window had been broken open. + +Up-stairs in the art-gallery he next installed several boxes such as +those which I had seen him experimenting with during his tests of +selenium on the afternoon when Mr. Spencer had first called on us. They +were camera-like boxes, about ten inches long, three inches or so wide, +and four inches deep. + +One end was open, or at least looked as though the end had been shoved +several inches into the interior of the box. I looked into one of the +boxes and saw a slit in the wall that had been shoved in. Kennedy was +busy adjusting the apparatus, and paused only to remark that the boxes +contained two sensitive selenium surfaces balanced against two carbon +resistances. There was also in the box a clockwork mechanism which +Craig wound up and set ticking ever so softly. Then he moved a rod that +seemed to cover the slit, until the apparatus was adjusted to his +satisfaction, a delicate operation, judging by the care he took. +Several of these boxes were installed, and by that time it was quite +late. + +Wires from the apparatus in the art-gallery also led outside, and these +as well as the wires from the coils down in the basement he led across +the bit of garden back of the Spencer house and up to a room on the top +floor. In the upper room he attached the wires from the storeroom to +what looked like a piece of crystal and a telephone receiver. Those +from the art-gallery terminated in something very much like the +apparatus which a wireless operator wears over his head. + +Among other things which Craig had brought down from the laboratory was +a package which he had not yet unwrapped. He placed it near the window, +still wrapped. It was quite large, and must have weighed fifteen or +twenty pounds. That done, he produced a tape-measure and began, as if +he were a surveyor, to measure various distances and apparently to +calculate the angles and distances from the window-sill of the Spencer +house to the skylight, which was the exact centre of the museum. The +straight distance, if I recall correctly, was in the neighborhood of +four hundred feet. + +These preparations completed, there was nothing left to do but to wait +for something to happen. Spencer had declined to get alarmed about our +fears for his own safety, and only with difficulty had we been able to +dissuade him from moving heaven and earth to find Miss White, a +proceeding which must certainly have disarranged Kennedy’s carefully +laid plans. So interested was he that he postponed one of the most +important business conferences of the year, growing out of the +anti-trust suits, in order to be present with Dr. Lith and ourselves in +the little upper back room. + +It was quite late when Kennedy completed his hasty arrangements, yet as +the night advanced we grew more and more impatient for something to +happen. Craig was apparently even more anxious than he had been the +night before, when we watched in the art-gallery itself. Spencer was +nervously smoking, lighting one cigar furiously from another until the +air was almost blue. + +Scarcely a word was spoken as hour after hour Craig sat with the +receiver to his ear, connected with the coils down in the storeroom. +“You might call this an electric detective,” he had explained to +Spencer. “For example, if you suspected that anything out of the way +was going on in a room anywhere this would report much to you even if +you were miles away. It is the discovery of a student of Thorne Baker, +the English electrical expert. He was experimenting with high-frequency +electric currents, investigating the nature of the discharges used for +electrifying certain things. Quite by accident he found that when the +room on which he was experimenting was occupied by some person his +measuring-instruments indicated that fact. He tested the degree of +variation by passing the current first through the room and then +through a sensitive crystal to a delicate telephone receiver. There was +a distinct change in the buzzing sound heard through the telephone when +the room was occupied or unoccupied. What I have done is to wind single +loops of plain wire on each side of that room down there, as well as to +wind around the room a few turns of concealed copper wire. These +collectors are fitted to a crystal of carborundum and a telephone +receiver.” + +We had each tried the thing and could hear a distinct buzzing in the +receiver. + +“The presence of a man or woman in that room would be evident to a +person listening miles away,” he went on. “A high-frequency current is +constantly passing through that storeroom. That is what causes that +normal buzzing.” + +It was verging on midnight when Kennedy suddenly cried: “Here, Walter, +take this receiver. You remember how the buzzing sounded. Listen. Tell +me if you, too, can detect the change.” + +I clapped the receiver quickly to my ear. Indeed I could tell the +difference. In place of the load buzzing there was only a mild sound. +It was slower and lower. + +“That means,” he said excitedly, “that some one has entered that +pitch-dark storeroom by the broken window. Let me take the receiver +back again. Ah, the buzzing is coming back. He is leaving the room. I +suppose he has found the electric light cane and the pistol where he +left them. Now, Walter, since you have become accustomed to this thing +take it and tell me what you hear.” + +Craig had already seized the other apparatus connected with the +art-gallery and had the wireless receiver over his head. He was +listening with rapt attention, talking while he waited. + +“This is an apparatus,” he was saying, “that was devised by Dr. +Fournier d’Albe, lecturer on physics at Birmingham University, to aid +the blind. It is known as the optophone. What I am literally doing now +is to HEAR light. The optophone translates light into sound by means of +that wonderful little element, selenium, which in darkness is a poor +conductor of electricity, but in light is a good conductor. This +property is used in the optophone in transmitting an electric current +which is interrupted by a special clockwork interrupter. It makes light +and darkness audible in the telephone. This thing over my head is like +a wireless telephone receiver, capable of detecting a current of even a +quarter of a microampere.” + +We were all waiting expectantly for Craig to speak. Evidently the +intruder was now mounting the stairs to the art-gallery. + +“Actually I can hear the light of the stars shining in through that +wonderful plate glass skylight of yours, Mr. Spencer,” he went on. “A +few moments ago when the moon shone through I could hear it, like the +rumble of a passing cart. I knew it was the moon both because I could +see that it must be shining in and because I recognised the sound. The +sun would thunder like a passing express-train if it were daytime now. +I can distinguish a shadow passing between the optophone and the light. +A hand moved across in front of it would give a purring sound, and a +glimpse out of a window in daylight would sound like a cinematograph +reeling off a film. + +“Ah, there he is.” Craig was listening with intense excitement now. +“Our intruder has entered the art-gallery. He is flashing his electric +light cane about at various objects, reconnoitring. No doubt if I were +expert enough and had had time to study it, I could tell you by the +sound just what he is looking at.” + +“Craig,” I interrupted, this time very excited myself, “the buzzing +from the high-frequency current is getting lower and lower.” + +“By George, then, there is another of them,” he replied. “I’m not +surprised. Keep a sharp watch. Tell me the moment the buzzing increases +again.” + +Spencer could scarcely control his impatience. It had been a long time +since he had been a mere spectator, and he did not seem to relish being +held in check by anybody. + +“Now that you are sure the vandal is there,” he cut in, his cigar out +in his excitement, “can’t we make a dash over there and get him before +he has a chance to do any more damage? He might be destroying thousands +of dollars’ worth of stuff while we are waiting here.” + +“And he could destroy the whole collection, building and all, including +ourselves into the bargain, if he heard so much as a whisper from us,” +added Kennedy firmly. + +“That second person has left the storeroom, Craig,” I put in. “The +buzzing has returned again full force.” + +Kennedy tore the wireless receiver from his ear. “Here, Walter, never +mind about that electric detective any more, then. Take the optophone. +Describe minutely to me just exactly what you hear.” + +He had taken from his pocket a small metal ball. I seized the receiver +from him and fitted it to my ear. It took me several instants to +accustom my ears to the new sounds, but they were plain enough, and I +shouted my impressions of their variations. Kennedy was busy at the +window over the heavy package, from which he had torn the wrapping. His +back was toward us, and we could not see what he was doing. + +A terrific din sounded in my ears, almost splitting my ear-drums. It +was as though I had been suddenly hurled into a magnified cave of the +winds and a cataract mightier than Niagara was thundering at me. It was +so painful that I cried out in surprise and involuntarily dropped the +receiver to the floor. + +“It was the switching on of the full glare of the electric lights in +the art-gallery,” Craig shouted. “The other person must have got up to +the room quicker than I expected. Here goes.” + +A loud explosion took place, apparently on the very window-sill of our +room. Almost at the same instant there was a crash of glass from the +museum. + +We sprang to the window, I expecting to see Kennedy injured, Spencer +expecting to see his costly museum a mass of smoking ruins. Instead we +saw nothing of the sort. On the window-ledge was a peculiar little +instrument that looked like a miniature field-gun with an elaborate +system of springs and levers to break the recoil. + +Craig had turned from it so suddenly that he actually ran full tilt +into us. “Come on,” he cried breathlessly, bolting from the room, and +seizing Dr. Lith by the arm as he did so. “Dr. Lith, the keys to the +museum, quick! We must get there before the fumes clear away.” + +He was taking the stairs two at a time, dragging the dignified curator +with him. + +In fewer seconds than I can tell it we were in the museum and mounting +the broad staircase to the art-gallery. An overpowering gas seemed to +permeate everything. + +“Stand back a moment,” cautioned Kennedy as we neared the door. “I have +just shot in here one of those asphyxiating bombs which the Paris +police invented to war against the Apaches and the motor-car bandits. +Open all the windows back here and let the air clear. Walter, breathe +as little of it as you can—but—come here—do you see?—over there, +near the other door—a figure lying on the floor? Make a dash in after +me and carry it out. There is just one thing more. If I am not back in +a minute come in and try to get me.” + +He had already preceded me into the stifling fumes. With a last long +breath of fresh air I plunged in after him, scarcely knowing what would +happen to me. I saw the figure on the floor, seized it, and backed out +of the room as fast as I could. + +Dizzy and giddy from the fumes I had been forced to inhale, I managed +to drag the form to the nearest window. It was Lucille White. + +An instant later I felt myself unceremoniously pushed aside. Spencer +had forgotten all about the millions of dollars’ worth of curios, all +about the suspicions that had been entertained against her, and had +taken the half-conscious burden from me. + +“This is the second time I have found you here, Edouard,” she was +muttering in her half-delirium, still struggling. “The first time—that +night I hid in the mummy-case, you fled when I called for help. I have +followed you every moment since last night to prevent this. Edouard, +don’t, DON’T! Remember I was—I am your wife. Listen to me. Oh, it is +the absinthe that has spoiled your art and made it worthless, not the +critics. It is not Mr. Spencer who has enticed me away, but you who +drove me away, first from Paris, and now from New York. He has been +only—No! No!—” she was shrieking now, her eyes wide open as she +realised it was Spencer himself she saw leaning over her. With a great +effort she seemed to rouse herself. “Don’t stay. Run—run. Leave me. He +has a bomb that may go off at any moment. Oh—oh—it is the curse of +absinthe that pursues me. Will you not go? Vite! Vite!” + +She had almost fainted and was lapsing into French, laughing and crying +alternately, telling him to go, yet clinging to him. + +Spencer paid no attention to what she had said of the bomb. But I did. +The minute was up, and Kennedy was in there yet. I turned to rush in +again to warn him at any peril. + +Just then a half-conscious form staggered against me. It was Craig +himself. He was holding the infernal machine of the five glass tubes +that might at any instant blow us into eternity. + +Overcome himself, he stumbled. The sinking sensation in my heart I can +never describe. It was just a second that I waited for the terrific +explosion that was to end it all for us, one long interminable second. + +But it did not come. + +Limp as I was with the shock, I dropped down beside him and bent over. + +“A glass of water, Walter,” he murmured, “and fan me a bit. I didn’t +dare trust myself to carry the thing complete, so I emptied the acid +into the sarcophagus. I guess I must have stayed in there too long. But +we are safe. See if you can drag out Delaverde. He is in there by the +mummy-case.” + +Spencer was still holding Lucille, although she was much better in the +fresh air of the hall. “I understand,” he was muttering. “You have been +following this fiend of a husband of yours to protect the museum and +myself from him. Lucille, Lucille—look at me. You are mine, not his, +whether he is dead or alive. I will free you from him, from the curse +of the absinthe that has pursued you.” + +The fumes had cleared a great deal by this time. In the centre of the +art-gallery we found a man, a tall, black-bearded Frenchman, crazy +indeed from the curse of the green absinthe that had ruined him. He was +scarcely breathing from a deadly wound in his chest. The hair-spring +ring of the Apache pistol had exploded the cartridge as he fell. + +Spencer did not even look at him, as he carried his own burden down to +the little office of Dr. Lith. + +“When a rich man marries a girl who has been earning her own living, +the newspapers always distort it,” he whispered aside to me a few +minutes later. “Jameson, you’re a newspaperman—I depend on you to get +the facts straight this time.” + +Outside, Kennedy grasped my arm. + +“You’ll do that, Walter?” he asked persuasively. “Spencer is a client +that one doesn’t get every day. Just drop into the Star office and give +them the straight story, I’ll promise you I’ll not take another case +until you are free again to go on with me in it.” + +There was no denying him. As briefly as I could I rehearsed the main +facts to the managing editor late that night. I was too tired to write +it at length, yet I could not help a feeling of satisfaction as he +exclaimed, “Great stuff, Jameson,—great.” + +“I know,” I replied, “but this six-cylindered existence for a week +wears you out.” + +“My dear boy,” he persisted, “if I had turned some one else loose on +that story, he’d have been dead. Go to it—it’s fine.” + +It was a bit of blarney, I knew. But somehow or other I liked it. It +was just what I needed to encourage me, and I hurried uptown promising +myself a sound sleep at any rate. + +“Very good,” remarked Kennedy the next morning, poking his head in at +my door and holding up a copy of the Star into which a very accurate +brief account of the affair had been dropped at the last moment. “I’m +going over to the laboratory. See you there as soon as you can get +over.” + +“Craig,” I remarked an hour or so later as I sauntered in on him, hard +at work, “I don’t see how you stand this feverish activity.” + +“Stand it?” he repeated, holding up a beaker to the light to watch a +reaction. “It’s my very life. Stand it? Why, man, if you want me to +pass away—stop it. As long as it lasts, I shall be all right. Let it +quit and I’ll—I’ll go back to research work,” he laughed. + +Evidently he had been waiting for me, for as he talked, he laid aside +the materials with which he had been working and was preparing to go +out. + +“Then, too,” he went on, “I like to be with people like Spencer and +Brixton. For example, while I was waiting here for you, there came a +call from Emery Pitts.” + +“Emery Pitts?” I echoed. “What does he want?” + +“The best way to find out is—to find out,” he answered simply. “It’s +getting late and I promised to be there directly. I think we’d better +take a taxi.” + +A few minutes later we were ushered into a large Fifth Avenue mansion +and were listening to a story which interested even Kennedy. + +“Not even a blood spot has been disturbed in the kitchen. Nothing has +been altered since the discovery of the murdered chef, except that his +body has been moved into the next room.” + +Emery Pitts, one of the “thousand millionaires of steel,” overwrought +as he was by a murder in his own household, sank back in his +easy-chair, exhausted. + +Pitts was not an old man; indeed, in years he was in the prime of life. +Yet by his looks he might almost have been double his age, the more so +in contrast with Minna Pitts, his young and very pretty wife, who stood +near him in the quaint breakfast-room and solicitously moved a pillow +back of his head. + +Kennedy and I looked on in amazement. We knew that he had recently +retired from active business, giving as a reason his failing health. +But neither of us had thought, when the hasty summons came early that +morning to visit him immediately at his house, that his condition was +as serious as it now appeared. + +“In the kitchen?” repeated Kennedy, evidently not prepared for any +trouble in that part of the house. + +Pitts, who had closed his eyes, now reopened them slowly and I noticed +how contracted were the pupils. + +“Yes,” he answered somewhat wearily, “my private kitchen which I have +had fitted up. You know, I am on a diet, have been ever since I offered +the one hundred thousand dollars for the sure restoration of youth. I +shall have you taken out there presently.” + +He lapsed again into a half dreamy state, his head bowed on one hand +resting on the arm of his chair. The morning’s mail still lay on the +table, some letters open, as they had been when the discovery had been +announced. Mrs. Pitts was apparently much excited and unnerved by the +gruesome discovery in the house. + +“You have no idea who the murderer might be?” asked Kennedy, addressing +Pitts, but glancing keenly at his wife. + +“No,” replied Pitts, “if I had I should have called the regular police. +I wanted you to take it up before they spoiled any of the clues. In the +first place we do not think it could have been done by any of the other +servants. At least, Minna says that there was no quarrel.” + +“How could any one have got in from the outside?” asked Craig. + +“There is a back way, a servants’ entrance, but it is usually locked. +Of course some one might have obtained a key to it.” + +Mrs. Pitts had remained silent throughout the dialogue. I could not +help thinking that she suspected something, perhaps was concealing +something. Yet each of them seemed equally anxious to have the marauder +apprehended, whoever he might be. + +“My dear,” he said to her at length, “will you call some one and have +them taken to the kitchen?” + + + + +IX + +THE ELIXIR OF LIFE + + +As Minna Pitts led us through the large mansion preparatory to turning +us over to a servant she explained hastily that Mr. Pitts had long been +ill and was now taking a new treatment under Dr. Thompson Lord. No one +having answered her bell in the present state of excitement of the +house, she stopped short at the pivoted door of the kitchen, with a +little shudder at the tragedy, and stood only long enough to relate to +us the story as she had heard it from the valet, Edward. + +Mr. Pitts, it seemed, had wanted an early breakfast and had sent Edward +to order it. The valet had found the kitchen a veritable +slaughter-house, with, the negro chef, Sam, lying dead on the floor. +Sam had been dead, apparently, since the night before. + +As she hurried away, Kennedy pushed open the door. It was a marvellous +place, that antiseptic or rather aseptic kitchen, with its white tiling +and enamel, its huge ice-box, and cooking-utensils for every purpose, +all of the most expensive and modern make. + +There were marks everywhere of a struggle, and by the side of the chef, +whose body now lay in the next room awaiting the coroner, lay a long +carving-knife with which he had evidently defended himself. On its +blade and haft were huge coagulated spots of blood. The body of Sam +bore marks of his having been clutched violently by the throat, and in +his head was a single, deep wound that penetrated the skull in a most +peculiar manner. It did not seem possible that a blow from a knife +could have done it. It was a most unusual wound and not at all the sort +that could have been made by a bullet. + +As Kennedy examined it, he remarked, shaking his head in confirmation +of his own opinion, “That must have been done by a Behr bulletless gun.” + +“A bulletless gun?” I repeated. + +“Yes, a sort of pistol with a spring-operated device that projects a +sharp blade with great force. No bullet and no powder are used in it. +But when it is placed directly over a vital point of the skull so that +the aim is unerring, a trigger lets a long knife shoot out with +tremendous force, and death is instantaneous.” + +Near the door, leading to the courtyard that opened on the side street, +were some spots of blood. They were so far from the place where the +valet had discovered the body of the chef that there could be no doubt +that they were blood from the murderer himself. Kennedy’s reasoning in +the matter seemed irresistible. + +He looked under the table near the door, covered with a large light +cloth. Beneath the table and behind the cloth he found another blood +spot. + +“How did that land there?” he mused aloud. “The table-cloth is +bloodless.” + +Craig appeared to think a moment. Then he unlocked and opened the door. +A current of air was created and blew the cloth aside. + +“Clearly,” he exclaimed, “that drop of blood was wafted under the table +as the door was opened. The chances are all that it came from a cut on +perhaps the hand or face of the murderer himself.” + +It seemed to be entirely reasonable, for the bloodstains about the room +were such as to indicate that he had been badly cut by the +carving-knife. + +“Whoever attacked the chef must have been deeply wounded,” I remarked, +picking up the bloody knife and looking about at the stains, +comparatively few of which could have come from the one deep fatal +wound in the head of the victim. + +Kennedy was still engrossed in a study of the stains, evidently +considering that their size, shape, and location might throw some light +on what had occurred. “Walter,” he said finally, “while I’m busy here, +I wish you would find that valet, Edward. I want to talk to him.” + +I found him at last, a clean-cut young fellow of much above average +intelligence. + +“There are some things I have not yet got clearly, Edward,” began +Kennedy. “Now where was the body, exactly, when you opened the door?” + +Edward pointed out the exact spot, near the side of the kitchen toward +the door leading out to the breakfast room and opposite the ice-box. + +“And the door to the side street?” asked Kennedy, to all appearances +very favorably impressed by the young man. + +“It was locked, sir,” he answered positively. + +Kennedy was quite apparently considering the honesty and faithfulness +of the servant. At last he leaned over and asked quickly, “Can I trust +you?” + +The frank, “Yes,” of the young fellow was convincing enough. + +“What I want,” pursued Kennedy, “is to have some one inside this house +who can tell me as much as he can see of the visitors, the messengers +that come here this morning. It will be an act of loyalty to your +employer, so that you need have no fear about that.” + +Edward bowed, and left us. While I had been seeking him, Kennedy had +telephoned hastily to his laboratory and had found one of his students +there. He had ordered him to bring down an apparatus which he +described, and some other material. + +While we waited Kennedy sent word to Pitts that he wanted to see him +alone for a few minutes. + +The instrument appeared to be a rubber bulb and cuff with a rubber bag +attached to the inside. From it ran a tube which ended in another +graduated glass tube with a thin line of mercury in it like a +thermometer. + +Craig adjusted the thing over the brachial artery of Pitts, just above +the elbow. + +“It may be a little uncomfortable, Mr. Pitts,” he apologised, “but it +will be for only a few minutes.” + +Pressure through the rubber bulb shut off the artery so that Kennedy +could no longer feel the pulse at the wrist. As he worked, I began to +see what he was after. The reading on the graded scale of the height of +the column of mercury indicated, I knew, blood pressure. This time, as +he worked, I noted also the flabby skin of Pitts as well as the small +and sluggish pupils of his eyes. + +He completed his test in silence and excused himself, although as we +went back to the kitchen I was burning with curiosity. + +“What was it?” I asked. “What did you discover?” + +“That,” he replied, “was a sphygmomanometer, something like the +sphygmograph which we used once in another case. Normal blood pressure +is 125 millimetres. Mr. Pitts shows a high pressure, very high. The +large life insurance companies are now using this instrument. They +would tell you that a high pressure like that indicates apoplexy. Mr. +Pitts, young as he really is, is actually old. For, you know, the +saying is that a man is as old as his arteries. Pitts has hardening of +the arteries, arteriosclerosis—perhaps other heart and kidney +troubles, in short pre-senility.” + +Craig paused: then added sententiously as if to himself: “You have +heard the latest theories about old age, that it is due to microbic +poisons secreted in the intestines and penetrating the intestinal +walls? Well, in premature senility the symptoms are the same as in +senility, only mental acuteness is not so impaired.” + +We had now reached the kitchen again. The student had also brought down +to Kennedy a number of sterilised microscope slides and test-tubes, and +from here and there in the masses of blood spots Kennedy was taking and +preserving samples. He also took samples of the various foods, which he +preserved in the sterilised tubes. + +While he was at work Edward joined us cautiously. + +“Has anything happened?” asked Craig. + +“A message came by a boy for Mrs. Pitts,” whispered the valet. + +“What did she do with it?” + +“Tore it up.” + +“And the pieces?” + +“She must have hidden them somewhere.” + +“See if you can get them.” + +Edward nodded and left us. + +“Yes,” I remarked after he had gone, “it does seem as if the thing to +do was to get on the trail of a person bearing wounds of some kind. I +notice, for one thing, Craig, that Edward shows no such marks, nor does +any one else in the house as far as I can see. If it were an ‘inside +job’ I fancy Edward at least could clear himself. The point is to find +the person with a bandaged hand or plastered face.” + +Kennedy assented, but his mind was on another subject. “Before we go we +must see Mrs. Pitts alone, if we can,” he said simply. + +In answer to his inquiry through one of the servants she sent down word +that she would see us immediately in her sitting-room. The events of +the morning had quite naturally upset her, and she was, if anything, +even paler than when we saw her before. + +“Mrs. Pitts,” began Kennedy, “I suppose you are aware of the physical +condition of your husband?” + +It seemed a little abrupt to me at first, but he intended it to be. +“Why,” she asked with real alarm, “is he so very badly?” + +“Pretty badly,” remarked Kennedy mercilessly, observing the effect of +his words. “So badly, I fear, that it would not require much more +excitement like to-day’s to bring on an attack of apoplexy. I should +advise you to take especial care of him, Mrs. Pitts.” + +Following his eyes, I tried to determine whether the agitation of the +woman before us was genuine or not. It certainly looked so. But then, I +knew that she had been an actress before her marriage. Was she acting a +part now? + +“What do you mean?” she asked tremulously. + +“Mrs. Pitts,” replied Kennedy quickly, observing still the play of +emotion on her delicate features, “some one, I believe, either +regularly in or employed in this house or who had a ready means of +access to it must have entered that kitchen last night. For what +purpose, I can leave you to judge. But Sam surprised the intruder there +and was killed for his faithfulness.” + +Her startled look told plainly that though she might have suspected +something of the sort she did not think that any one else suspected, +much less actually perhaps knew it. + +“I can’t imagine who it could be, unless it might be one of the +servants,” she murmured hastily; adding, “and there is none of them +that I have any right to suspect.” + +She had in a measure regained her composure, and Kennedy felt that it +was no use to pursue the conversation further, perhaps expose his hand +before he was ready to play it. + +“That woman is concealing something,” remarked Kennedy to me as we left +the house a few minutes later. + +“She at least bears no marks of violence herself of any kind,” I +commented. + +“No,” agreed Craig, “no, you are right so far.” He added: “I shall be +very busy in the laboratory this afternoon, and probably longer. +However, drop in at dinner time, and in the meantime, don’t say a word +to any one, but just use your position on the Star to keep in touch +with anything the police authorities may be doing.” + +It was not a difficult commission, since they did nothing but issue a +statement, the net import of which was to let the public know that they +were very active, although they had nothing to report. + +Kennedy was still busy when I rejoined him, a little late purposely, +since I knew that he would be over his head in work. + +“What’s this—a zoo?” I asked, looking about me as I entered the +sanctum that evening. + +There were dogs and guinea pigs, rats and mice, a menagerie that would +have delighted a small boy. It did not look like the same old +laboratory for the investigation of criminal science, though I saw on a +second glance that it was the same, that there was the usual +hurly-burly of microscopes, test-tubes, and all the paraphernalia that +were so mystifying at first but in the end under his skilful hand made +the most complicated cases seem stupidly simple. + +Craig smiled at my surprise. “I’m making a little study of intestinal +poisons,” he commented, “poisons produced by microbes which we keep +under more or less control in healthy life. In death they are the +little fellows that extend all over the body and putrefy it. We nourish +within ourselves microbes which secrete very virulent poisons, and when +those poisons are too much for us—well, we grow old. At least that is +the theory of Metchnikoff, who says that old age is an infectious +chronic, disease. Somehow,” he added thoughtfully, “that beautiful +white kitchen in the Pitts home had really become a factory for +intestinal poisons.” + +There was an air of suppressed excitement in his manner which told me +that Kennedy was on the trail of something unusual. + +“Mouth murder,” he cried at length, “that was what was being done in +that wonderful kitchen. Do you know, the scientific slaying of human +beings has far exceeded organised efforts at detection? Of course you +expect me to say that; you think I look at such things through coloured +glasses. But it is a fact, nevertheless. + +“It is a very simple matter for the police to apprehend the common +murderer whose weapon is a knife or a gun, but it is a different thing +when they investigate the death of a person who has been the victim of +the modern murderer who slays, let us say, with some kind of deadly +bacilli. Authorities say, and I agree with them, that hundreds of +murders are committed in this country every year and are not detected +because the detectives are not scientists, while the slayers have used +the knowledge of the scientists both to commit and to cover up the +crimes. I tell you, Walter, a murder science bureau not only would +clear up nearly every poison mystery, but also it would inspire such a +wholesome fear among would-be murderers that they would abandon many +attempts to take life.” + +He was as excited over the case as I had ever seen him. Indeed it was +one that evidently taxed his utmost powers. + +“What have you found?” I asked, startled. + +“You remember my use of the sphygmomanometer?” he asked. “In the first +place that put me on what seems to be a clear trail. The most dreaded +of all the ills of the cardiac and vascular systems nowadays seems to +be arterio-sclerosis, or hardening of the arteries. It is possible for +a man of forty-odd, like Mr. Pitts, to have arteries in a condition +which would not be encountered normally in persons under seventy years +of age. + +“The hard or hardening artery means increased blood pressure, with a +consequent increased strain on the heart. This may lead, has led in +this case, to a long train of distressing symptoms, and, of course, to +ultimate death. Heart disease, according to statistics, is carrying off +a greater percentage of persons than formerly. This fact cannot be +denied, and it is attributed largely to worry, the abnormal rush of the +life of to-day, and sometimes to faulty methods of eating and bad +nutrition. On the surface, these natural causes might seem to be at +work with Mr. Pitts. But, Walter, I do not believe it, I do not believe +it. There is more than that, here. Come, I can do nothing more +to-night, until I learn more from these animals and the cultures which +I have in these tubes. Let us take a turn or two, then dine, and +perhaps we may get some word at our apartment from Edward.” + +It was late that night when a gentle tap at the door proved that +Kennedy’s hope had not been unfounded. I opened it and let in Edward, +the valet, who produced the fragments of a note, torn and crumpled. + +“There is nothing new, sir,” he explained, “except that Mrs. Pitts +seems more nervous than ever, and Mr. Pitts, I think, is feeling a +little brighter.” + +Kennedy said nothing, but was hard at work with puckered brows at +piecing together the note which Edward had obtained after hunting +through the house. It had been thrown into a fireplace in Mrs. Pitts’s +own room, and only by chance had part of it been unconsumed. The body +of the note was gone altogether, but the first part and the last part +remained. + +Apparently it had been written the very morning on which the murder was +discovered. + +It read simply, “I have succeeded in having Thornton declared ...” Then +there was a break. The last words were legible, and were, “... confined +in a suitable institution where he can cause no future harm.” + +There was no signature, as if the sender had perfectly understood that +the receiver would understand. + +“Not difficult to supply some of the context, at any rate,” mused +Kennedy. “Whoever Thornton may be, some one has succeeded in having him +declared ‘insane,’ I should supply. If he is in an institution near New +York, we must be able to locate him. Edward, this is a very important +clue. There is nothing else.” + +Kennedy employed the remainder of the night in obtaining a list of all +the institutions, both public and private, within a considerable radius +of the city where the insane might be detained. + +The next morning, after an hour or so spent in the laboratory +apparently in confirming some control tests which Kennedy had laid out +to make sure that he was not going wrong in the line of inquiry he was +pursuing, we started off in a series of flying visits to the various +sanitaria about the city in search of an inmate named Thornton. + +I will not attempt to describe the many curious sights and experiences +we saw and had. I could readily believe that any one who spent even as +little time as we did might almost think that the very world was going +rapidly insane. There were literally thousands of names in the lists +which we examined patiently, going through them all, since Kennedy was +not at all sure that Thornton might not be a first name, and we had no +time to waste on taking any chances. + +It was not until long after dusk that, weary with the search and +dust-covered from our hasty scouring of the country in an automobile +which Kennedy had hired after exhausting the city institutions, we came +to a small private asylum up in Westchester. I had almost been willing +to give it up for the day, to start afresh on the morrow, but Kennedy +seemed to feel that the case was too urgent to lose even twelve hours +over. + +It was a peculiar place, isolated, out-of-the-way, and guarded by a +high brick wall that enclosed a pretty good sized garden. + +A ring at the bell brought a sharp-eyed maid to the door. + +“Have you—er—any one here named Thornton—er—?” Kennedy paused in +such a way that if it were the last name he might come to a full stop, +and if it were a first name he could go on. + +“There is a Mr. Thornton who came yesterday,” she snapped ungraciously, +“but you can not see him, It’s against the rules.” + +“Yes—yesterday,” repeated Kennedy eagerly, ignoring her tartness. +“Could I—” he slipped a crumpled treasury note into her hand—“could I +speak to Mr. Thornton’s nurse?” + +The note seemed to render the acidity of the girl slightly alkaline. +She opened the door a little further, and we found ourselves in a +plainly furnished reception room, alone. + +We might have been in the reception-room of a prosperous country +gentleman, so quiet was it. There was none of the raving, as far as I +could make out, that I should have expected even in a twentieth century +Bedlam, no material for a Poe story of Dr. Tarr and Professor Feather. + +At length the hall door opened, and a man entered, not a prepossessing +man, it is true, with his large and powerful hands and arms and +slightly bowed, almost bulldog legs. Yet he was not of that aggressive +kind which would make a show of physical strength without good and +sufficient cause. + +“You have charge of Mr. Thornton?” inquired Kennedy. + +“Yes,” was the curt response. + +“I trust he is all right here?” + +“He wouldn’t be here if he was all right,” was the quick reply. “And +who might you be?” + +“I knew him in the old days,” replied Craig evasively. “My friend here +does not know him, but I was in this part of Westchester visiting and +having heard he was here thought I would drop in, just for old time’s +sake. That is all.” + +“How did you know he was here?” asked the man suspiciously. + +“I heard indirectly from a friend of mine, Mrs. Pitts.” + +“Oh.” + +The man seemed to accept the explanation at its face value. + +“Is he very—very badly?” asked Craig with well-feigned interest. + +“Well,” replied the man, a little mollified by a good cigar which I +produced, “don’t you go a-telling her, but if he says the name Minna +once a day it is a thousand times. Them drug-dopes has some strange +delusions.” + +“Strange delusions?” queried Craig. “Why, what do you mean?” + +“Say,” ejaculated the man. “I don’t know you, You come here saying +you’re friends of Mr. Thornton’s. How do I know what you are?” + +“Well,” ventured Kennedy, “suppose I should also tell you I am a friend +of the man who committed him.” + +“Of Dr. Thompson Lord?” + +“Exactly. My friend here knows Dr. Lord very well, don’t you, Walter?” + +Thus appealed to I hastened to add, “Indeed I do.” Then, improving the +opening, I hastened: “Is this Mr. Thornton violent? I think this is one +of the most quiet institutions I ever saw for so small a place.” + +The man shook his head. + +“Because,” I added, “I thought some drug fiends were violent and had to +be restrained by force, often.” + +“You won’t find a mark or a scratch on him, sir,” replied the man. +“That ain’t our system.” + +“Not a mark or scratch on him,” repeated Kennedy thoughtfully. “I +wonder if he’d recognise me?” + +“Can’t say,” concluded the man. “What’s more, can’t try. It’s against +the rules. Only your knowing so many he knows has got you this far. +You’ll have to call on a regular day or by appointment to see him, +gentlemen.” + +There was an air of finality about the last statement that made Kennedy +rise and move toward the door with a hearty “Thank you, for your +kindness,” and a wish to be remembered to “poor old Thornton.” + +As we climbed into the car he poked me in the ribs. “Just as good for +the present as if we had seen him,” he exclaimed. “Drug-fiend, friend +of Mrs. Pitts, committed by Dr. Lord, no wounds.” + +Then he lapsed into silence as we sped back to the city. + +“The Pitts house,” ordered Kennedy as we bowled along, after noting by +his watch that it was after nine. Then to me he added, “We must see +Mrs. Pitts once more, and alone.” + +We waited some time after Kennedy sent up word that he would like to +see Mrs. Pitts. At last she appeared. I thought she avoided Kennedy’s +eye, and I am sure that her intuition told her that he had some +revelation to make, against which she was steeling herself. + +Craig greeted her as reassuringly as he could, but as she sat nervously +before us, I could see that she was in reality pale, worn, and anxious. + +“We have had a rather hard day,” began Kennedy after the usual polite +inquiries about her own and her husband’s health had been, I thought, a +little prolonged by him. + +“Indeed?” she asked. “Have you come any closer to the truth?” + +Kennedy met her eyes, and she turned away. + +“Yes, Mr. Jameson and I have put in the better part of the day in going +from one institution for the insane to another.” + +He paused. The startled look on her face told as plainly as words that +his remark had struck home. + +Without giving her a chance to reply, or to think of a verbal means of +escape, Craig hurried on with an account of what we had done, saying +nothing about the original letter which had started us on the search +for Thornton, but leaving it to be inferred by her that he knew much +more than he cared to tell. + +“In short, Mrs. Pitts,” he concluded firmly, “I do not need to tell you +that I already know much about the matter which you are concealing.” + +The piling up of fact on fact, mystifying as it was to me who had as +yet no inkling of what it was tending toward, proved too much for the +woman who knew the truth, yet did not know how much Kennedy knew of it. +Minna Pitts was pacing the floor wildly, all the assumed manner of the +actress gone from her, yet with the native grace and feeling of the +born actress playing unrestrained in her actions. + +“You know only part of my story,” she cried, fixing him with her now +tearless eyes. “It is only a question of time when you will worm it all +out by your uncanny, occult methods. Mr. Kennedy, I cast myself on you.” + + + + +X + +THE TOXIN OF DEATH + + +The note of appeal in her tone was powerful, but I could not so readily +shake off my first suspicions of the woman. Whether or not she +convinced Kennedy, he did not show. + +“I was only a young girl when I met Mr. Thornton,” she raced on. “I was +not yet eighteen when we were married. Too late, I found out the curse +of his life—and of mine. He was a drug fiend. From the very first life +with him was insupportable. I stood it as long as I could, but when he +beat me because he had no money to buy drugs, I left him. I gave myself +up to my career on the stage. Later I heard that he was dead—a +suicide. I worked, day and night, slaved, and rose in the +profession—until, at last, I met Mr. Pitts.” + +She paused, and it was evident that it was with a struggle that she +could talk so. + +“Three months after I was married to him, Thornton suddenly reappeared, +from the dead it seemed to me. He did not want me back. No, indeed. All +he wanted was money. I gave him money, my own money, for I made a +great deal in my stage days. But his demands increased. To silence him +I have paid him thousands. He squandered them faster than ever. And +finally, when it became unbearable, I appealed to a friend. That friend +has now succeeded in placing this man quietly in a sanitarium for the +insane.” + +“And the murder of the chef?” shot out Kennedy. + +She looked from one to the other of us in alarm. “Before God, I know no +more of that than does Mr. Pitts.” + +Was she telling the truth? Would she stop at anything to avoid the +scandal and disgrace of the charge of bigamy? Was there not something +still that she was concealing? She took refuge in the last +resort—tears. + +Encouraging as it was to have made such progress, it did not seem to me +that we were much nearer, after all, to the solution of the mystery. +Kennedy, as usual, had nothing to say until he was absolutely sure of +his ground. He spent the greater part of the next day hard at work over +the minute investigations of his laboratory, leaving me to arrange the +details of a meeting he planned for that night. + +There were present Mr. and Mrs. Pitts, the former in charge of Dr. +Lord. The valet, Edward, was also there, and in a neighbouring room was +Thornton in charge of two nurses from the sanitarium. Thornton was a +sad wreck of a man now, whatever he might have been when his blackmail +furnished him with an unlimited supply of his favourite drugs. + +“Let us go back to the very start of the case,” began Kennedy when we +had all assembled, “the murder of the chef, Sam.” + +It seemed that the mere sound of his voice electrified his little +audience. I fancied a shudder passed over the slight form of Mrs. +Pitts, as she must have realised that this was the point where Kennedy +had left off, in his questioning her the night before. + +“There is,” he went on slowly, “a blood test so delicate that one might +almost say that he could identify a criminal by his very +blood-crystals—the fingerprints, so to speak, of his blood. It was by +means of these ‘hemoglobin clues,’ if I may call them so, that I was +able to get on the right trail. For the fact is that a man’s blood is +not like that of any other living creature. Blood of different men, of +men and women differ. I believe that in time we shall be able to refine +this test to tell the exact individual, too. + +“What is this principle? It is that the hemoglobin or red +colouring-matter of the blood forms crystals. That has long been known, +but working on this fact Dr. Reichert and Professor Brown of the +University of Pennsylvania have made some wonderful discoveries. + +“We could distinguish human from animal blood before, it is true. But +the discovery of these two scientists takes us much further. By means +of blood-crystals we can distinguish the blood of man from that of the +animals and in addition that of white men from that of negroes and +other races. It is often the only way of differentiating between +various kinds of blood. + +“The variations in crystals in the blood are in part of form and in +part of molecular structure, the latter being discovered only by means +of the polarising microscope. A blood-crystal is only one +two-thousand-two-hundred-and-fiftieth of an inch in length and one +nine-thousandth of an inch in breadth. And yet minute as these crystals +are, this discovery is of immense medico-legal importance. Crime may +now be traced by blood-crystals.” + +He displayed on his table a number of enlarged micro-photographs. Some +were labelled, “Characteristic crystals of white man’s blood”; others +“Crystallisation of negro blood”; still others, “Blood-crystals of the +cat.” + +“I have here,” he resumed, after we had all examined the photographs +and had seen that there was indeed a vast amount of difference, “three +characteristic kinds of crystals, all of which I found in the various +spots in the kitchen of Mr. Pitts. There were three kinds of blood, by +the infallible Reichert test.” + +I had been prepared for his discovery of two kinds, but three +heightened the mystery still more. + +“There was only a very little of the blood which was that of the poor, +faithful, unfortunate Sam, the negro chef,” Kennedy went on. “A little +more, found far from his body, is that of a white person. But most of +it is not human blood at all. It was the blood of a cat.” + +The revelation was startling. Before any of us could ask, he hastened +to explain. + +“It was placed there by some one who wished to exaggerate the struggle +in order to divert suspicion. That person had indeed been wounded +slightly, but wished it to appear that the wounds were very serious. +The fact of the matter is that the carving-knife is spotted deeply with +blood, but it is not human blood. It is the blood of a cat. A few years +ago even a scientific detective would have concluded that a fierce +hand-to-hand struggle had been waged and that the murderer was, +perhaps, fatally wounded. Now, another conclusion stands, proved +infallibly by this Reichert test. The murderer was wounded, but not +badly. That person even went out of the room and returned later, +probably with a can of animal blood, sprinkled it about to give the +appearance of a struggle, perhaps thought of preparing in this way a +plea of self-defence. If that latter was the case, this Reichert test +completely destroys it, clever though it was.” No one spoke, but the +same thought was openly in all our minds. Who was this wounded criminal? + +I asked myself the usual query of the lawyers and the detectives—Who +would benefit most by the death of Pitts? There was but one answer, +apparently, to that. It was Minna Pitts. Yet it was difficult for me to +believe that a woman of her ordinary gentleness could be here to-night, +faced even by so great exposure, yet be so solicitous for him as she +had been and then at the same time be plotting against him. I gave it +up, determining to let Kennedy unravel it in his own way. + +Craig evidently had the same thought in his mind, however, for he +continued: “Was it a woman who killed the chef? No, for the third +specimen of blood, that of the white person, was the blood of a man; +not of a woman.” + +Pitts had been following closely, his unnatural eyes now gleaming. “You +said he was wounded, you remember,” he interrupted, as if casting about +in his mind to recall some one who bore a recent wound. “Perhaps it was +not a bad wound, but it was a wound nevertheless, and some one must +have seen it, must know about it. It is not three days.” + +Kennedy shook his head. It was a point that had bothered him a great +deal. + +“As to the wounds,” he added in a measured tone “although this occurred +scarcely three days ago, there is no person even remotely suspected of +the crime who can be said to bear on his hands or face others than old +scars of wounds.” + +He paused. Then he shot out in quick staccato, “Did you ever hear of +Dr. Carrel’s most recent discovery of accelerating the healing of +wounds so that those which under ordinary circumstances might take ten +days to heal might be healed in twenty-four hours?” + +Rapidly, now, he sketched the theory. “If the factors that bring about +the multiplication of cells and the growth of tissues were discovered, +Dr. Carrel said to himself, it would perhaps become possible to hasten +artificially the process of repair of the body. Aseptic wounds could +probably be made to cicatrise more rapidly. If the rate of reparation +of tissue were hastened only ten times, a skin wound would heal in less +than twenty-four hours and a fracture of the leg in four or five days. + +“For five years Dr. Carrel has been studying the subject, applying +various extracts to wounded tissues. All of them increased the growth +of connective tissue, but the degree of acceleration varied greatly. In +some cases it was as high, as forty times the normal. Dr. Carrel’s +dream of ten times the normal was exceeded by himself.” + +Astounded as we were by this revelation, Kennedy did not seem to +consider it as important as one that he was now hastening to show us. +He took a few cubic centimetres of some culture which he had been +preparing, placed it in a tube, and poured in eight or ten drops of +sulphuric acid. He shook it. + +“I have here a culture from some of the food that I found was being or +had been prepared for Mr. Pitts. It was in the icebox.” + +Then he took another tube. “This,” he remarked, “is a +one-to-one-thousand solution of sodium nitrite.” + +He held it up carefully and poured three or four cubic centimetres of +it into the first tube so that it ran carefully down the side in a +manner such as to form a sharp line of contact between the heavier +culture with the acid and the lighter nitrite solution. + +“You see,” he said, “the reaction is very clear cut if you do it this +way. The ordinary method in the laboratory and the text-books is crude +and uncertain.” + +“What is it?” asked Pitts eagerly, leaning forward with unwonted +strength and noting the pink colour that appeared at the junction of +the two liquids, contrasting sharply with the portions above and below. + +“The ring or contact test for indol,” Kennedy replied, with evident +satisfaction. “When the acid and the nitrites are mixed the colour +reaction is unsatisfactory. The natural yellow tint masks that pink +tint, or sometimes causes it to disappear, if the tube is shaken. But +this is simple, clear, delicate—unescapable. There was indol in that +food of yours, Mr. Pitts.” + +“Indol?” repeated Pitts. + +“Is,” explained Kennedy, “a chemical compound—one of the toxins +secreted by intestinal bacteria and responsible for many of the +symptoms of senility. It used to be thought that large doses of indol +might be consumed with little or no effect on normal man, but now we +know that headache, insomnia, confusion, irritability, decreased +activity of the cells, and intoxication are possible from it. +Comparatively small doses over a long time produce changes in organs +that lead to serious results. + +“It is,” went on Kennedy, as the full horror of the thing sank into our +minds, “the indol-and phenol-producing bacteria which are the +undesirable citizens of the body, while the lactic-acid producing germs +check the production of indol and phenol. In my tests here to-day, I +injected four one-hundredths of a grain of indol into a guinea-pig. The +animal had sclerosis or hardening of the aorta. The liver, kidneys, and +supra-renals were affected, and there was a hardening of the brain. In +short, there were all the symptoms of old age.” + +We sat aghast. Indol! What black magic was this? Who put it in the food? + +“It is present,” continued Craig, “in much larger quantities than all +the Metchnikoff germs could neutralise. What the chef was ordered to +put into the food to benefit you, Mr. Pitts, was rendered valueless, +and a deadly poison was added by what another—” + +Minna Pitts had been clutching for support at the arms of her chair as +Kennedy proceeded. She now threw herself at the feet of Emery Pitts. + +“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “I can stand it no longer. I had tried to +keep this thing about Thornton from you. I have tried to make you happy +and well—oh—tried so hard, so faithfully. Yet that old skeleton of my +past which I thought was buried would not stay buried. I have bought +Thornton off again and again, with money—my money—only to find him +threatening again. But about this other thing, this poison, I am as +innocent, and I believe Thornton is as—” + +Craig laid a gentle hand on her lips. She rose wildly and faced him in +passionate appeal. + +“Who—who is this Thornton?” demanded Emery Pitts. + +Quickly, delicately, sparing her as much as he could, Craig hurried +over our experiences. + +“He is in the next room,” Craig went on, then facing Pitts added: “With +you alive, Emery Pitts, this blackmail of your wife might have gone on, +although there was always the danger that you might hear of it—and do +as I see you have already done—forgive, and plan to right the +unfortunate mistake. But with you dead, this Thornton, or rather some +one using him, might take away from Minna Pitts her whole interest in +your estate, at a word. The law, or your heirs at law, would never +forgive as you would.” + +Pitts, long poisoned by the subtle microbic poison, stared at Kennedy +as if dazed. + +“Who was caught in your kitchen, Mr. Pitts, and, to escape detection, +killed your faithful chef and covered his own traces so cleverly?” +rapped out Kennedy. “Who would have known the new process of healing +wounds? Who knew about the fatal properties of indol? Who was willing +to forego a one-hundred-thousand-dollar prize in order to gain a +fortune of many hundreds of thousands?” + +Kennedy paused, then finished with irresistibly dramatic logic; +“Who else but the man who held the secret of Minna Pitts’s past and +power over her future so long as he could keep alive the unfortunate +Thornton—the up-to-date doctor who substituted an elixir of death at +night for the elixir of life prescribed for you by him in the +daytime—Dr. Lord.” + +Kennedy had moved quietly toward the door. It was unnecessary. Dr. Lord +was cornered and knew it. He made no fight. In fact, instantly his keen +mind was busy outlining his battle in court, relying on the conflicting +testimony of hired experts. + +“Minna,” murmured Pitts, falling back, exhausted by the excitement, on +his pillows, “Minna—forgive? What is there to forgive? The only thing +to do is to correct. I shall be well—soon now—my dear. Then all will +be straightened out.” + +“Walter,” whispered Kennedy to me, “while we are waiting, you can +arrange to have Thornton cared for at Dr. Hodge’s Sanitarium.” + +He handed me a card with the directions where to take the unfortunate +man. When at last I had Thornton placed where no one else could do any +harm through him, I hastened back to the laboratory. + +Craig was still there, waiting alone. + +“That Dr. Lord will be a tough customer,” he remarked. “Of course +you’re not interested in what happens in a case after we have caught +the criminal. But that often is really only the beginning of the fight. +We’ve got him safely lodged in the Tombs now, however.” + +“I wish there was some elixir for fatigue,” I remarked, as we closed +the laboratory that night. + +“There is,” he replied. “A homeopathic remedy—more fatigue.” + +We started on our usual brisk roundabout walk to the apartment. But +instead of going to bed, Kennedy drew a book from the bookcase. + +“I shall read myself to sleep to-night,” he explained, settling deeply +in his chair. + +As for me, I went directly to my room, planning that to-morrow I would +take several hours off and catch up in my notes. + +That morning Kennedy was summoned downtown and had to interrupt more +important duties in order to appear before Dr. Leslie in the coroner’s +inquest over the death of the chef. Dr. Lord was held for the Grand +Jury, but it was not until nearly noon that Craig returned. + +We were just about to go out to luncheon, when the door buzzer sounded. + +“A note for Mr. Kennedy,” announced a man in a police uniform, with a +blue anchor edged with white on his coat sleeve. + +Craig tore open the envelope quickly with his forefinger. Headed +“Harbour Police, Station No. 3, Staten Island,” was an urgent message +from our old friend Deputy Commissioner O’Connor. + +“I have taken personal charge of a case here that is sufficiently out +of the ordinary to interest you,” I read when Kennedy tossed the note +over to me and nodded to the man from the harbour squad to wait for us. +“The Curtis family wish to retain a private detective to work in +conjunction with the police in investigating the death of Bertha +Curtis, whose body was found this morning in the waters of Kill van +Kull.” + +Kennedy and I lost no time in starting downtown with the policeman who +had brought the note. + +The Curtises, as we knew, were among the prominent families of +Manhattan and I recalled having heard that at one time Bertha Curtis +had been an actress, in spite of the means and social position of her +family, from whom she had become estranged as a result. + +At the station of the harbour police, O’Connor and another man, who was +in a state of extreme excitement, greeted us almost before we had +landed. + +“There have been some queer doings about here,” exclaimed the deputy as +he grasped Kennedy’s hand, “but first of all let me introduce Mr. +Walker Curtis.” + +In a lower tone as we walked up the dock O’Connor continued, “He is the +brother of the girl whose body the men in the launch at the station +found in the Kill this morning. They thought at first that the girl had +committed suicide, making it doubly sure by jumping into the water, but +he will not believe it and,—well, if you’ll just come over with us to +the local undertaking establishment, I’d like to have you take a look +at the body and see if your opinion coincides with mine. + +“Ordinarily,” pursued O’Connor, “there isn’t much romance in harbour +police work nowadays, but in this case some other elements seem to be +present which are not usually associated with violent deaths in the +waters of the bay, and I have, as you will see, thought it necessary to +take personal charge of the investigation. + +“Now, to shorten the story as much as possible, Kennedy, you know of +course that the legislature at the last session enacted laws +prohibiting the sale of such drugs as opium, morphine, cocaine, chloral +and others, under much heavier penalties than before. The Health +authorities not long ago reported to us that dope was being sold almost +openly, without orders from physicians, at several scores of places and +we have begun a crusade for the enforcement of the law. Of course you +know how prohibition works in many places and how the law is beaten. +The dope fiends seem to be doing the same thing with this law. + +“Of course nowadays everybody talks about a ‘system’ controlling +everything, so I suppose people would say that there is a ‘dope trust.’ +At any rate we have run up against at least a number of places that +seem to be banded together in some way, from the lowest down in +Chinatown to one very swell joint uptown around what the newspapers are +calling ‘Crime Square.’ It is not that this place is pandering to +criminals or the women of the Tenderloin that interests us so much as +that its patrons are men and women of fashionable society whose jangled +nerves seem to demand a strong narcotic. + +“This particular place seems to be a headquarters for obtaining them, +especially opium and its derivatives. + +“One of the frequenters of the place was this unfortunate girl, Bertha +Curtis. I have watched her go in and out myself, wild-eyed, nervous, +mentally and physically wrecked for life. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty +persons visit the place each day. It is run by a man known as ‘Big +Jack’ Clendenin who was once an actor and, I believe, met and +fascinated Miss Curtis during her brief career on the stage. He has an +attendant there, a Jap, named Nichi Moto, who is a perfect enigma. I +can’t understand him on any reasonable theory. A long time ago we +raided the place and packed up a lot of opium, pipes, material and +other stuff. We found Clendenin there, this girl, several others, and +the Jap. I never understood just how it was but somehow Clendenin got +off with a nominal fine and a few days later opened up again. We were +watching the place, getting ready to raid it again and present such +evidence that Clendenin couldn’t possibly beat it, when all of a sudden +along came this—this tragedy.” + +We had at last arrived at the private establishment which was doing +duty as a morgue. The bedraggled form that had been bandied about by +the tides all night lay covered up in the cold damp basement. Bertha +Curtis had been a girl of striking beauty once. For a long time I gazed +at the swollen features before I realised what it was that fascinated +and puzzled me about her. Kennedy, however, after a casual glance had +arrived at at least a part of her story. + +“That girl,” he whispered to me so that her brother could not hear, +“has led a pretty fast life. Look at those nails, yellow and dark. It +isn’t a weak face, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing, +the Oriental glamour and all that, fascinated her as much as the drug.” + +So far the case with its heartrending tragedy had all the earmarks of +suicide. + + + + +XI + +THE OPIUM JOINT + + +O’Connor drew back the sheet which covered her and in the calf of the +leg disclosed an ugly bullet hole. Ugly as it was, however, it was +anything but dangerous and seemed to indicate nothing as to the real +cause of her death. He drew from his pocket a slightly misshapen bullet +which had been probed from the wound and handed it to Kennedy, who +examined both the wound and the bullet carefully. It seemed to be an +ordinary bullet except that in the pointed end were three or four +little round, very shallow wells or depressions only the minutest +fraction of an inch deep. + +“Very extraordinary,” he remarked slowly. “No, I don’t think this was a +case of suicide. Nor was it a murder for money, else the jewels would +have been taken.” + +O’Connor looked approvingly at me. “Exactly what I said,” he exclaimed. +“She was dead before her body was thrown into the water.” + +“No, I don’t agree with you there,” corrected Craig, continuing his +examination of the body. “And yet it is not a case of drowning exactly, +either.” + +“Strangled?” suggested O’Connor. + +“By some jiu jitsu trick?” I put in, mindful of the queer-acting Jap at +Clendenin’s. + +Kennedy shook his head. + +“Perhaps the shock of the bullet wound rendered her unconscious and in +that state she was thrown in,” ventured Walker Curtis, apparently much +relieved that Kennedy coincided with O’Connor in disagreeing with the +harbour police as to the suicide theory. + +Kennedy shrugged his shoulders and looked at the bullet again. “It is +very extraordinary,” was all he replied. “I think you said a few +moments ago, O’Connor, that there had been some queer doings about +here. What did you mean?” + +“Well, as I said, the work of the harbour squad isn’t ordinarily very +remarkable. Harbour pirates aren’t murderous as a rule any more. For +the most part they are plain sneak thieves or bogus junk dealers who +work with dishonest pier watchmen and crooked canal boat captains and +lighter hands. + +“But in this instance,” continued the deputy, his face knitting at the +thought that he had to confess another mystery to which he had no +solution, “it is something quite different. You know that all along the +shore on this side of the island are old, dilapidated and, some of +them, deserted houses. For several days the residents of the +neighbourhood have been complaining of strange occurrences about one +place in particular which was the home of a wealthy family in a past +generation. It is about a mile from here, facing the road along the +shore, and has in front of it and across the road the remains of an old +dock sticking out a few feet into the water at high tide. + +“Now, as nearly as any one can get the story, there seems to have been +a mysterious, phantom boat, very swift, without lights, and with an +engine carefully muffled down which has been coming up to the old dock +for the past few nights when the tide was high enough. A light has been +seen moving on the dock, then suddenly extinguished, only to reappear +again. Who carried it and why, no one knows. Any one who has tried to +approach the place has had a scare thrown into him which he will not +easily forget. For instance, one man crept up and though he did not +think he was seen he was suddenly shot at from behind a tree. He felt +the bullet pierce his arm, started to run, stumbled, and next morning +woke up in the exact spot on which he had fallen, none the worse for +his experience except that he had a slight wound that will prevent his +using his right arm for some time for heavy work. + +“After each visit of the phantom boat there is heard, according to the +story of the few neighbours who have observed it, the tramp of feet up +the overgrown stone walk from the dock and some have said that they +heard an automobile as silent and ghostly as the boat. We have been all +through the weird old house, but have found nothing there, except +enough loose boards and shutters to account for almost any noise or +combination of noises. However, no one has said there was anything +there except the tramp of feet going back and forth on the old +pavements outside. Two or three times shots have been heard, and on the +dock where most of the alleged mysterious doings have taken place we +have found one very new exploded shell of a cartridge.” + +Craig took the shell which O’Connor drew from another pocket and trying +to fit the bullet and the cartridge together remarked “both from a .44, +probably one of those old-fashioned, long-barrelled makes.” + +“There,” concluded O’Connor ruefully, “you know all we know of the +thing so far.” + +“I may keep these for the present?” inquired Kennedy, preparing to +pocket the shell and the bullet, and from his very manner I could see +that as a matter of fact he already knew a great deal more about the +case than the police. “Take us down to this old house and dock, if you +please.” + +Over and over, Craig paced up and down the dilapidated dock, his keen +eyes fastened to the ground, seeking some clue, anything that would +point to the marauders. Real persons they certainly were, and not any +ghostly crew of the bygone days of harbour pirates, for there was every +evidence of some one who had gone up and down the walk recently, not +once but many times. + +Suddenly Kennedy stumbled over what looked like a sardine tin can, +except that it had no label or trace of one. It was lying in the thick +long matted grass by the side of the walk as if it had tumbled there +and had been left unnoticed. + +Yet there was nothing so very remarkable about it in itself. Tin cans +were lying all about, those marks of decadent civilisation. But to +Craig it had instantly presented an idea. It was a new can. The others +were rusted. + +He had pried off the lid and inside was a blackish, viscous mass. + +“Smoking opium,” Craig said at last. + +We retraced our steps pondering on the significance of the discovery. + +O’Connor had had men out endeavouring all day to get a clue to the +motor car that had been mentioned in some of the accounts given by the +natives. So far the best he had been able to find was a report of a +large red touring car which crossed from New York on a late ferry. In +it were a man and a girl as well as a chauffeur who wore goggles and a +cap pulled down over his head so that he was practically +unrecognisable. The girl might have been Miss Curtis and, as for the +man, it might have been Clendenin. No one had bothered much with them; +no one had taken their number; no one had paid any attention where they +went after the ferry landed. In fact, there would have been no +significance to the report if it had not been learned that early in the +morning on the first ferry from the lower end of the island to New +Jersey a large red touring car answering about the same description had +crossed, with a single man and driver but no woman. + +“I should like to watch here with you to-night, O’Connor,” said Craig +as we parted. “Meet us here. In the meantime I shall call on Jameson +with his well-known newspaper connections in the white light district,” +here he gave me a half facetious wink, “to see what he can do toward +getting me admitted to this gilded palace of dope up there on +Forty-fourth Street.” + +After no little trouble Kennedy and I discovered our “hop joint” and +were admitted by Nichi Moto, of whom we had heard. Kennedy gave me a +final injunction to watch, but to be very careful not to seem to watch. + +Nichi Moto with an eye to business and not to our absorbing more than +enough to whet our descriptive powers quickly conducted us into a large +room where, on single bamboo couches or bunks, rather tastefully made, +perhaps half a dozen habitues lay stretched at full length smoking +their pipes in peace, or preparing them in great expectation from the +implements on the trays before them. + +Kennedy relieved me of the responsibility of cooking the opium by doing +it for both of us and, incidentally, dropping a hint not to inhale it +and to breathe as little of it as possible. Even then it made me feel +badly, though he must have contrived in some way to get even less of +the stuff than I. A couple of pipes, and Kennedy beckoned to Nichi. + +“Where is Mr. Clendenin?” he asked familiarly. “I haven’t seen him yet.” + +The Japanese smiled his engaging smile. “Not know,” was all he said, +and yet I knew the fellow at least knew better English, if not more +facts. + +Kennedy had about started on our faking a third “pipe” when a new, +unexpected arrival beckoned excitedly to Nichi. I could not catch all +that was said but two words that I did catch were “the boss” and “hop +toy,” the latter the word for opium. No sooner had the man disappeared +without joining the smokers than Nichi seemed to grow very restless and +anxious. Evidently he had received orders to do something. He seemed +anxious to close the place and get away. I thought that some one might +have given a tip that the place was to be raided, but Kennedy, who had +been closer, had overheard more than I had and among other things he +had caught the word, “meet him at the same place.” + +It was not long before we were all politely hustled out. + +“At least we know this,” commented Kennedy, as I congratulated myself +on our fortunate escape, “Clendenin was not there, and there is +something doing to-night, for he has sent for Nichi.” + +We dropped into our apartment to freshen up a bit against the long +vigil that we knew was coming that night. To our surprise Walker Curtis +had left a message that he wished to see Kennedy immediately and alone, +and although I was not present I give the substance of what he said. It +seemed that he had not wished to tell O’Connor for fear that it would +get into the papers and cause an even greater scandal, but it had come +to his knowledge a few days before the tragedy that his sister was +determined to marry a very wealthy Chinese merchant, an importer of +tea, named Chin Jung. Whether or not this had any bearing on the case +he did not know. He thought it had, because for a long time, both when +she was on the stage and later, Clendenin had had a great influence +over her and had watched with a jealous eye the advances of every one +else. Curtis was especially bitter against Clendenin. + +As Kennedy related the conversation to me on our way over to Staten +Island I tried to piece the thing together, but like one of the famous +Chinese puzzles, it would not come out. I had to admit the possibility +that it was Clendenin who might have quarrelled over her attachment to +Chin Jung, even though I have never yet been able to understand what +the fascination is that some Orientals have over certain American girls. + +All that night we watched patiently from a vantage point of an old shed +near both the house and the decayed pier. It was weird in the extreme, +especially as we had no idea what might happen if we had success and +saw something. But there was no reward for our patience. Absolutely +nothing happened. It was as though they knew, whoever they were, that +we were there. During the hours that passed O’Connor whiled away the +time in a subdued whisper now and then in telling us of his experiences +in Chinatown which he was now engaged in trying to clean up. From +Chinatown, its dens, its gamblers and its tongs we drifted to the +legitimate business interests there, and I, at least, was surprised to +find that there were some of the merchants for whom even O’Connor had a +great deal of respect. Kennedy evidently did not wish to violate in any +way the confidence of Walker Curtis, and mention of the name of Chin +Jung, but by a judicious question as to who the best men were in the +Celestial settlement he did get a list of half a dozen or so from +O’Connor. Chin Jung was well up in the list. However, the night wore +away and still nothing happened. + +It was in the middle of the morning when we were taking a snatch of +sleep in our own rooms uptown that the telephone began to ring +insistently. Kennedy, who was resting, I verily believe, merely out of +consideration for my own human frailties, was at the receiver in an +instant. It proved to be O’Connor. He had just gone back to his office +at headquarters and there he had found a report of another murder. + +“Who is it?” asked Kennedy, “and why do you connect it with this case?” + +O’Connor’s answer must have been a poser, judging from the look of +surprise on Craig’s face. “The Jap—Nichi Moto?” he repeated. “And it +is the same sort of non-fatal wound, the same evidence of asphyxia, the +same circumstances, even down to the red car reported by residents in +the neighbourhood.” + +Nothing further happened that day except this thickening of the plot by +the murder of the peculiar-acting Nichi. We saw his body and it was as +O’Connor said. + +“That fellow wasn’t on the level toward Clendenin,” Craig mused after +we had viewed the second murder in the case. “The question is, who and +what was he working for?” + +There was as yet no hint of answer, and our only plan was to watch +again that night. This time O’Connor, not knowing where the lightning +would strike next, took Craig’s suggestion and we determined to spend +the time cruising about in the fastest of the police motor boats, while +the force of watchers along the entire shore front of the city was +quietly augmented and ordered to be extra vigilant. + +O’Connor at the last moment had to withdraw and let us go alone, for +the worst, and not the unexpected, happened in his effort to clean up +Chinatown. The war between the old rivals, the Hep Sing Tong and the On +Leong Tong, those ancient societies of troublemakers in the little +district, had broken out afresh during the day and three Orientals had +been killed already. + +It is not a particularly pleasant occupation cruising aimlessly up and +down the harbour in a fifty-foot police boat, staunch and fast as she +may be. + +Every hour we called at a police post to report and to keep in touch +with anything that might interest us. It came at about two o’clock in +the morning and of all places, near the Battery itself. From the front +of a ferry boat that ran far down on the Brooklyn side, what looked +like two flashlights gleamed out over the water once, then twice. + +“Headlights of an automobile,” remarked Craig, scarcely taking more +notice of it, for they might have simply been turned up and down twice +by a late returning traveller to test them. We were ourselves near the +Brooklyn shore. Imagine our surprise to see an answering light from a +small boat in the river which was otherwise lightless. We promptly put +out our own lights and with every cylinder working made for the spot +where the light had flashed up on the river. There was something there +all right and we went for it. + +On we raced after the strange craft, the phantom that had scared Staten +Island. For a mile or so we seemed to be gaining, but one of our +cylinders began to miss—the boat turned sharply around a bend in the +shore. We had to give it up as well as trying to overtake the ferry +boat going in the opposite direction. + +Kennedy’s equanimity in our apparent defeat surprised me. “Oh, it’s +nothing, Walter,” he said. “They slipped away to-night, but I have +found the clue. To-morrow as soon as the Customs House is open you will +understand. It all centres about opium.” + +At least a large part of the secret was cleared, too, as a result of +Kennedy’s visit to the Customs House. After years of fighting with the +opium ring on the Pacific coast, the ring had tried to “put one over” +on the revenue officers and smuggle the drug in through New York. + +It did not take long to find the right man among the revenue officers +to talk with. Nor was Kennedy surprised to learn that Nichi Moto had +been in fact a Japanese detective, a sort of stool pigeon in +Clendenin’s establishment working to keep the government in touch with +the latest scheme. + +The finding of the can of opium on the scene of the murder of Bertha +Curtis, and the chase after the lightless motor boat had at last placed +Kennedy on the right track. With one of the revenue officers we made a +quick trip to Brooklyn and spent the morning inspecting the ships from +South American ports docked in the neighbourhood where the phantom boat +had disappeared. + +From ship to ship we journeyed until at last we came to one on which, +down in the chain locker, we found a false floor with a locker under +that. There was a compartment six feet square and in it lay, neatly +packed, fourteen large hermetically sealed cylinders, each full of the +little oblong tins such as Kennedy had picked up the other day—forty +thousand dollars’ worth of the stuff at one haul, to say nothing of the +thousands that had already been landed at one place or another. + +It had been a good day’s work, but as yet it had not caught the slayer +or cleared up the mystery of Bertha Curtis. Some one or something had +had a power over the girl to lure her on. Was it Clendenin? The place +in Forty-fourth Street, on inquiry, proved to be really closed as tight +as a drum. Where was he? + +All the deaths had been mysterious, were still mysterious. Bertha +Curtis had carried her secret with her to the grave to which she had +been borne, willingly it seemed, in the red car with the unknown +companion and the goggled chauffeur. I found myself still asking what +possible connection she could have with smuggling opium. + +Kennedy, however, was indulging in no such speculations. It was enough +for him that the scene had suddenly shifted and in a most unexpected +manner. I found him voraciously reading practically everything that was +being printed in the papers about the revival of the tong war. + +“They say much about the war, but little about the cause,” was his dry +comment. “I wish I could make up my mind whether it is due to the +closing of the joints by O’Connor, or the belief that one tong is +informing on the other about opium smuggling.” + +Kennedy passed over all the picturesque features in the newspapers, and +from it all picked out the one point that was most important for the +case which he was working to clear up. One tong used revolvers of a +certain make; the other of a different make. The bullet which had +killed Bertha Curtis and later Nichi Moto was from a pistol like that +of the Hep Sings. + +The difference in the makes of guns seemed at once to suggest something +to Kennedy and instead of mixing actively in the war of the highbinders +he retired to his unfailing laboratory, leaving me to pass the time +gathering such information as I could. Once I dropped in on him but +found him unsociably surrounded by microscopes and a very sensitive +arrangement for taking microphotographs. Some of his negatives were +nearly a foot in diameter, and might have been, for all I knew, +pictures of the surface of the moon. + +While I was there O’Connor came in. Craig questioned him about the war +of the tongs. + +“Why,” O’Connor cried, almost bubbling over with satisfaction, “this +afternoon I was waited on by Chin Jung, you remember?—one of the +leading merchants down there. Of course you know that Chinatown doesn’t +believe in hurting business and it seems that he and some of the others +like him are afraid that if the tong war is not hushed up pretty soon +it will cost a lot—in money. They are going to have an anniversary of +the founding of the Chinese republic soon and of the Chinese New Year +and they are afraid that if the war doesn’t stop they’ll be ruined.” + +“Which tong does he belong to?” asked Kennedy, still scrutinising a +photograph through his lens. + +“Neither,” replied O’Connor. “With his aid and that of a Judge of one +of our courts who knows the Chinaman like a book we have had a +conference this afternoon between the two tongs and the truce is +restored again for two weeks.” + +“Very good,” answered Kennedy, “but it doesn’t catch the murderer of +Bertha Curtis and the Jap. Where is Clendenin, do you suppose?” + +“I don’t know, but it at least leaves me free to carry on that case. +What are all these pictures?” + +“Well,” began Kennedy, taking his glass from his eye and wiping it +carefully, “a Paris crime specialist has formulated a system for +identifying revolver bullets which is very like that of Dr. Bertillon +for identifying human beings.” + +He picked up a handful of the greatly enlarged photographs. “These are +photographs of bullets which he has sent me. The barrel of every gun +leaves marks on the bullet that are always the same for the same barrel +but never identical for two different barrels. In these big negatives +every detail appears very distinctly and it can be decided with +absolute certainty whether a given bullet was fired from a given +revolver. Now, using this same method, I have made similar greatly +enlarged photographs of the two bullets that have figured so far in +this case. The bullet that killed Miss Curtis shows the same marks as +that which killed Nichi.” + +He picked up another bunch of prints. “Now,” he continued, “taking up +the firing pin of a rifle or the hammer of a revolver, you may not know +it but they are different in every case. Even among the same makes they +are different, and can be detected. + +“The cartridge in either a gun or revolver is struck at a point which +is never in the exact centre or edge, as the case may be, but is always +the same for the same weapon. Now the end of the hammer when examined +with the microscope bears certain irregularities of marking different +from those of every other gun and the shell fired in it is impressed +with the particular markings of that hammer, just as paper is by type. +On making microphotographs of firing pins or hammers, with special +reference to the rounded ends and also photographs of the corresponding +rounded depressions in the primers fired by them it is forced on any +one that cartridges fired by each individual rifle or pistol can +positively be identified. + +“You will see on the edge of the photographs I have made a rough sketch +calling attention to the ‘L’-shaped mark which is the chief +characteristic of this hammer, although there are other detailed +markings which show well under the microscope but not well in a +photograph. You will notice that the characters on the firing hammer +are reversed on the cartridge in the same way that a metal type and the +character printed by it are reversed as regards one another. Again, +depressions on the end of the hammer become raised characters on the +cartridge, and raised characters on the hammer become depressions on +the cartridge. + +“Look at some of these old photographs and you will see that they +differ from this. They lack the ‘L’ mark. Some have circles, others a +very different series of pits and elevations, a set of characters when +examined and measured under the microscope utterly different from those +in every other case. Each is unique, in its pits, lines, circles and +irregularities. The laws of chance are as much against two of them +having the same markings as they are against the thumb prints of two +human subjects being identical. The firing-pin theory, which was used +in a famous case in Maine, is just as infallible as the finger-print +theory. In this case when we find the owner of the gun making an ‘L’ +mark we shall have the murderer.” + +Something, I could see, was working on O’Connor’s mind. “That’s all +right,” he interjected, “but you know in neither case was the victim +shot to death. They were asphyxiated.” + +“I was coming to that,” rejoined Craig. “You recall the peculiar +marking on the nose of those bullets? They were what is known as +narcotic bullets, an invention of a Pittsburg scientist. They have the +property of lulling their victims to almost instant slumber. A slight +scratch from these sleep-producing bullets is all that is necessary, as +it was in the case of the man who spied on the queer doings on Staten +Island. The drug, usually morphia, is carried in tiny wells on the cap +of the bullet, is absorbed by the system and acts almost instantly.” + +The door burst open and Walker Curtis strode in excitedly. He seemed +surprised to see us all there, hesitated, then motioned to Kennedy that +he wished to see him. For a few moments they talked and finally I +caught the remark from Kennedy, “But, Mr. Curtis, I must do it. It is +the only way.” + +Curtis gave a resigned nod and Kennedy turned to us. “Gentlemen,” he +said, “Mr. Curtis in going over the effects of his sister has found a +note from Clendenin which mentions another opium joint down in +Chinatown. He wished me to investigate privately, but I have told him +it would be impossible.” + +At the mention of a den in the district he was cleaning up O’Connor had +pricked up his ears. “Where is it?” he demanded. + +Curtis mentioned a number on Dover Street. + +“The Amoy restaurant,” ejaculated O’Connor, seizing the telephone. A +moment later he was arranging with the captain at the Elizabeth Street +station for the warrants for an instant raid. + + + + +XII + +THE “DOPE TRUST” + + +As we hurried into Chinatown from Chatham Square we could see that the +district was celebrating its holidays with long ropes of firecrackers, +and was feasting to reed discords from the pipes of its most famous +musicians, and was gay with the hanging out of many sunflags, red with +an eighteen-rayed white sun in the blue union. Both the new tong truce +and the anniversary were more than cause for rejoicing. + +Hurried though it was, the raid on the Hep Sing joint had been +carefully prepared by O’Connor. The house we were after was one of the +oldest of the rookeries, with a gaudy restaurant on the second floor, a +curio shop on the street level, while in the basement all that was +visible was a view of a huge and orderly pile of tea chests. A moment +before the windows of the dwellings above the restaurant had been full +of people. All had faded away even before the axes began to swing on +the basement door which had the appearance of a storeroom for the shop +above. + +The flimsy outside door went down quickly. But it was only a blind. +Another door greeted the raiders. The axes swung noisily and the +crowbars tore at the fortified, iron-clad, “ice box” door inside. After +breaking it down they had to claw their way through another just like +it. The thick doors and tea chests piled up showed why no sounds of +gambling and other practices ever were heard outside. + +Pushing aside a curtain we were in the main room. The scene was one of +confusion showing the hasty departure of the occupants. + +Kennedy did not stop here. Within was still another room, for smokers, +anything but like the fashionable place we had seen uptown. It was low, +common, disgusting. The odour everywhere was offensive; everywhere was +filth that should naturally breed disease. It was an inferno reeking +with unwholesome sweat and still obscured with dense fumes of smoke. + +Three tiers of bunks of hardwood were built along the walls. There was +no glamour here; all was sordid. Several Chinamen in various stages of +dazed indolence were jabbering in incoherent oblivion, a state I +suppose of “Oriental calm.” + +There, in a bunk, lay Clendenin. His slow and uncertain breathing told +of his being under the influence of the drug, and he lay on his back +beside a “layout” with a half-cooked pill still in the bowl of his pipe. + +The question was to wake him up. Craig began slapping him with a wet +towel, directing us how to keep him roused. We walked him about, up and +down, dazed, less than half sensible, dreaming, muttering, raving. + +A hasty exclamation from O’Connor followed as he drew from the scant +cushions of the bunk a long-barreled pistol, a .44 such as the tong +leaders used, the same make as had shot Bertha Curtis and Nichi. Craig +seized it and stuck it into his pocket. + +All the gamblers had fled, all except those too drugged to escape. +Where they had gone was indicated by a door leading up to the kitchen +of the restaurant. Craig did not stop but leaped upstairs and then down +again into a little back court by means of a fire-escape. Through a +sort of short alley we groped our way, or rather through an intricate +maze of alleys and a labyrinth of blind recesses. We were apparently +back of a store on Pell Street. + +It was the work of only a moment to go through another door and into +another room, filled with smoky, dirty, unpleasant, fetid air. This +room, too, seemed to be piled with tea chests. Craig opened one. There +lay piles and piles of opium tins, a veritable fortune in the drug. + +Mysterious pots and pans, strainers, wooden vessels, and testing +instruments were about. The odour of opium in the manufacture was +unmistakable, for smoking opium is different from the medicinal drug. +There it appeared the supplies of thousands of smokers all over the +country were stored and prepared. In a corner a mass of the finished +product lay weltering in a basin like treacle. In another corner was +the apparatus for remaking yen-shee or once-smoked opium. This I felt +was at last the home of the “dope trust,” as O’Connor had once called +it, the secret realm of a real opium king, the American end of the rich +Shanghai syndicate. + +A door opened and there stood a Chinaman, stoical, secretive, +indifferent, with all the Oriental cunning and cruelty hall-marked on +his face. Yet there was a fascination and air of Eastern culture about +him in spite of that strange and typical Oriental depth of intrigue and +cunning that shone through, great characteristics of the East. + +No one said a word as Kennedy continued to ransack the place. At last +under a rubbish heap he found a revolver wrapped up loosely in an old +sweater. Quickly, under the bright light, Craig drew Clendenin’s +pistol, fitted a cartridge into it and fired at the wall. Again into +the second gun he fitted another and a second shot rang out. + +Out of his pocket came next the small magnifying glass and two +unmounted microphotographs. He bent down over the exploded shells. + +“There it is,” cried Craig scarcely able to restrain himself with the +keenness of his chase, “there it is—the mark like an ‘L.’ This +cartridge bears the one mark, distinct, not possible to have been made +by any other pistol in the world. None of the Hep Sings, all with the +same make of weapons, none of the gunmen in their employ, could +duplicate that mark.” + +“Some bullets,” reported a policeman who had been rummaging further in +the rubbish. + +“Be careful, man,” cautioned Craig. “They are doped. Lay them down. +Yes, this is the same gun that fired the shot at Bertha Curtis and +Nichi Moto—fired narcotic bullets in order to stop any one who +interfered with the opium smuggling, without killing the victim.” + +“What’s the matter?” asked O’Connor, arriving breathless from the +gambling room after hearing the shots. The Chinaman stood, still +silent, impassive. At sight of him O’Connor gasped out, “Chin Jung!” + +“Real tong leader,” added Craig, “and the murderer of the white girl to +whom he was engaged. This is the goggled chauffeur of the red car that +met the smuggling boat, and in which Bertha Curtis rode, unsuspecting, +to her death.” + +“And Clendenin?” asked Walker Curtis, not comprehending. + +“A tool—poor wretch. So keen had the hunt for him become that he had +to hide in the only safe place, with the coolies of his employer. He +must have been in such abject terror that he has almost smoked himself +to death.” + +“But why should the Chinaman shoot my sister?” asked Walker Curtis +amazed at the turn of events. + +“Your sister,” replied Craig, almost reverently, “wrecked though she +was by the drug, was at last conscience stricken when she saw the vast +plot to debauch thousands of others. It was from her that the Japanese +detective in the revenue service got his information—and both of them +have paid the price. But they have smashed the new opium ring—we have +captured the ring-leaders of the gang.” + +Out of the maze of streets, on Chatham Square again, we lost no time in +mounting to the safety of the elevated station before some murderous +tong member might seek revenge on us. + +The celebration in Chinatown was stilled. It was as though the nerves +of the place had been paralysed by our sudden, sharp blow. + +A downtown train took me to the office to write a “beat,” for the Star +always made a special feature of the picturesque in Chinatown news. +Kennedy went uptown. + +Except for a few moments in the morning, I did not see Kennedy again +until the following afternoon, for the tong war proved to be such an +interesting feature that I had to help lay out and direct the +assignments covering its various details. + +I managed to get away again as soon as possible, however, for I knew +that it would not be long before some one else in trouble would +commandeer Kennedy to untangle a mystery, and I wanted to be on the +spot when it started. + +Sure enough, it turned out that I was right. Seated with him in our +living room, when I came in from my hasty journey uptown in the subway, +was a man, tall, thick-set, with a crop of closely curling dark hair, a +sharp, pointed nose, ferret eyes, and a reddish moustache, curled at +the ends. I had no difficulty in deciding what he was, if not who he +was. He was the typical detective who, for the very reason that he +looked the part, destroyed much of his own usefulness. + +“We have lost so much lately at Trimble’s,” he was saying, “that it is +long past the stage of being merely interesting. It is downright +serious—for me, at least. I’ve got to make good or lose my job. And +I’m up against one of the cleverest shoplifters that ever entered a +department-store, apparently. Only Heaven knows how much she has got +away with in various departments so far, but when it comes to lifting +valuable things like pieces of jewelry which run into the thousands, +that is too much.” + +At the mention of the name of the big Trimble store I had recognised at +once what the man was, and it did not need Kennedy’s rapid-fire +introduction of Michael Donnelly to tell me that he was a department +store detective. + +“Have you no clue, no suspicions?” inquired Kennedy. + +“Well, yes, suspicions,” measured Donnelly slowly. “For instance, one +day not long ago a beautifully dressed and refined-looking woman called +at the jewellery department and asked to see a diamond necklace which +we had just imported from Paris. She seemed to admire it very much, +studied it, tried it on, but finally went away without making up her +mind. A couple of days later she returned and asked to see it again. +This time there happened to be another woman beside her who was looking +at some pendants. The two fell to talking about the necklace, according +to the best recollection of the clerk, and the second woman began to +examine it critically. Again the prospective buyer went away. But this +time after she had gone, and when he was putting the things back into +the safe, the clerk examined the necklace, thinking that perhaps a flaw +had been discovered in it which had decided the woman against it. It +was a replica in paste; probably substituted by one of these clever and +smartly dressed women for the real necklace.” + +Before Craig had a chance to put another question, the buzzer on our +door sounded, and I admitted a dapper, soft-spoken man of middle size, +who might have been a travelling salesman or a bookkeeper. He pulled a +card from his case and stood facing us, evidently in doubt how to +proceed. + +“Professor Kennedy?” he asked at length, balancing the pasteboard +between his fingers. + +“Yes,” answered Craig. “What can I do for you?” + +“I am from Shorham, the Fifth Avenue jeweller, you know,” he began +brusquely, as he handed the card to Kennedy. “I thought I’d drop in to +consult you about a peculiar thing that happened at the store recently, +but if you are engaged, I can wait. You see, we had on exhibition a +very handsome pearl dogcollar, and a few days ago two women came to—” + +“Say,” interrupted Kennedy, glancing from the card to the face of +Joseph Bentley, and then at Donnelly. “What is this—a gathering of the +clans? There seems to be an epidemic of shoplifting. How much were you +stung for?” + +“About twenty thousand altogether,” replied Bentley with rueful +frankness. “Why? Has some one else been victimised, too?” + + + + +XIII + +THE KLEPTOMANIAC + + +Quickly Kennedy outlined, with Donnelly’s permission, the story we had +just heard. The two store detectives saw the humour of the situation, +as well as the seriousness of it, and fell to comparing notes. + +“The professional as well as the amateur shop-lifter has always +presented to me an interesting phase of criminality,” remarked Kennedy +tentatively, during a lull in their mutual commiseration. “With +thousands of dollars’ worth of goods lying unprotected on the counters, +it is really no wonder that some are tempted to reach out and take what +they want.” + +“Yes,” explained Donnelly, “the shop-lifter is the department-store’s +greatest unsolved problem. Why, sir, she gets more plunder in a year +than the burglar. She’s costing the stores over two million dollars. +And she is at her busiest just now with the season’s shopping in full +swing. It’s the price the stores have to pay for displaying their +goods, but we have to do it, and we are at the mercy of the thieves. I +don’t mean by that the occasional shoplifter who, when she gets caught, +confesses, cries, pleads, and begs to return the stolen article. They +often get off. It is the regulars who get the two million, those known +to the police, whose pictures are, many of them, in the Rogues’ +Gallery, whose careers and haunts are known to every probation officer. +They are getting away with loot that means for them a sumptuous living.” + +“Of course we are not up against the same sort of swindlers that you +are,” put in Bentley, “but let me tell you that when the big jewelers +do get up against anything of the sort they are up against it hard.” + +“Have you any idea who it could be?” asked Kennedy, who had been +following the discussion keenly. + +“Well, some idea,” spoke up Donnelly. “From what Bentley says I +wouldn’t be surprised to find that it was the same person in both +cases. Of course you know how rushed all the stores are just now. It is +much easier for these light-fingered individuals to operate during the +rush than at any other time. In the summer, for instance, there is +almost no shop-lifting at all. I thought that perhaps we could discover +this particular shoplifter by ordinary means, that perhaps some of the +clerks in the jewellery department might be able to identify her. We +found one who said that he thought he might recognise one of the women +if he saw her again. Perhaps you did not know that we have our own +little rogues’ gallery in most of the big department-stores. But there +didn’t happen to be anything there that he recognised. So I took him +down to Police Headquarters. Through plate after plate of pictures +among the shoplifters in the regular Rogues’ Gallery the clerk went. At +last he came to one picture that caused him to stop. ‘That is one of +the women I saw in the store that day,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’” + +Donnelly produced a copy of the Bertillon picture. + +“What?” exclaimed Bentley, as he glanced at it and then at the name and +history on the back. “Annie Grayson? Why, she is known as the queen of +shoplifters. She has operated from Christie’s in London to the little +curio-shops of San Francisco. She has worked under a dozen aliases and +has the art of alibi down to perfection. Oh, I’ve heard of her many +times before. I wonder if she really is the person we’re looking for. +They say that Annie Grayson has forgotten more about shoplifting than +the others will ever know.” + +“Yes,” continued Donnelly, “and here’s the queer part of it. The clerk +was ready to swear that he had seen the woman in the store at some time +or other, but whether she had been near the counter where the necklace +was displayed was another matter. He wasn’t so sure about that.” + +“Then how did she get it?” I asked, much interested. + +“I don’t say that she did get it,” cautioned Donnelly. “I don’t know +anything about it. That is why I am here consulting Professor Kennedy.” + +“Then who did get it, do you think?” I demanded. + +“We have a great deal of very conflicting testimony from the various +clerks,” Donnelly continued. “Among those who are known to have visited +the department and to have seen the necklace is another woman, of an +entirely different character, well known in the city.” He glanced +sharply at us, as if to impress us with what he was about to say, then +he leaned over and almost whispered the name. “As nearly as I can +gather out of the mass of evidence, Mrs. William Willoughby, the wife +of the broker down in Wall Street, was the last person who was seen +looking at the diamonds.” + +The mere breath of such a suspicion would have been enough, without his +stage-whisper method of imparting the information. I felt that it was +no wonder that, having even a suspicion of this sort, he should be in +doubt how to go ahead and should wish Kennedy’s advice. Ella +Willoughby, besides being the wife of one of the best known operators +in high-class stocks and bonds, was well known in the society columns +of the newspapers. She lived in Glenclair, where she was a leader of +the smarter set at both the church and the country club. The group who +preserved this neat balance between higher things and the world, the +flesh and the devil, I knew to be a very exclusive group, which, under +the calm suburban surface, led a sufficiently rapid life. Mrs. +Willoughby, in addition to being a leader, was a very striking woman +and a beautiful dresser, who set a fast pace for the semi-millionaires +who composed the group. + +Here indeed was a puzzle at the very start of the case. It was in all +probability Mrs. Willoughby who had looked at the jewels in both cases. +On the other hand, it was Annie Grayson who had been seen on at least +one occasion, yet apparently had had nothing whatever to do with the +missing jewels, at least not so far as any tangible evidence yet +showed. More than that, Donnelly vouchsafed the information that he had +gone further and that some of the men work-ing under him had +endeavoured to follow the movements of the two women and had found what +looked to be a curious crossing of trails. Both of them, he had found, +had been in the habit of visiting, while shopping, the same little +tea-room on Thirty-third Street, though no one had ever seen them +together there, and the coincidence might be accounted for by the fact +that many Glenclair ladies on shopping expeditions made this tea-room a +sort of rendezvous. By inquiring about among his own fraternity +Donnelly had found that other stores also had reported losses recently, +mostly of diamonds and pearls, both black and white. + +Kennedy had been pondering the situation for some time, scarcely +uttering a word. Both detectives were now growing restless, waiting for +him to say something. As for me, I knew that if anything were said or +done it would be in Kennedy’s own good time. I had learned to have +implicit faith and confidence in him, for I doubt if Craig could have +been placed in a situation where he would not know just what to do +after he had looked over the ground. + +At length he leisurely reached across the table for the suburban +telephone book, turned the pages quickly, snapped it shut, and observed +wearily and, as it seemed, irrelevantly: “The same old trouble again +about accurate testimony. I doubt whether if I should suddenly pull a +revolver and shoot Jameson, either of you two men could give a strictly +accurate account of just what happened.” + +No one said anything, as he raised his hands from his habitual thinking +posture with finger-tips together, placed both hands back of his head, +and leaned back facing us squarely. + +“The first step,” he said slowly, “must be to arrange a ‘plant.’ As +nearly as I can make out the shoplifters or shoplifter, whichever it +may prove to be, have no hint that any one is watching them yet. Now, +Donnelly, it is still very early. I want you to telephone around to the +newspapers, and either in the Trimble advertisements or in the news +columns have it announced that your jewellery department has on +exhibition a new and special importation of South African stones among +which is one—let me see, let’s call it the ‘Kimberley Queen.’ That +will sound attractive. In the meantime find the largest and most +perfect paste jewel in town and have it fixed up for exhibition and +labelled the Kimberley Queen. Give it a history if you can; anything to +attract attention. I’ll see you in the morning. Good-night, and thank +you for coming to me with this case.” + +It was quite late, but Kennedy, now thoroughly interested in following +the chase, had no intention of waiting until the morrow before taking +action on his own account. In fact he was just beginning the evening’s +work by sending Donnelly off to arrange the “plant.” No less interested +in the case than himself, I needed no second invitation, and in a few +minutes we were headed from our rooms toward the laboratory, where +Kennedy had apparatus to meet almost any conceivable emergency. From a +shelf in the corner he took down an oblong oak box, perhaps eighteen +inches in length, in the front of which was set a circular metal disk +with a sort of pointer and dial. He lifted the lid of the box, and +inside I could see two shiny caps which in turn he lifted, disclosing +what looked like two good-sized spools of wire. Apparently satisfied +with his scrutiny, he snapped the lid shut and wrapped up the box +carefully, consigning it to my care, while he hunted some copper wire. + +From long experience with Kennedy I knew better than to ask what he had +in mind to do. It was enough to know that he had already, in those few +minutes of apparent dreaming while Donnelly and Bentley were fidgeting +for words, mapped out a complete course of action. + +We bent our steps toward the under-river tube, which carried a few late +travellers to the railroad terminal where Kennedy purchased tickets for +Glenclair. I noticed that the conductor on the suburban train eyed us +rather suspiciously as though the mere fact that we were not travelling +with commutation tickets at such an hour constituted an offence. +Although I did not yet know the precise nature of our adventure, I +remembered with some misgiving that I had read of police dogs in +Glenclair which were uncomfortably familiar with strangers carrying +bundles. However, we got along all right, perhaps because the dogs knew +that in a town of commuters every one was privileged to carry a bundle. + +“If the Willoughbys had been on a party line,” remarked Craig as we +strode up Woodridge Avenue trying to look as if it was familiar to us, +“we might have arranged this thing by stratagem. As it is, we shall +have to resort to another method, and perhaps better, since we shall +have to take no one into our confidence.” + +The avenue was indeed a fine thoroughfare, lined on both sides with +large and often imposing mansions, surrounded with trees and shrubbery, +which served somewhat to screen them. We came at last to the Willoughby +house, a sizable colonial residence set up on a hill. It was dark, +except for one dim light in an upper story. In the shadow of the hedge, +Craig silently vaulted the low fence and slipped up the terraces, as +noiselessly as an Indian, scarcely crackling a twig or rustling a dead +leaf on the ground. He paused as he came to a wing on the right of the +house. + +I had followed more laboriously, carrying the box and noting that he +was not looking so much at the house as at the sky, apparently. It did +not take long to fathom what he was after. It was not a star-gazing +expedition; he was following the telephone wire that ran in from the +street to the corner of the house near which we were now standing. A +moment’s inspection showed him where the wire was led down, on the +outside and entered through the top of a window. + +Quickly he worked, though in a rather awkward position, attaching two +wires carefully to the telephone wires. Next he relieved me of the oak +box with its strange contents, and placed it under the porch where it +was completely hidden by some lattice-work which extended down to the +ground on this side. Then he attached the new wires from the telephone +to it and hid the connecting wires as best he could behind the swaying +runners of a vine. At last, when he had finished to his satisfaction, +we retraced our steps, to find that our only chance of getting out of +town that night was by trolley that landed us, after many changes, in +our apartment in New York, thoroughly convinced of the disadvantages of +suburban detective work. + +Nevertheless the next day found us out sleuthing about Glenclair, this +time in a more pleasant role. We had a newspaper friend or two out +there who was willing to introduce us about without asking too many +questions. Kennedy, of course, insisted on beginning at the very +headquarters of gossip, the country club. + +We spent several enjoyable hours about the town, picking up a good deal +of miscellaneous and useless information. It was, however, as Kennedy +had suspected. Annie Grayson had taken up her residence in an artistic +little house on one of the best side streets of the town. But her name +was no longer Annie Grayson. She was Mrs. Maud Emery, a dashing young +widow of some means, living in a very quiet but altogether comfortable +style, cutting quite a figure in the exclusive suburban community, a +leading member of the church circle, an officer of the Civic League, +prominent in the women’s club, and popular with those to whom the +established order of things was so perfect that the only new bulwark of +their rights was an anti-suffrage society. In fact, every one was +talking of the valuable social acquisition in the person of this +attractive young woman who entertained lavishly and was bracing up an +otherwise drooping season. No one knew much about her, but then, that +was not necessary. It was enough to accept one whose opinions and +actions were not subversive of the social order in any way. + +The Willoughbys, of course, were among the most prominent people in the +town. William Willoughby was head of the firm of Willoughby & Walton, +and it was the general opinion that Mrs. Willoughby was the head of the +firm of Ella & William Willoughby. The Willoughbys were good mixers, +and were spoken well of even by the set who occupied the social stratum +just one degree below that in which they themselves moved. In fact, +when Mrs. Willoughby had been severely injured in an automobile +accident during the previous summer Glenclair had shown real solicitude +for her and had forgotten a good deal of its artificiality in genuine +human interest. + +Kennedy was impatiently waiting for an opportunity to recover the box +which he had left under the Willoughby porch. Several times we walked +past the house, but it was not until nightfall that he considered it +wise to make the recovery. Again we slipped silently up the terraces. +It was the work of only a moment to cut the wires, and in triumph Craig +bore off the precious oak box and its batteries. + +He said little on our journey back to the city, but the moment we had +reached the laboratory he set the box on a table with an attachment +which seemed to be controlled by pedals operated by the feet. + +“Walter,” he explained, holding what looked like an earpiece in his +hand, “this is another of those new little instruments that scientific +detectives to-day are using. A poet might write a clever little verse +en-titled, ‘The telegraphone’ll get you, if you don’t watch out.’ This +is the latest improved telegraphone, a little electromagnetic wizard in +a box, which we detectives are now using to take down and ‘can’ +telephone conversations and other records. It is based on an entirely +new principle in every way different from the phonograph. It was +discovered by an inventor several years ago, while experimenting in +telephony. + +“There are no disks or cylinders of wax, as in the phonograph, but two +large spools of extremely fine steel wire. The record is not made +mechanically on a cylinder, but electromagnetically on this wire. Small +portions of magnetism are imparted to fractions of the steel wire as it +passes between two carbon electric magnets. Each impression represents +a sound wave. There is no apparent difference in the wire, no surface +abrasion or other change, yet each particle of steel undergoes an +electromagnetic transformation by which the sound is indelibly +imprinted on it until it is wiped out by the erasing magnet. There are +no cylinders to be shaved; all that is needed to use the wire again is +to pass a magnet over it, automatically erasing any previous record +that you do not wish to preserve. You can dictate into it, or, with +this plug in, you can record a telephone conversation on it. Even rust +or other deterioration of the steel wire by time will not affect this +electromagnetic registry of sound. It can be read as long as steel will +last. It is as effective for long distances as for short, and there is +wire enough on one of these spools for thirty minutes of uninterrupted +record.” + +Craig continued to tinker tantalisingly with the machine. + +“The principle on which it is based,” he added, “is that a mass of +tempered steel may be impressed with and will retain magnetic fluxes +varying in density and in sign in adjacent portions of its mass. There +are no indentations on the wire or the steel disk. Instead there is a +deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, which is made by connecting up +an ordinary telephone transmitter with the electromagnets and talking +through the coil. The disturbance set up in the coils by the vibration +of the diaphragm of the transmitter causes a deposit of magnetic +impulse on the wire, the coils being connected with dry batteries. When +the wire is again run past these coils, with a receiver such as I have +here in circuit with the coils, a light vibration is set up in the +receiver diaphragm which reproduces the sound of speech.” + +He turned a switch and placed an ear-piece over his head, giving me +another connected with it. We listened eagerly. There were no foreign +noises in the machine, no grating or thumping sounds, as he controlled +the running off of the steel wire by means of a foot-pedal. + +We were listening to everything that had been said over the Willoughby +telephone during the day. Several local calls to tradesmen came first, +and these we passed over quickly. Finally we heard the following +conversation: + +“Hello. Is that you, Ella? Yes, this is Maud. Good-morning. How do you +feel to-day?” + +“Good-morning, Maud. I don’t feel very well. I have a splitting +headache.” + +“Oh, that’s too bad, dear. What are you doing for it?” + +“Nothing—yet. If it doesn’t get better I shall have Mr. Willoughby +call up Dr. Guthrie.” + +“Oh, I hope it gets better soon. You poor creature, don’t you think a +little trip into town might make you feel better? Had you thought of +going to-day?” + +“Why, no. I hadn’t thought of going in. Are you going?” + +“Did you see the Trimble ad. in the morning paper?” + +“No, I didn’t see the papers this morning. My head felt too bad.” + +“Well, just glance at it. It will interest you. They have the Kimberley +Queen, the great new South African diamond on exhibition there.” + +“They have? I never heard of it before, but isn’t that interesting. I +certainly would like to see it. Have you ever seen it?” + +“No, but I have made up my mind not to miss a sight of it. They say it +is wonderful. You’d better come along. I may have something interesting +to tell you, too.” + +“Well, I believe I will go. Thank you, Maud, for suggesting it. Perhaps +the little change will make me feel better. What train are you going to +take? The ten-two? All right, I’ll try to meet you at the station. +Good-bye, Maud.” + +“Good-bye, Ella.” + +Craig stopped the machine, ran it back again and repeated the record. +“So,” he commented at the conclusion of the repetition, “the ‘plant’ +has taken root. Annie Grayson has bitten at the bait.” + +A few other local calls and a long-distance call from Mr. Willoughby +cut short by his not finding his wife at home followed. Then there +seemed to have been nothing more until after dinner. It was a call by +Mr. Willoughby himself that now interested us. + +“Hello! hello! Is that you, Dr. Guthrie? Well, Doctor, this is Mr. +Willoughby talking. I’d like to make an appointment for my wife +to-morrow.” + +“Why, what’s the trouble, Mr. Willoughby? Nothing serious, I hope.” + +“Oh, no, I guess not. But then I want to be sure, and I guess you can +fix her up all right. She complains of not being able to sleep and has +been having pretty bad headaches now and then.” + +“Is that so? Well, that’s too bad. These women and their +headaches—even as a doctor they puzzle me. They often go away as +suddenly as they come. However, it will do no harm to see me.” + +“And then she complains of noises in her ears, seems to hear things, +though as far as I can make out, there is nothing—at least nothing +that I hear.” + +“Um-m, hallucinations in hearing, I suppose. Any dizziness?” + +“Why, yes, a little once in a while.” + +“How is she now?” + +“Well, she’s been into town this afternoon and is pretty tired, but she +says she feels a little better for the excitement of the trip.” + +“Well, let me see. I’ve got to come down Woodridge Avenue to see a +patient in a few minutes anyhow. Suppose I just drop off at your place?” + +“That will be fine. You don’t think it is anything serious, do you, +Doctor?” + +“Oh, no. Probably it’s her nerves. Perhaps a little rest would do her +good. We’ll see.” + +The telegraphone stopped, and that seemed to be the last conversation +recorded. So far we had learned nothing very startling, I thought, and +was just a little disappointed. Kennedy seemed well satisfied, however. + +Our own telephone rang, and it proved to be Donnelly on the wire. He +had been trying to get Kennedy all day, in order to report that at +various times his men at Trimble’s had observed Mrs. Willoughby and +later Annie Grayson looking with much interest at the Kimberley Queen, +and other jewels in the exhibit. There was nothing more to report. + +“Keep it on view another day or two,” ordered Kennedy. “Advertise it, +but in a quiet way. We don’t want too many people interested. I’ll see +you in the morning at the store—early.” + +“I think I’ll just run back to Glenclair again to-night,” remarked +Kennedy as he hung up the receiver. “You needn’t bother about coming, +Walter. I want to see Dr. Guthrie a moment. You remember him? We met +him to-day at the country club, a kindly looking, middle-aged fellow?” + +I would willingly have gone back with him, but I felt that I could be +of no particular use. While he was gone I pondered a good deal over the +situation. Twice, at least, previously some one had pilfered jewellery +from stores, leaving in its place worthless imitations. Twice the +evidence had been so conflicting that no one could judge of its value. +What reason, I asked myself, was there to suppose that it would be +different now? No shoplifter in her senses was likely to lift the great +Kimberley Queen gem with the eagle eyes of clerks and detectives on +her, even if she did not discover that it was only a paste jewel. And +if Craig gave the woman, whoever she was, a good opportunity to get +away with it, it would be a case of the same conflicting evidence; or +worse, no evidence. + +Yet the more I thought of it, the more apparent to me was it that +Kennedy must have thought the whole thing out before. So far all that +had been evident was that he was merely preparing a “plant.” Still, I +meant to caution him when he returned that one could not believe his +eyes, certainly not his ears, as to what might happen, unless he was +unusually skilful or lucky. It would not do to rely on anything so +fallible as the human eye or ear, and I meant to impress it on him. +What, after all, had been the net result of our activities so far? We +had found next to nothing. Indeed, it was all a greater mystery than +ever. + +It was very late when Craig returned, but I gathered from the still +fresh look on his face that he had been successful in whatever it was +he had had in mind when he made the trip. + +“I saw Dr. Guthrie,” he reported laconically, as we prepared to turn +in. “He says that he isn’t quite sure but that Mrs. Willoughby may have +a touch of vertigo. At any rate, he has consented to let me come out +to-morrow with him and visit her as a specialist in nervous diseases +from New York. I had to tell him just enough about the case to get him +interested, but that will do no harm. I think I’ll set this alarm an +hour ahead. I want to get up early to-morrow, and if I shouldn’t be +here when you wake, you’ll find me at Trimble’s.” + + + + +XIV + +THE CRIMEOMETER + + +The alarm wakened me all right, but to my surprise Kennedy had already +gone, ahead of it. I dressed hurriedly, bolted an early breakfast, and +made my way to Trimble’s. He was not there, and I had about concluded +to try the laboratory, when I saw him pulling up in a cab from which he +took several packages. Donnelly had joined us by this time, and +together we rode up in the elevator to the jewelry department. I had +never seen a department-store when it was empty, but I think I should +like to shop in one under those conditions. It seemed incredible to get +into the elevator and go directly to the floor you wanted. + +The jewelry department was in the front of the building on one of the +upper floors, with wide windows through which the bright morning light +streamed attractively on the glittering wares that the clerks were +taking out of the safes and disposing to their best advantage. The +store had not opened yet, and we could work unhampered. + +From his packages, Kennedy took three black boxes. They seemed to have +an opening in front, while at one side was a little crank, which, as +nearly as I could make out, was operated by clockwork released by an +electric contact. His first problem seemed to be to dispose the boxes +to the best advantage at various angles about the counter where the +Kimberley Queen was on exhibition. With so much bric-a-brac and other +large articles about, it did not appear to be very difficult to conceal +the boxes, which were perhaps four inches square on the ends and eight +inches deep. From the boxes with the clockwork attachment at the side +he led wires, centring at a point at the interior end of the aisle +where we could see but would hardly be observed by any one standing at +the jewelry counter. + +Customers had now begun to arrive, and we took a position in the +background, prepared for a long wait. Now and then Donnelly casually +sauntered past us. He and Craig had disposed the store detectives in a +certain way so as to make their presence less obvious, while the clerks +had received instructions how to act under the circumstance that a +suspicious person was observed. + +Once when Donnelly came up he was quite excited. He had just received a +message from Bentley that some of the stolen property, the pearls, +probably, from the dog collar that had been taken from Shorham’s, had +been offered for sale by a “fence” known to the police as a former +confederate of Annie Grayson. + +“You see, that is one great trouble with them all,” he remarked, with +his eye roving about the store in search of anything irregular. “A +shoplifter rarely becomes a habitual criminal until after she passes +the age of twenty-five. If they pass that age without quitting, there +is little hope of their getting right again, as you see. For by that +time they have long since begun to consort with thieves of the other +sex.” + +The hours dragged heavily, though it was a splendid chance to observe +at leisure the psychology of the shopper who looked at much and bought +little, the uncomfortableness of the men who had been dragged to the +department store slaughter to say “Yes” and foot the bills, a +kaleidoscopic throng which might have been interesting if we had not +been so intent on only one matter. + +Kennedy grasped my elbow in vise-like fingers. Involuntarily I looked +down at the counter where the Kimberley Queen reposed in all the +trappings of genuineness. Mrs. Willoughby had arrived again. + +We were too far off to observe distinctly just what was taking place, +but evidently Mrs. Willoughby was looking at the gem. A moment later +another woman sauntered casually up to the counter. Even at a distance +I recognised Annie Grayson. As nearly as I could make out they seemed +to exchange remarks. The clerk answered a question or two, then began +to search for something apparently to show them. Every one about them +was busy, and, obedient to instructions from Donnelly, the store +detectives were in the background. + +Kennedy was leaning forward watching as intently as the distance would +permit. He reached over and pressed the button near him. + +After a minute or two the second woman left, followed shortly by Mrs. +Willoughby herself. We hurried over to the counter, and Kennedy seized +the box containing the Kimberley Queen. He examined it carefully. A +flaw in the paste jewel caught his eye. + +“There has been a substitution here,” he cried. “See! The paste jewel +which we used was flawless; this has a little carbon spot here on the +side.” + +“One of my men has been detailed to follow each of them,” whispered +Donnelly. “Shall I order them to bring Mrs. Willoughby and Annie +Grayson to the superintendent’s office and have them searched?” + +“No,” Craig almost shouted. “That would spoil everything. Don’t make a +move until I get at the real truth of this affair.” + +The case was becoming more than ever a puzzle to me, but there was +nothing left for me to do but to wait until Kennedy was ready to +accompany Dr. Guthrie to the Willoughby house. Several times he tried +to reach the doctor by telephone, but it was not until the middle of +the afternoon that he succeeded. + +“I shall be quite busy the rest of the afternoon, Walter,” remarked +Craig, after he had made his appointment with Dr. Guthrie. “If you will +meet me out at the Willoughbys’ at about eight o’clock, I shall be much +obliged to you.” + +I promised, and tried to devote myself to catching up with my notes, +which were always sadly behind when Kennedy had an important case. I +did not succeed in accomplishing much, however. + +Dr. Guthrie himself met me at the door of the beautiful house on +Woodridge Avenue and with a hearty handshake ushered me into the large +room in the right wing outside of which we had placed the telegraphone +two nights before. It was the library. + +We found Kennedy arranging an instrument in the music-room which +adjoined the library. From what little knowledge I have of electricity +I should have said it was, in part at least, a galvanometer, one of +those instruments which register the intensity of minute electric +currents. As nearly as I could make out, in this case the galvanometer +was so arranged that its action swung to one side or the other a little +concave mirror hung from a framework which rested on the table. +Directly in front of it was an electric light, and the reflection of +the light was caught in the mirror and focused by its concavity upon a +point to one side of the light. Back of it was a long strip of ground +glass and an arrow point, attached to which was a pen which touched a +roll of paper. + +On the large table in the library itself Kennedy had placed in the +centre a transverse board partition, high enough so that two people +seated could see each other’s faces and converse over it, but could not +see each other’s hands. On one side of the partition were two metal +domes which were fixed to a board set on the table. On the other side, +in addition to space on which he could write, Kennedy had arranged what +looked like one of these new miniature moving-picture apparatuses +operated by electricity. Indeed, I felt that it must be that, for +directly in front of it, hanging on the wall, in plain view of any one +seated on the side of the table containing the metal domes, was a large +white sheet. + +The time for the experiment, whatever its nature might be, had at last +arrived, and Dr. Guthrie introduced Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby to us as +specialists whom he had persuaded with great difficulty to come down +from New York. Mr. Willoughby he requested to remain outside until +after the tests. She seemed perfectly calm as she greeted us, and +looked with curiosity at the paraphernalia which Kennedy had installed +in her library. Kennedy, who was putting some finishing touches on it, +was talking in a low voice to reassure her. + +“If you will sit here, please, Mrs. Willoughby, and place your hands on +these two brass domes—there, that’s it. This is just a little +arrangement to test your nervous condition. Dr. Guthrie, who +understands it, will take his position outside in the music-room at +that other table. Walter, just switch off that light, please. + +“Mrs. Willoughby, I may say that in testing, say, the memory, we +psychologists have recently developed two tests, the event test, where +something is made to happen before a person’s eyes and later he is +asked to describe it, and the picture test, where a picture is shown +for a certain length of time, after which the patient is also asked to +describe what was in the picture. I have endeavoured to combine these +two ideas by using the moving-picture machine which you see here. I am +going to show three reels of films.” + +As nearly as I could make out Kennedy had turned on the light in the +lantern on his side of the table. As he worked over the machine, which +for the present served to distract Mrs. Willoughby’s attention from +herself, he was asking her a series of questions. From my position I +could see that by the light of the machine he was recording both the +questions and the answers, as well as the time registered to the fifth +of a second by a stop-watch. Mrs. Willoughby could not see what he was +doing under the pretence of working over his little moving-picture +machine. + +He had at last finished the questioning. Suddenly, without any warning, +a picture began to play on the sheet. I must say that I was startled +myself. It represented the jewelry counter at Trimble’s, and in it I +could see Mrs. Willoughby herself in animated conversation with one of +the clerks. I looked intently, dividing my attention between the +picture and the woman. But so far as I could see there was nothing in +this first film that incriminated either of them. + +Kennedy started on the second without stopping. It was practically the +same as the first, only taken from a different angle. + +He had scarcely run it half through when Dr. Guthrie opened the door. + +“I think Mrs. Willoughby must have taken her hands off the metal +domes,” he remarked; “I can get no record out here.” + +I had turned when he opened the door, and now I caught a glimpse of +Mrs. Willoughby standing, her hands pressed tightly to her head as if +it were bursting, and swaying as if she would faint. I do not know what +the film was showing at this point, for Kennedy with a quick movement +shut it off and sprang to her side. + +“There, that will do, Mrs. Willoughby. I see that you are not well,” he +soothed. “Doctor, a little something to quiet her nerves. I think we +can complete our work merely by comparing notes. Call Mr. Willoughby, +Walter. There, sir, if you will take charge of your wife and perhaps +take her for a turn or two in the fresh air, I think we can tell you in +a few moments whether her condition is in any way serious or not.” + +Mrs. Willoughby was on the verge of hysterics as her husband supported +her out of the room. The door had scarcely shut before Kennedy threw +open a window and seemed to beckon into the darkness. As if from +nowhere, Donnelly and Bentley sprang to and were admitted. + +Dr. Guthrie had now returned from the music-room, bearing a sheet of +paper on which was traced a long irregular curve at various points on +which marginal notes had been written hastily. + +Kennedy leaped directly into the middle of things with his +characteristic ardour. “You recall,” he began, “that no one seemed to +know just who took the jewels in both the cases you first reported? +‘Seeing is believing,’ is an old saying, but in the face of such +reports as you detectives gathered it is in a fair way to lose its +force. And you were not at fault, either, for modern psychology is +proving by experiments that people do not see even a fraction of the +things they confidently believe they see. + +“For example, a friend of mine, a professor in a Western university, +has carried on experiments with scores of people and has not found one +who could give a completely accurate description of what he had seen, +even in the direct testimony; while under the influence of questions, +particularly if they were at all leading, witnesses all showed +extensive inaccuracies in one or more particulars, and that even though +they are in a more advantageous position for giving reports than were +your clerks who were not prepared. Indeed, it is often a wonder to me +that witnesses of ordinary events who are called upon in court to +relate what they saw after a considerable lapse of time are as accurate +as they are, considering the questioning they often go through from +interested parties, neighbours and friends, and the constant and often +biased rehearsing of the event. The court asks the witness to tell the +truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. How can he? In fact, +I am often surprised that there is such a resemblance between the +testimony and the actual facts of the case! + +“But I have here a little witness that never lies, and, mindful of the +fallibility of ordinary witnesses, I called it in. It is a new, +compact, little motion camera which has just been perfected to do +automatically what the big moving-picture making cameras do.” + +He touched one of the little black boxes such as we had seen him +install in the jewelry department at Trimble’s. + +“Each of these holds one hundred and sixty feet of film,” he resumed, +“enough to last three minutes, taking, say, sixteen pictures to the +foot and running about one foot a second. You know that less than ten +or eleven pictures a second affect the retina as separate, broken +pictures. The use of this compact little motion camera was suggested to +me by an ingenious but cumbersome invention recently offered to the +police in Paris—the installation on the clock-towers in various +streets of cinematograph apparatus directed by wireless. The motion +camera as a detective has now proved its value. I have here three films +taken at Trimble’s, from different angles, and they clearly show +exactly what actually occurred while Mrs. Willoughby and Annie Grayson +were looking at the Kimberley Queen.” + +He paused as if analysing the steps in his own mind. “The telegraphone +gave me the first hint of the truth,” he said. “The motion camera +brought me a step nearer, but without this third instrument, while I +should have been successful, I would not have got at the whole truth.” + +He was fingering the apparatus on the library table connected with that +in the music-room. “This is the psychometer for testing mental +aberrations,” he explained. “The scientists who are using it to-day are +working, not with a view to aiding criminal jurisprudence, but with the +hope of making such discoveries that the mental health of the race may +be bettered. Still, I believe that in the study of mental diseases +these men are furnishing the knowledge upon which future criminologists +will build to make the detection of crime an absolute certainty. Some +day there will be no jury, no detectives, no witnesses, no attorneys. +The state will merely submit all suspects to tests of scientific +instruments like these, and as these instruments can not make mistakes +or tell lies their evidence will be conclusive of guilt or innocence. + +“Already the psychometer is an actual working fact. No living man can +conceal his emotions from the uncanny instrument. He may bring the most +gigantic of will-powers into play to conceal his inner feelings and the +psychometer will record the very work which he makes this will-power do. + +“The machine is based upon the fact that experiments have proved that +the human body’s resistance to an electrical current is increased with +the increase of the emotions. Dr. Jung, of Zurich, thought that it +would be a very simple matter to record these varying emotions, and the +psychometer is the result—simple and crude to-day compared with what +we have a right to expect in the future. + +“A galvanometer is so arranged that its action swings a mirror from +side to side, reflecting a light. This light falls on a ground-glass +scale marked off into centimetres, and the arrow is made to follow the +beam of light. A pen pressing down on a metal drum carrying a long roll +of paper revolved by machinery records the variations. Dr. Guthrie, who +had charge of the recording, simply sat in front of the ground glass +and with the arrow point followed the reflection of the light as it +moved along the scale, in this way making a record on the paper on the +drum, which I see he is now holding in his hand. + +“Mrs. Willoughby, the subject, and myself, the examiner, sat here, +facing each other over this table. Through those metal domes on which +she was to keep her hands she received an electric current so weak that +it could not be felt even by the most sensitive nerves. Now with every +increase in her emotion, either while I was putting questions to her or +showing her the pictures, whether she showed it outwardly or not, she +increased her body’s resistance to the current that was being passed in +through her hands. The increase was felt by the galvanometer connected +by wires in the music-room, the mirror swung, the light travelled on +the scale, the arrow was moved by Dr. Guthrie, and her varying emotions +were recorded indelibly upon the revolving sheet of paper, recorded in +such a way as to show their intensity and reveal to the trained +scientist much of the mental condition of the subject.” + +Kennedy and Dr. Guthrie now conversed in low tones. Once in a while I +could catch a scrap of the conversation—“not an epileptic,” “no +abnormal conformation of the head,” “certain mental defects,” “often +the result of sickness or accident.” + +“Every time that woman appeared there was a most peculiar disturbance,” +remarked Dr. Guthrie as Kennedy took the roll of paper from him and +studied it carefully. + +At length the light seemed to break through his face. + +“Among the various kinds of insanity,” he said, slowly measuring his +words, “there is one that manifests itself as an irresistible impulse +to steal. Such terms as neuropath and kleptomaniac are often regarded +as rather elegant names for contemptible excuses invented by medical +men to cover up stealing. People are prone to say cynically, ‘Poor +man’s sins; rich man’s diseases.’ Yet kleptomania does exist, and it is +easy to make it seem like crime when it is really persistent, +incorrigible, and irrational stealing. Often it is so great as to be +incurable. Cases have been recorded of clergymen who were kleptomaniacs +and in one instance a dying victim stole the snuffbox of his confessor. + +“It is the pleasure and excitement of stealing, not the desire for the +object stolen, which distinguishes the kleptomaniac from the ordinary +thief. Usually the kleptomaniac is a woman, with an insane desire to +steal for the mere sake of stealing. The morbid craving for excitement +which is at the bottom of so many motiveless and useless crimes, again +and again has driven apparently sensible men and women to ruin and even +to suicide. It is a form of emotional insanity, not loss of control of +the will, but perversion of the will. Some are models in their lucid +intervals, but when the mania is on them they cannot resist. The very +act of taking constitutes the pleasure, not possession. One must take +into consideration many things, for such diseases as kleptomania belong +exclusively to civilisation; they are the product of an age of +sensationalism. Naturally enough, woman, with her delicately balanced +nervous organisation, is the first and chief offender.” + +Kennedy had seated himself at the table and was writing hastily. When +he had finished, he held the papers in his hand to dry. + +He handed one sheet each to Bentley and Donnelly. We crowded about. +Kennedy had simply written out two bills for the necklace and the +collar of pearls. + +“Send them in to Mr. Willoughby,” he added. “I think he will be glad to +pay them to hush up the scandal.” + +We looked at each other in amazement at the revelation. + +“But what about Annie Grayson?” persisted Donnelly. + +“I have taken care of her,” responded Kennedy laconically. “She is +already under arrest. Would you like to see why?” + +A moment later we had all piled into Dr. Guthrie’s car, standing at the +door. + +At the cosy little Grayson villa we found two large eyed detectives and +a very angry woman waiting impatiently. Heaped up on a table in the +living room was a store of loot that readily accounted for the ocular +peculiarity of the detectives. + +The jumble on the table contained a most magnificent collection of +diamonds, sapphires, ropes of pearls, emeralds, statuettes, and bronze +and ivory antiques, books in rare bindings, and other baubles which +wealth alone can command. It dazzled our eyes as we made a mental +inventory of the heap. Yet it was a most miscellaneous collection. +Beside a pearl collar with a diamond clasp were a pair of plain leather +slippers and a pair of silk stockings. Things of value and things of no +value were mixed as if by a lunatic. A beautiful neck ornament of +carved coral lay near a half-dozen common linen handkerchiefs. A strip +of silk hid a valuable collection of antique jewellery. Besides +diamonds and precious stones by the score were gold and silver +ornaments, silks, satins, laces, draperies, articles of virtu, plumes, +even cutlery and bric-a-brac. All this must have been the result of +countless excursions to the stores of New York and innumerable clever +thefts. + +We could only look at each other in amazement and wonder at the +defiance written on the face of Annie Grayson. + +“In all this strange tangle of events,” remarked Kennedy, surveying the +pile with obvious satisfaction, “I find that the precise instruments of +science have told me one more thing. Some one else discovered Mrs. +Willoughby’s weakness, led her on, suggested opportunities to her, used +her again and again, profited by her malady, probably to the extent of +thousands of dollars. My telegraphone record hinted at that. In some +way Annie Grayson secured the confidence of Mrs. Willoughby. The one +took for the sake of taking; the other received for the sake of money. +Mrs. Willoughby was easily persuaded by her new friend to leave here +what she had stolen. Besides, having taken it, she had no further +interest in it. + +“The rule of law is that every one is responsible who knows the nature +and consequences of his act. We have absolute proof that you, Annie +Grayson, although you did not actually commit any of the thefts +yourself, led Mrs. Willoughby on and profited by her. Dr. Guthrie will +take care of the case of Mrs. Willoughby. But the law must deal with +you for playing on the insanity of a kleptomaniac—the cleverest scheme +yet of the queen of shoplifters.” + +As Kennedy turned nonchalantly from the detectives who had seized Annie +Grayson, he drew a little red folder from his pocket. + +“You see, Walter,” he smiled, “how soon one gets into a habit? I’m +almost a regular commuter, now. You know, they are always bringing out +these little red folders just when things grow interesting.” + +I glanced over his shoulder. He was studying the local timetable. + +“We can get the last train from Glenclair if we hurry,” he announced, +stuffing the folder back into his pocket. “They will take her to Newark +by trolley, I suppose. Come on.” + +We made our hasty adieux and escaped as best we could the shower of +congratulations. + +“Now for a rest,” he said, settling back into the plush covered seat +for the long ride into town, his hat down over his eyes and his legs +hunched up against the back of the next seat. Across in the tube and +uptown in a nighthawk cab we went and at last we were home for a good +sleep. + +“This promises to be an off-day,” Craig remarked, the next morning over +the breakfast table. “Meet me in the forenoon and we’ll take a long, +swinging walk. I feel the need of physical exercise.” + +“A mark of returning sanity!” I exclaimed. + +I had become so used to being called out on the unexpected, now, that I +almost felt that some one might stop us on our tramp. Nothing of the +sort happened, however, until our return. + +Then a middle-aged man and a young girl, heavily veiled, were waiting +for Kennedy, as we turned in from the brisk finish in the cutting river +wind along the Drive. + +“Winslow is my name, sir,” the man began, rising nervously as we +entered the room, “and this is my only daughter, Ruth.” + +Kennedy bowed and we waited for the man to proceed. He drew his hand +over his forehead which was moist with perspiration in spite of the +season. Ruth Winslow was an attractive young woman, I could see at a +glance, although her face was almost completely hidden by the thick +veil. + +“Perhaps, Ruth, I had better—ah—see these gentlemen alone?” suggested +her father gently. + +“No, father,” she answered in a tone of forced bravery, “I think not. I +can stand it. I must stand it. Perhaps I can help you in telling about +the—the case.” + +Mr. Winslow cleared his throat. + +“We are from Goodyear, a little mill-town,” he proceeded slowly, “and +as you doubtless can see we have just arrived after travelling all day.” + +“Goodyear,” repeated Kennedy slowly as the man paused. “The chief +industry, of course, is rubber, I suppose.” + +“Yes,” assented Mr. Winslow, “the town centres about rubber. Our +factories are not the largest but are very large, nevertheless, and are +all that keep the town going. It is on rubber, also, I fear, that the +tragedy which I am about to relate hangs. I suppose the New York papers +have had nothing to say of the strange death of Bradley Cushing, a +young chemist in Goodyear who was formerly employed by the mills but +had lately set up a little laboratory of his own?” + +Kennedy turned to me. “Nothing unless the late editions of the evening +papers have it,” I replied. + +“Perhaps it is just as well,” continued Mr. Winslow. “They wouldn’t +have it straight. In fact, no one has it straight yet. That is why we +have come to you. You see, to my way of thinking Bradley Cushing was on +the road to changing the name of the town from Goodyear to Cushing. He +was not the inventor of synthetic rubber about which you hear nowadays, +but he had improved the process so much that there is no doubt that +synthetic rubber would soon have been on the market cheaper and better +than the best natural rubber from Para. + +“Goodyear is not a large place, but it is famous for its rubber and +uses a great deal of raw material. We have sent out some of the best +men in the business, seeking new sources in South America, in Mexico, +in Ceylon, Malaysia and the Congo. What our people do not know about +rubber is hardly worth knowing, from the crude gum to the thousands of +forms of finished products. Goodyear is a wealthy little town, too, for +its size. Naturally all its investments are in rubber, not only in our +own mills but in companies all over the world. Last year several of our +leading citizens became interested in a new concession in the Congo +granted to a group of American capitalists, among whom was Lewis +Borland, who is easily the local magnate of our town. When this group +organised an expedition to explore the region preparatory to taking up +the concession, several of the best known people in Goodyear +accompanied the party and later subscribed for large blocks of stock. + +“I say all this so that you will understand at the start just what part +rubber plays in the life of our little community. You can readily see +that such being the case, whatever advantage the world at large might +gain from cheap synthetic rubber would scarcely benefit those whose +money and labour had been expended on the assumption that rubber would +be scarce and dear. Naturally, then, Bradley Cushing was not precisely +popular with a certain set in Goodyear. As for myself, I am frank to +admit that I might have shared the opinion of many others regarding +him, for I have a small investment in this Congo enterprise myself. But +the fact is that Cushing, when he came to our town fresh from his +college fellowship in industrial chemistry, met my daughter.” + +Without taking his eyes off Kennedy, he reached over and patted the +gloved hand that clutched the arm of the chair alongside his own. “They +were engaged and often they used to talk over what they would do when +Bradley’s invention of a new way to polymerise isoprene, as the process +is called, had solved the rubber question and had made him rich. I +firmly believe that their dreams were not day dreams, either. The thing +was done. I have seen his products and I know something about rubber. +There were no impurities in his rubber.” + +Mr. Winslow paused. Ruth was sobbing quietly. + +“This morning,” he resumed hastily, “Bradley Cushing was found dead in +his laboratory under the most peculiar circumstances. I do not know +whether his secret died with him or whether some one has stolen it. +From the indications I concluded that he had been murdered.” + +Such was the case as Kennedy and I heard it then. + +Ruth looked up at him with tearful eyes wistful with pain, “Would Mr. +Kennedy work on it?” There was only one answer. + + + + +XV + +THE VAMPIRE + + +As we sped out to the little mill-town on the last train, after Kennedy +had insisted on taking us all to a quiet little restaurant, he placed +us so that Miss Winslow was furthest from him and her father nearest. I +could hear now and then scraps of their conversation as he resumed his +questioning, and knew that Mr. Winslow was proving to be a good +observer. + +“Cushing used to hire a young fellow of some scientific experience, +named Strong,” said Mr. Winslow as he endeavoured to piece the facts +together as logically as it was possible to do. “Strong used to open +his laboratory for him in the morning, clean up the dirty apparatus, +and often assist him in some of his experiments. This morning when +Strong approached the laboratory at the usual time he was surprised to +see that though it was broad daylight there was a light burning. He was +alarmed and before going in looked through the window. The sight that +he saw froze him. There lay Cushing on a workbench and beside him and +around him pools of coagulating blood. The door was not locked, as we +found afterward, but the young man did not stop to enter. He ran to me +and, fortunately, I met him at our door. I went back. + +“We opened the unlocked door. The first thing, as I recall it, that +greeted me was an unmistakable odour of oranges. It was a very +penetrating and very peculiar odour. I didn’t understand it, for there +seemed to be something else in it besides the orange smell. However, I +soon found out what it was, or at least Strong did. I don’t know +whether you know anything about it, but it seems that when you melt +real rubber in the effort to reduce it to carbon and hydrogen, you get +a liquid substance which is known as isoprene. Well, isoprene, +according to Strong, gives out an odour something like ether. Cushing, +or some one else, had apparently been heating isoprene. As soon as +Strong mentioned the smell of ether I recognised that that was what +made the smell of oranges so peculiar. + +“However, that’s not the point. There lay Cushing on his back on the +workbench, just as Strong had said. I bent over him, and in his arm, +which was bare, I saw a little gash made by some sharp instrument and +laying bare an artery, I think, which was cut. Long spurts of blood +covered the floor for some distance around and from the veins in his +arm, which had also been severed, a long stream of blood led to a +hollow in the cement floor where it had collected. I believe that he +bled to death.” + +“And the motive for such a terrible crime?” queried Craig. + +Mr. Winslow shook his head helplessly. “I suppose there are plenty of +motives,” he answered slowly, “as many motives as there are big +investments in rubber-producing ventures in Goodyear.” + +“But have you any idea who would go so far to protect his investments +as to kill?” persisted Kennedy. + +Mr. Winslow made no reply. “Who,” asked Kennedy, “was chiefly +interested in the rubber works where Cushing was formerly employed?” + +“The president of the company is the Mr. Borland whom I mentioned,” +replied Mr. Winslow. “He is a man of about forty, I should say, and is +reputed to own a majority of the—” + +“Oh, father,” interrupted Miss Winslow, who had caught the drift of the +conversation in spite of the pains that had been taken to keep it away +from her, “Mr. Borland would never dream of such a thing. It is wrong +even to think of it.” + +“I didn’t say that he would, my dear,” corrected Mr. Winslow gently. +“Professor Kennedy asked me who was chiefly interested in the rubber +works and Mr. Borland owns a majority of the stock.” He leaned over and +whispered to Kennedy, “Borland is a visitor at our home, and between +you and me, he thinks a great deal of Ruth.” + +I looked quickly at Kennedy, but he was absorbed in looking out of the +car window at the landscape which he did not and could not see. + +“You said there were others who had an interest in outside companies,” +cross-questioned Kennedy. “I take it that you mean companies dealing in +crude rubber, the raw material, people with investments in plantations +and concessions, perhaps. Who are they? Who were the men who went on +that expedition to the Congo with Borland which you mentioned?” + +“Of course, there was Borland himself,” answered Winslow. “Then there +was a young chemist named Lathrop, a very clever and ambitious fellow +who succeeded Cushing when he resigned from the works, and Dr. Harris, +who was persuaded to go because of his friendship for Borland. After +they took up the concession I believe all of them put money into it, +though how much I can’t say.” + +I was curious to ask whether there were any other visitors at the +Winslow house who might be rivals for Ruth’s affections, but there was +no opportunity. + +Nothing more was said until we arrived at Goodyear. + +We found the body of Cushing lying in a modest little mortuary chapel +of an undertaking establishment on the main street. Kennedy at once +began his investigation by discovering what seemed to have escaped +others. About the throat were light discolourations that showed that +the young inventor had been choked by a man with a powerful grasp, +although the fact that the marks had escaped observation led quite +obviously to the conclusion that he had not met his death in that way, +and that the marks probably played only a minor part in the tragedy. + +Kennedy passed over the doubtful evidence of strangulation for the more +profitable examination of the little gash in the wrist. + +“The radial artery has been cut,” he mused. + +A low exclamation from him brought us all bending over him as he +stooped and examined the cold form. He was holding in the palm of his +hand a little piece of something that shone like silver. It was in the +form of a minute hollow cylinder with two grooves on it, a cylinder so +tiny that it would scarcely have slipped over the point of a pencil. + +“Where did you find it?” I asked eagerly. + +He pointed to the wound. “Sticking in the severed end of a piece of +vein,” he replied, half to himself, “cuffed over the end of the radial +artery which had been severed, and done so neatly as to be practically +hidden. It was done so cleverly that the inner linings of the vein and +artery, the endothelium as it is called, were in complete contact with +each other.” + +As I looked at the little silver thing and at Kennedy’s face, which +betrayed nothing, I felt that here indeed was a mystery. What new +scientific engine of death was that little hollow cylinder? + +“Next I should like to visit the laboratory,” he remarked simply. + +Fortunately, the laboratory had been shut and nothing had been +disturbed except by the undertaker and his men who had carried the body +away. Strong had left word that he had gone to Boston, where, in a safe +deposit box, was a sealed envelope in which Cushing kept a copy of the +combination of his safe, which had died with him. There was, therefore, +no hope of seeing the assistant until the morning. + +Kennedy found plenty to occupy his time in his minute investigation of +the laboratory. There, for instance, was the pool of blood leading back +by a thin dark stream to the workbench and its terrible figure, which I +could almost picture to myself lying there through the silent hours of +the night before, with its life blood slowly oozing away, unconscious, +powerless to save itself. There were spurts of arterial blood on the +floor and on the nearby laboratory furniture, and beside the workbench +another smaller and isolated pool of blood. + +On a table in a corner by the window stood a microscope which Cushing +evidently used, and near it a box of fresh sterilised slides. Kennedy, +who had been casting his eye carefully about taking in the whole +laboratory, seemed delighted to find the slides. He opened the box and +gingerly took out some of the little oblong pieces of glass, on each of +which he dropped a couple of minute drops of blood from the arterial +spurts and the venous pools on the floor. + +Near the workbench were circular marks, much as if some jars had been +set down there. We were watching him, almost in awe at the matter of +fact manner in which, he was proceeding in what to us was nothing but a +hopeless enigma, when I saw him stoop and pick up a few little broken +pieces of glass. There seemed to be blood spots on the glass, as on +other things, but particularly interesting to him. + +A moment later I saw that he was holding in his hand what were +apparently the remains of a little broken vial which he had fitted +together from the pieces. Evidently it had been used and dropped in +haste. + +“A vial for a local anesthetic,” he remarked. “This is the sort of +thing that might be injected into an arm or leg and deaden the pain of +a cut, but that is all. It wouldn’t affect the consciousness or prevent +any one from resisting a murderer to the last. I doubt if that had +anything directly to do with his death, or perhaps even that this is +Cushing’s blood on it.” + +Unlike Winslow I had seen Kennedy in action so many times that I knew +it was useless to speculate. But I was fascinated, for the deeper we +got into the case, the more unusual and inexplicable it seemed. I gave +that end of it up, but the fact that Strong had gone to secure the +combination of the safe suggested to me to examine that article. There +was certainly no evidence of robbery or even of an attempt at robbery +there. + +“Was any doctor called?” asked Kennedy. + +“Yes,” he replied. “Though I knew it was of no use I called in Dr. +Howe, who lives up the street from the laboratory. I should have called +Dr. Harris, who used to be my own physician, but since his return from +Africa with the Borland expedition, he has not been in very good health +and has practically given up his practice. Dr. Howe is the best +practising physician in town, I think.” + +“We shall call on him to-morrow,” said Craig, snapping his watch, which +already marked far after midnight. Dr. Howe proved, the next day, to be +an athletic-looking man, and I could not help noticing and admiring his +powerful frame and his hearty handshake, as he greeted us when we +dropped into his office with a card from Winslow. + +The doctor’s theory was that Cushing had committed suicide. + +“But why should a young man who had invented a new method of +polymerising isoprene, who was going to become wealthy, and was engaged +to a beautiful young girl, commit suicide?” + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders. It was evident that he, too, +belonged to the “natural rubber set” which dominated Goodyear. + +“I haven’t looked into the case very deeply, but I’m not so sure that +he had the secret, are you?” + +Kennedy smiled. “That is what I’d like to know. I suppose that an +expert like Mr. Borland could tell me, perhaps?” + +“I should think so.” + +“Where is his office?” asked Craig. “Could you point it out to me from +the window?” + +Kennedy was standing by one of the windows of the doctor’s office, and +as he spoke he turned and drew a little field glass from his pocket. +“Which end of the rubber works is it?” + +Dr. Howe tried to direct him but Kennedy appeared unwarrantably obtuse, +requiring the doctor to raise the window, and it was some moments +before he got his glasses on the right spot. + +Kennedy and I thanked the doctor for his courtesy and left the office. + +We went at once to the office of Dr. Harris, to whom Winslow had also +given us cards. We found him an anaemic man, half asleep. Kennedy +tentatively suggested the murder of Cushing. + +“Well, if you ask me my opinion,” snapped out the doctor, “although I +wasn’t called into the case, from what I hear, I’d say that he was +murdered.” + +“Some seem to think it was suicide,” prompted Kennedy. + +“People who have brilliant prospects and are engaged to pretty girls +don’t usually die of their own accord,” rasped Harris. + +“So you think he really did have the secret of artificial rubber?” +asked Craig. + +“Not artificial rubber. Synthetic rubber. It was the real thing, I +believe.” + +“Did Mr. Borland and his new chemist Lathrop believe it, too?” + +“I can’t say. But I should surely advise you to see them.” The doctor’s +face was twitching nervously. + +“Where is Borland’s office?” repeated Kennedy, again taking from his +pocket the field glass and adjusting it carefully by the window. + +“Over there,” directed Harris, indicating the corner of the works to +which we had already been directed. + +Kennedy had stepped closer to the window before him and I stood beside +him looking out also. + +“The cut was a very peculiar one,” remarked Kennedy, still adjusting +the glasses. “An artery and a vein had been placed together so that the +endothelium, or inner lining of each, was in contact with the other, +giving a continuous serous surface. Which window did you say was +Borland’s? I wish you’d step to the other window and raise it, so that +I can be sure. I don’t want to go wandering all over the works looking +for him.” + +“Yes,” the doctor said as he went, leaving him standing beside the +window from which he had been directing us, “yes, you surely should see +Mr. Borland. And don’t forget that young chemist of his, Lathrop, +either, If I can be of any more help to you, come back again.” + +It was a long walk through the village and factory yards to the office +of Lewis Borland, but we were amply repaid by finding him in and ready +to see us. Borland was a typical Yankee, tall, thin, evidently +predisposed to indigestion, a man of tremendous mental and nervous +energy and with a hidden wiry strength. + +“Mr. Borland,” introduced Kennedy, changing his tactics and adopting a +new role, “I’ve come down to you as an authority on rubber to ask you +what your opinion is regarding the invention of a townsman of yours +named Cushing.” + +“Cushing?” repeated Borland in some surprise. “Why—” + +“Yes,” interrupted Kennedy, “I understand all about it. I had heard of +his invention in New York and would have put some money into it if I +could have been convinced. I was to see him to-day, but of course, as +you were going to say, his death prevents it. Still, I should like to +know what you think about it.” + +“Well,” Borland added, jerking out his words nervously, as seemed to be +his habit, “Cushing was a bright young fellow. He used to work for me +until he began to know too much about the rubber business.” + +“Do you know anything about his scheme?” insinuated Kennedy. + +“Very little, except that it was not patented yet, I believe, though he +told every one that the patent was applied for and he expected to get a +basic patent in some way without any interference.” + +“Well,” drawled Kennedy, affecting as nearly as possible the air of a +promoter, “if I could get his assistant, or some one who had authority +to be present, would you, as a practical rubber man, go over to his +laboratory with me? I’d join you in making an offer to his estate for +the rights to the process, if it seemed any good.” + +“You’re a cool one,” ejaculated Borland, with a peculiar avaricious +twinkle in the corners of his eyes. “His body is scarcely cold and yet +you come around proposing to buy out his invention and—and, of all +persons, you come to me.” + +“To you?” inquired Kennedy blandly. + +“Yes, to me. Don’t you know that synthetic rubber would ruin the +business system that I have built up here?” + +Still Craig persisted and argued. + +“Young man,” said Borland rising at length as if an idea had struck +him, “I like your nerve. Yes, I will go. I’ll show you that I don’t +fear any competition from rubber made out of fusel oil or any other old +kind of oil.” He rang a bell and a boy answered. “Call Lathrop,” he +ordered. + +The young chemist, Lathrop, proved to be a bright and active man of the +new school, though a good deal of a rubber stamp. Whenever it was +compatible with science and art, he readily assented to every +proposition that his employer laid down. + +Kennedy had already telephoned to the Winslows and Miss Winslow had +answered that Strong had returned from Boston. After a little +parleying, the second visit to the laboratory was arranged and Miss +Winslow was allowed to be present with her father, after Kennedy had +been assured by Strong that the gruesome relics of the tragedy would be +cleared away. + +It was in the forenoon that we arrived with Borland and Lathrop. I +could not help noticing the cordial manner with which Borland greeted +Miss Winslow. There was something obtrusive even in his sympathy. +Strong, whom we met now for the first time, seemed rather suspicious of +the presence of Borland and his chemist, but made an effort to talk +freely without telling too much. + +“Of course you know,” commenced Strong after proper urging, “that it +has long been the desire of chemists to synthesise rubber by a method +that will make possible its cheap production on a large scale. In a +general way I know what Mr. Cushing had done, but there are parts of +the process which are covered in the patents applied for, of which I am +not at liberty to speak yet.” + +“Where are the papers in the case, the documents showing the +application for the patent, for instance?” asked Kennedy. + +“In the safe, sir,” replied Strong. + +Strong set to work on the combination which he had obtained from the +safe deposit vault. I could see that Borland and Miss Winslow were +talking in a low tone. + +“Are you sure that it is a fact?” I overheard him ask, though I had no +idea what they were talking about. + +“As sure as I am that the Borland Rubber Works are a fact,” she replied. + +Craig also seemed to have overheard, for he turned quickly. Borland had +taken out his penknife and was moistening the blade carefully preparing +to cut into a piece of the synthetic rubber. In spite of his expressed +scepticism, I could see that he was eager to learn what the product was +really like. + +Strong, meanwhile, had opened the safe and was going over the papers. A +low exclamation from him brought us around the little pile of +documents. He was holding a will in which nearly everything belonging +to Cushing was left to Miss Winslow. + +Not a word was said, although I noticed that Kennedy moved quickly to +her side, fearing that the shock of the discovery might have a bad +effect on her, but she took it with remarkable calmness. It was +apparent that Cushing had taken the step of his own accord and had said +nothing to her about it. + +“What does anything amount to?” she said tremulously at last. “The +dream is dead without him in it.” + +“Come,” urged Kennedy gently. “This is enough for to-day.” + +An hour later we were speeding back to New York. Kennedy had no +apparatus to work with out at Goodyear and could not improvise it. +Winslow agreed to keep us in touch with any new developments during the +few hours that Craig felt it was necessary to leave the scene of action. + +Back again in New York, Craig took a cab directly for his laboratory, +leaving me marooned with instructions not to bother him for several +hours. I employed the time in a little sleuthing on my own account, +endeavouring to look up the records of those involved in the case. I +did not discover much, except an interview that had been given at the +time of the return of his expedition by Borland to the Star, in which +he gave a graphic description of the dangers from disease that they had +encountered. + +I mention it because, though it did not impress me much when I read it, +it at once leaped into my mind when the interminable hours were over +and I rejoined Kennedy. He was bending over a new microscope. + +“This is a rubber age, Walter,” he began, “and the stories of men who +have been interested in rubber often sound like fiction.” + +He slipped a slide under the microscope, looked at it and then motioned +to me to do the same. “Here is a very peculiar culture which I have +found in some of that blood,” he commented. “The germs are much larger +than bacteria and they can be seen with a comparatively low power +microscope swiftly darting between the blood cells, brushing them +aside, but not penetrating them as some parasites, like that of +malaria, do. Besides, spectroscope tests show the presence of a rather +well-known chemical in that blood.” + +“A poisoning, then?” I ventured. “Perhaps he suffered from the disease +that many rubber workers get from the bisulphide of carbon. He must +have done a good deal of vulcanising of his own rubber, you know.” + +“No,” smiled Craig enigmatically, “it wasn’t that. It was an arsenic +derivative. Here’s another thing. You remember the field glass I used?” + +He had picked it up from the table and was pointing at a little hole in +the side, that had escaped my notice before. “This is what you might +call a right-angled camera. I point the glass out of the window and +while you think I am looking through it I am really focusing it on you +and taking your picture standing there beside me and out of my apparent +line of vision. It would deceive the most wary.” + +Just then a long-distance call from Winslow told us that Borland had +been to call on Miss Ruth and, in as kindly a way as could be, had +offered her half a million dollars for her rights in the new patent. At +once it flashed over me that he was trying to get control of and +suppress the invention in the interests of his own company, a thing +that has been done hundreds of times. Or could it all have been part of +a conspiracy? And if it was his conspiracy, would he succeed in +tempting his friend, Miss Winslow, to fall in with this glittering +offer? + +Kennedy evidently thought, also, that the time for action had come, for +without a word he set to work packing his apparatus and we were again +headed for Goodyear. + + + + +XVI + +THE BLOOD TEST + + +We arrived late at night, or rather in the morning, but in spite of the +late hour Kennedy was up early urging me to help him carry the stuff +over to Cushing’s laboratory. By the middle of the morning he was ready +and had me scouring about town collecting his audience, which consisted +of the Winslows, Borland and Lathrop, Dr. Howe, Dr. Harris, Strong and +myself. The laboratory was darkened and Kennedy took his place beside +an electric moving picture apparatus. + +The first picture was different from anything any of us had ever seen +on a screen before. It seemed to be a mass of little dancing globules. +“This,” explained Kennedy, “is what you would call an educational +moving picture, I suppose. It shows normal blood corpuscles as they are +in motion in the blood of a healthy man. Those little round cells are +the red corpuscles and the larger irregular cells are the white +corpuscles.” + +He stopped the film. The next picture was a sort of enlarged and +elongated house fly, apparently, of sombre grey color, with a narrow +body, thick proboscis and wings that overlapped like the blades of a +pair of shears. “This,” he went on, “is a picture of the now well known +tse-tse fly found over a large area of Africa. It has a bite something +like a horse-fly and is a perfect blood-sucker. Vast territories of +thickly populated, fertile country near the shores of lakes and rivers +are now depopulated as a result of the death-dealing bite of these +flies, more deadly than the blood-sucking, vampirish ghosts with which, +in the middle ages, people supposed night air to be inhabited. For this +fly carries with it germs which it leaves in the blood of its victims, +which I shall show next.” + +A new film started. + +“Here is a picture of some blood so infected. Notice that worm-like +sheath of undulating membrane terminating in a slender whip-like +process by which it moves about. That thing wriggling about like a +minute electric eel, always in motion, is known as the trypanosome. + +“Isn’t this a marvellous picture? To see the micro-organism move, +evolve and revolve in the midst of normal cells, uncoil and undulate in +the fluids which they inhabit, to see them play hide and seek with the +blood corpuscles and clumps of fibrin, turn, twist, and rotate as if in +a cage, to see these deadly little trypanosomes moving back and forth +in every direction displaying their delicate undulating membranes and +shoving aside the blood cells that are in their way while by their side +the leucocytes, or white corpuscles, lazily extend or retract their +pseudopods of protoplasm. To see all this as it is shown before us here +is to realise that we are in the presence of an unknown world, a world +infinitesimally small, but as real and as complex as that about us. +With the cinematograph and the ultra-microscope we can see what no +other forms of photography can reproduce. + +“I have secured these pictures so that I can better mass up the +evidence against a certain person in this room. For in the blood of one +of you is now going on the fight which you have here seen portrayed by +the picture machine. Notice how the blood corpuscles in this infected +blood have lost their smooth, glossy appearance, become granular and +incapable of nourishing the tissues. The trypanosomes are fighting with +the normal blood cells. Here we have the lowest group of animal life, +the protozoa, at work killing the highest, man.” + +Kennedy needed nothing more than the breathless stillness to convince +him of the effectiveness of his method of presenting his case. + +“Now,” he resumed, “let us leave this blood-sucking, vampirish tse-tse +fly for the moment. I have another revelation to make.” + +He laid down on the table under the lights, which now flashed up again, +the little hollow silver cylinder. + +“This little instrument,” Kennedy explained, “which I have here is +known as a canula, a little canal, for leading off blood from the veins +of one person to another—in other words, blood transfusion. Modern +doctors are proving themselves quite successful in its use. + +“Of course, like everything, it has its own peculiar dangers. But the +one point I wish to make is this: In the selection of a donor for +transfusion, people fall into definite groups. Tests of blood must be +made first to see whether it ‘agglutinates,’ and in this respect there +are four classes of persons. In our case this matter had to be +neglected. For, gentlemen, there were two kinds of blood on that +laboratory floor, and they do not agglutinate. This, in short, was what +actually happened. An attempt was made to transfuse Cushing’s blood as +donor to another person as recipient. A man suffering from the disease +caught from the bite of the tse-tse fly—the deadly sleeping sickness +so well known in Africa—has deliberately tried a form of robbery which +I believe to be without parallel. He has stolen the blood of another! + +“He stole it in a desperate attempt to stay an incurable disease. This +man had used an arsenic compound called atoxyl, till his blood was +filled with it and its effects on the trypanosomes nil. There was but +one wild experiment more to try—the stolen blood of another.” + +Craig paused to let the horror of the crime sink into our minds. + +“Some one in the party which went to look over the concession in the +Congo contracted the sleeping sickness from the bites of those +blood-sucking flies. That person has now reached the stage of insanity, +and his blood is full of the germs and overloaded with atoxyl. + +“Everything had been tried and had failed. He was doomed. He saw his +fortune menaced by the discovery of the way to make synthetic rubber. +Life and money were at stake. One night, nerved up by a fit of insane +fury, with a power far beyond what one would expect in his ordinary +weakened condition, he saw a light in Cushing’s laboratory. He stole in +stealthily. He seized the inventor with his momentarily superhuman +strength and choked him. As they struggled he must have shoved a sponge +soaked with ether and orange essence under his nose. Cushing went under. + +“Resistance overcome by the anesthetic, he dragged the now insensible +form to the work bench. Frantically he must have worked. He made an +incision and exposed the radial artery, the pulse. Then he must have +administered a local anesthetic to himself in his arm or leg. He +secured a vein and pushed the cut end over this little canula. Then he +fitted the artery of Cushing over that and the blood that was, perhaps, +to save his life began flowing into his depleted veins. + +“Who was this madman? I have watched the actions of those whom I +suspected when they did not know they were being watched. I did it by +using this neat little device which looks like a field glass, but is +really a camera that takes pictures of things at right angles to the +direction in which the glass seems to be pointed. One person, I found, +had a wound on his leg, the wrapping of which he adjusted nervously +when he thought no one was looking. He had difficulty in limping even a +short distance to open a window.” + +Kennedy uncorked a bottle and the subtle odor of oranges mingled with +ether stole through the room. + +“Some one here will recognize that odour immediately. It is the new +orange-essence vapour anesthetic, a mixture of essence of orange with +ether and chloroform. The odour hidden by the orange which lingered in +the laboratory, Mr. Winslow and Mr. Strong, was not isoprene, but +really ether. + +“I am letting some of the odour escape here because in this very +laboratory it was that the thing took place, and it is one of the +well-known principles of psychology that odours are powerfully +suggestive. In this case the odour now must suggest the terrible scene +of the other night to some one before me. More than that, I have to +tell that person that the blood transfusion did not and could not save +him. His illness is due to a condition that is incurable and cannot be +altered by transfusion of new blood. That person is just as doomed +to-day as he was before he committed—” + +A figure was groping blindly about. The arsenic compounds with which +his blood was surcharged had brought on one of the attacks of blindness +to which users of the drug are subject. In his insane frenzy he was +evidently reaching desperately for Kennedy himself. As he groped he +limped painfully from the soreness of his wound. + +“Dr. Harris,” accused Kennedy, avoiding the mad rush at himself, and +speaking in a tone that thrilled us, “you are the man who sucked the +blood of Cushing into your own veins and left him to die. But the state +will never be able to exact from you the penalty of your crime. Nature +will do that too soon for justice. Gentlemen, this is the murderer of +Bradley Cushing, a maniac, a modern scientific vampire.” + +I regarded the broken, doomed man with mingled pity and loathing, +rather than with the usual feelings one has toward a criminal. + +“Come,” said Craig. “The local authorities can take care of this case +now.” + +He paused just long enough for a word of comfort to the poor, +broken-hearted girl. Both Winslows answered with a mute look of +gratitude and despair. In fact, in the confusion we were only too glad +to escape any more such mournful congratulations. + +“Well,” Craig remarked, as we walked quickly down the street, “if we +have to wait here for a train, I prefer to wait in the railroad +station. I have done my part. Now my only interest is to get away +before they either offer me a banquet or lynch me.” + +Actually, I think he would have preferred the novelty of dealing with a +lynching party, if he had had to choose between the two. + +We caught a train soon, however, and fortunately it had a diner +attached. Kennedy whiled away the time between courses by reading the +graft exposures in the city. + +As we rolled into the station late in the afternoon, he tossed aside +the paper with an air of relief. + +“Now for a quiet evening in the laboratory,” he exclaimed, almost +gleefully. + +By what stretch of imagination he could call that recreation, I could +not see. But as for quietness, I needed it, too. I had fallen wofully +behind in my record of the startling events through which he was +conducting me. Consequently, until late that night I pecked away at my +typewriter trying to get order out of the chaos of my hastily scribbled +notes. Under ordinary circumstances, I remembered, the morrow would +have been my day of rest on the Star. I had gone far enough with +Kennedy to realise that on this assignment there was no such thing as +rest. + +“District Attorney Carton wants to see me immediately at the Criminal +Courts Building, Walter,” announced Kennedy, early the following +morning. + +Clothed, and as much in my right mind as possible after the arduous +literary labours of the night before, I needed no urging, for Carton +was an old friend of all the newspaper men. I joined Craig quickly in a +hasty ride down-town in the rush hour. + +On the table before the square-jawed, close-cropped, fighting +prosecutor, whom I knew already after many a long and hard-fought +campaign both before and after election, lay a little package which had +evidently come to him in the morning’s mail by parcel-post. + +“What do you suppose is in that, Kennedy?” he asked, tapping it +gingerly. “I haven’t opened it yet, but I think it’s a bomb. Wait—I’ll +have a pail of water sent in here so that you can open it, if you will. +You understand such things.” + +“No—no,” hastened Kennedy, “that’s exactly the wrong thing to do. Some +of these modern chemical bombs are set off in precisely that way. No. +Let me dissect the thing carefully. I think you may be right. It does +look as if it might be an infernal machine. You see the evident +disguise of the roughly written address?” + +Carton nodded, for it was that that had excited his suspicion in the +first place. Meanwhile, Kennedy, without further ceremony, began +carefully to remove the wrapper of brown Manila paper, preserving +everything as he did so. Carton and I instinctively backed away. +Inside, Craig had disclosed an oblong wooden box. + +“I realise that opening a bomb is dangerous business,” he pursued +slowly, engrossed in his work and almost oblivious to us, “but I think +I can take a chance safely with this fellow. The dangerous part is what +might be called drawing the fangs. No bombs are exactly safe toys to +have around until they are wholly destroyed, and before you can say you +have destroyed one, it is rather a ticklish business to take out the +dangerous element.” + +He had removed the cover in the deftest manner without friction, and +seemingly without disturbing the contents in the least. I do not +pretend to know how he did it; but the proof was that we could see him +still working from our end of the room. + +On the inside of the cover was roughly drawn a skull and cross-bones, +showing that the miscreant who sent the thing had at least a sort of +grim humour. For, where the teeth should have been in the skull were +innumerable match-heads. Kennedy picked them out with as much +sang-froid as if he were not playing jackstraws with life and death. + +Then he removed the explosive itself and the various murderous slugs +and bits of metal embedded in it, carefully separating each as if to be +labelled “Exhibit A,” “B,” and so on for a class in bomb dissection. +Finally, he studied the sides and bottom of the box. + +“Evidence of chlorate-of-potash mixture,” Kennedy muttered to himself, +still examining the bomb. “The inside was a veritable arsenal—a very +unusual and clever construction.” + +“My heavens!” breathed Carton. “I would rather go through a campaign +again.” + + + + +XVII + +THE BOMB MAKER + + +We stared at each other in blank awe, at the various parts, so innocent +looking in the heaps on the table, now safely separated, but together a +combination ticket to perdition. + +“Who do you suppose could have sent it?” I blurted out when I found my +voice, then, suddenly recollecting the political and legal fight that +Carton was engaged in at the time, I added, “The white slavers?” + +“Not a doubt,” he returned laconically. “And,” he exclaimed, bringing +down both hands vigorously in characteristic emphasis on the arms of +his office chair, “I’ve got to win this fight against the vice trust, +as I call it, or the whole work of the district attorney’s office in +clearing up the city will be discredited—to say nothing of the risk +the present incumbent runs at having such grateful friends about the +city send marks of their affection and esteem like this.” + +I knew something already of the situation, and Carton continued +thoughtfully: “All the powers of vice are fighting a last-ditch battle +against me now. I think I am on the trail of the man or men higher up +in this commercialised-vice business—and it is a business, big +business, too. You know, I suppose, that they seem to have a string of +hotels in the city, of the worst character. There is nothing that they +will stop at to protect themselves. Why, they are using gangs of thugs +to terrorise any one who informs on them. The gunmen, of course, hate a +snitch worse than poison. There have been bomb outrages, too—nearly a +bomb a day lately—against some of those who look shaky and seem to be +likely to do business with my office. But I’m getting closer all the +time.” + +“How do you mean?” asked Kennedy. + +“Well, one of the best witnesses, if I can break him down by pressure +and promises, ought to be a man named Haddon, who is running a place in +the Fifties, known as the Mayfair. Haddon knows all these people. I can +get him in half an hour if you think it worth while—not here, but +somewhere uptown, say at the Prince Henry.” + +Kennedy nodded. We had heard of Haddon before, a notorious character in +the white-light district. A moment later Carton had telephoned to the +Mayfair and had found Haddon. + +“How did you get him so that he is even considering turning state’s +evidence?” asked Craig. + +“Well,” answered Carton slowly, “I suppose it was partly through a +cabaret singer and dancer, Loraine Keith, at the Mayfair. You know you +never get the truth about things in the underworld except in pieces. As +much as any one, I think we have been able to use her to weave a web +about him. Besides, she seems to think that Haddon has treated her +shamefully. According to her story, he seems to have been lavishing +everything on her, but lately, for some reason, has deserted her. +Still, even in her jealousy she does not accuse any other woman of +winning him away.” + +“Perhaps it is the opposite—another man winning her,” suggested Craig +dryly. + +“It’s a peculiar situation,” shrugged Carton. “There is another man. As +nearly as I can make out there is a fellow named Brodie who does a +dance with her. But he seems to annoy her, yet at the same time +exercises a sort of fascination over her.” + +“Then she is dancing at the Mayfair yet?” hastily asked Craig. + +“Yes. I told her to stay, not to excite suspicion.” + +“And Haddon knows?” + +“Oh, no. But she has told us enough about him already so that we can +worry him, apparently, just as what he can tell us would worry the +others interested in the hotels. To tell the truth, I think she is a +drug fiend. Why, my men tell me that they have seen her take just a +sniff of something and change instantly—become a willing tool.” + +“That’s the way it happens,” commented Kennedy. + +“Now, I’ll go up there and meet Haddon,” resumed Carton. “After I have +been with him long enough to get into his confidence, suppose you two +just happen along.” + +Half an hour later Kennedy and I sauntered into the Prince Henry, where +Carton had made the appointment in order to avoid suspicion that might +arise if he were seen with Haddon at the Mayfair. + +The two men were waiting for us—Haddon, by contrast with Carton, a +weak-faced, nervous man, with bulgy eyes. + +“Mr. Haddon,” introduced Carton, “let me present a couple of reporters +from the Star—off duty, so that we can talk freely before them, I can +assure you. Good fellows, too, Haddon.” + +The hotel and cabaret keeper smiled a sickly smile and greeted us with +a covert, questioning glance. + +“This attack on Mr. Carton has unnerved me,” he shivered. “If any one +dares to do that to him, what will they do to me?” + +“Don’t get cold feet, Haddon,” urged Carton. “You’ll be all right. I’ll +swing it for you.” + +Haddon made no reply. At length he remarked: “You’ll excuse me for a +moment. I must telephone to my hotel.” + +He entered a booth in the shadow of the back of the cafe, where there +was a slot-machine pay-station. “I think Haddon has his suspicions,” +remarked Carton, “although he is too prudent to say anything yet.” + +A moment later he returned. Something seemed to have happened. He +looked less nervous. His face was brighter and his eyes clearer. What +was it, I wondered? Could it be that he was playing a game with Carton +and had given him a double cross? I was quite surprised at his next +remark. + +“Carton,” he said confidently, “I’ll stick.” + +“Good,” exclaimed the district attorney, as they fell into a +conversation in low tones. + +“By the way,” drawled Kennedy, “I must telephone to the office in case +they need me.” + +He had risen and entered the same booth. + +Haddon and Carton were still talking earnestly. It was evident that, +for some reason, Haddon had lost his former halting manner. Perhaps, I +reasoned, the bomb episode had, after all, thrown a scare into him, and +he felt that he needed protection against his own associates, who were +quick to discover such dealings as Carton had forced him into. I rose +and lounged back to the booth and Kennedy. + +“Whom did he call?” I whispered, when Craig emerged perspiring from the +booth, for I knew that that was his purpose. + +Craig glanced at Haddon, who now seemed absorbed in talking to Carton. +“No one,” he answered quickly. “Central told me there had not been a +call from this pay-station for half an hour.” + +“No one?” I echoed almost incredulously. “Then what did he do? +Something happened, all right.” + +Kennedy was evidently engrossed in his own thoughts, for he said +nothing. + +“Haddon says he wants to do some scouting about,” announced Carton, +when we rejoined them. “There are several people whom he says he might +suspect. I’ve arranged to meet him this afternoon to get the first part +of this story about the inside working of the vice trust, and he will +let me know if anything develops then. You will be at your office?” + +“Yes, one or the other of us,” returned Craig, in a tone which Haddon +could not hear. + +In the meantime we took occasion to make some inquiries of our own +about Haddon and Loraine Keith. They were evidently well known in the +select circle in which they travelled. Haddon had many curious +characteristics, chief of which to interest Kennedy was his speed +mania. Time and again he had been arrested for exceeding the speed +limit in taxicabs and in a car of his own, often in the past with +Loraine Keith, but lately alone. + +It was toward the close of the afternoon that Carton called up +hurriedly. As Kennedy hung up the receiver, I read on his face that +something had gone wrong. + +“Haddon has disappeared,” he announced, “mysteriously and suddenly, +without leaving so much as a clue. It seems that he found in his office +a package exactly like that which was sent to Carton earlier in the +day. He didn’t wait to say anything about it, but left. Carton is +bringing it over here.” + +Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Carton himself deposited the +package on the laboratory table with an air of relief. We looked +eagerly. It was addressed to Haddon at the Mayfair in the same +disguised handwriting and was done up in precisely the same fashion. + +“Lots of bombs are just scare bombs,” observed Craig. “But you never +can tell.” + +Again Kennedy had started to dissect. + +“Ah,” he went on, “this is the real thing, though, only a little +different from the other. A dry battery gives a spark when the lid is +slipped back. See, the explosive is in a steel pipe. Sliding the lid +off is supposed to explode it. Why, there is enough explosive in this +to have silenced a dozen Haddons.” + +“Do you think he could have been kidnapped or murdered?” I asked. “What +is this, anyhow—gang-war?” + +“Or perhaps bribed?” suggested Carton. + +“I can’t say,” ruminated Kennedy. “But I can say this: that there is at +large in this city a man of great mechanical skill and practical +knowledge of electricity and explosives. He is trying to make sure of +hiding something from exposure. We must find him.” + +“And especially Haddon,” Carton added quickly. “He is the missing link. +His testimony is absolutely essential to the case I am building up.” + +“I think I shall want to observe Loraine Keith without being observed,” +planned Kennedy, with a hasty glance at his watch. “I think I’ll drop +around at this Mayfair I have heard so much about. Will you come?” + +“I’d better not,” refused Carton. “You know they all know me, and +everything quits wherever I go. I’ll see you soon.” + +As we drove in a cab over to the Mayfair, Kennedy said nothing. I +wondered how and where Haddon had disappeared. Had the powers of evil +in the city learned that he was weakening and hurried him out of the +way at the last moment? Just what had Loraine Keith to do with it? Was +she in any way responsible? I felt that there were, indeed, no bounds +to what a jealous woman might dare. + +Beside the ornate grilled doorway of the carriage entrance of the +Mayfair stood a gilt-and-black easel with the words, “Tango Tea at +Four.” Although it was considerably after that time, there was a line +of taxi-cabs before the place and, inside, a brave array of +late-afternoon and early-evening revellers. The public dancing had +ceased, and a cabaret had taken its place. + +We entered and sat down at one of the more inconspicuous of the little +round tables. On a stage, at one side, a girl was singing one of the +latest syncopated airs. + +“We’ll just stick around a while, Walter,” whispered Craig. “Perhaps +this Loraine Keith will come in.” + +Behind us, protected both by the music and the rustle of people coming +and going, a couple talked in low tones. Now and then a word floated +over to me in a language which was English, sure enough, but not of a +kind that I could understand. + +“Dropped by a flatty,” I caught once, then something about a +“mouthpiece,” and the “bulls,” and “making a plant.” + +“A dip—pickpocket—and his girl, or gun-moll, as they call them,” +translated Kennedy. “One of their number has evidently been picked up +by a detective and he looks to them for a good lawyer, or mouth-piece.” + +Besides these two there were innumerable other interesting glimpses +into the life of this meeting-place for the half-and underworlds. A +motion in the audience attracted me, as if some favourite performer +were about to appear, and I heard the “gun-moll” whisper, “Loraine +Keith.” + +There she was, a petite, dark-haired, snappy-eyed girl, chic, well +groomed, and gowned so daringly that every woman in the audience envied +and every man craned his neck to see her better. Loraine wore a +tight-fitting black dress, slashed to the knee. In fact, everything was +calculated to set her off at best advantage, and on the stage, at +least, there was something recherche about her. Yet, there was also +something gross about her, too. + +Accompanying her was a nervous-looking fellow whose washed-out face was +particularly unattractive. It seemed as if the bone in his nose was +going, due to the shrinkage of the blood-vessels. Once, just before the +dance began, I saw him rub something on the back of his hand, raise it +to his nose, and sniff. Then he took a sip of a liqueur. + +The dance began, wild from the first step, and as it developed, Kennedy +leaned over and whispered, “The danse des Apaches.” + +It was acrobatic. The man expressed brutish passion and jealousy; the +woman, affection and fear. It seemed to tell a story—the struggle of +love, the love of the woman against the brutal instincts of the thug, +her lover. She was terrified as well as fascinated by him in his mad +temper and tremendous superhuman strength. I wondered if the dance +portrayed the fact. + +The music was a popular air with many rapid changes, but through all +there was a constant rhythm which accorded well with the abandon of the +swaying dance. Indeed, I could think of nothing so much as of Bill +Sykes and Nancy as I watched these two. + +It was the fight of two frenzied young animals. He would approach +stealthily, seize her, and whirl her about, lifting her to his +shoulder. She was agile, docile, and fearful. He untied a scarf and +passed it about her; she leaned against it, and they whirled giddily +about. Suddenly, it seemed that he became jealous. She would run; he +follow and catch her. She would try to pacify him; he would become more +enraged. The dance became faster and more furious. His violent efforts +seemed to be to throw her to the floor, and her streaming hair now made +it seem more like a fight than a dance. The audience hung breathless. +It ended with her dropping exhausted, a proper finale to this lowest +and most brutal dance. + +Panting, flushed, with an unnatural light in their eyes, they descended +to the audience and, scorning the roar of applause to repeat the +performance, sat at a little table. + +I saw a couple of girls come over toward the man. + +“Give us a deck, Coke,” said one, in a harsh voice. + +He nodded. A silver quarter gleamed momentarily from hand to hand, and +he passed to one girl stealthily a small white-paper packet. Others +came to him, both men and women. It seemed to be an established thing. + +“Who is that?” asked Kennedy, in a low tone, of the pickpocket back of +us. + +“Coke Brodie,” was the laconic reply. + +“A cocaine fiend?” + +“Yes, and a lobbygow for the grapevine system of selling the dope under +this new law.” + +“Where does he get the supply to sell?” asked Kennedy, casually. + +The pickpocket shrugged his shoulders. + +“No one knows, I suppose,” Kennedy commented to me. “But he gets it in +spite of the added restrictions and peddles it in little packets, +adulterated, and at a fabulous price for such cheap stuff. The habit is +spreading like wildfire. It is a fertile means of recruiting the +inmates in the vice-trust hotels. A veritable epidemic it is, too. +Cocaine is one of the most harmful of all habit-forming drugs. It used +to be a habit of the underworld, but now it is creeping up, and +gradually and surely reaching the higher strata of society. One thing +that causes its spread is the ease with which it can be taken. It +requires no smoking-dens, no syringe, no paraphernalia—only the drug +itself.” + +Another singer had taken the place of the dancers. Kennedy leaned over +and whispered to the dip. + +“Say, do you and your gun-moll want to pick up a piece of change to get +that mouthpiece I heard you talking about?” + +The pickpocket looked at Craig suspiciously. + +“Oh, don’t worry; I’m all right,” laughed Craig. “You see that fellow, +Coke Brodie? I want to get something on him. If you will frame that +sucker to get away with a whole front, there’s a fifty in it.” + +The dip looked, rather than spoke, his amazement. Apparently Kennedy +satisfied his suspicions. + +“I’m on,” he said quickly. “When he goes, I’ll follow him. You keep +behind us, and we’ll deliver the goods.” + +“What’s it all about?” I whispered. + +“Why,” he answered, “I want to get Brodie, only I don’t want to figure +in the thing so that he will know me or suspect anything but a plain +hold-up. They will get him; take everything he has. There must be +something on that man that will help us.” + +Several performers had done their turns, and the supply of the drug +seemed to have been exhausted. Brodie rose and, with a nod to Loraine, +went out, unsteadily, now that the effect of the cocaine had worn off. +One wondered how this shuffling person could ever have carried through +the wild dance. It was not Brodie who danced. It was the drug. + +The dip slipped out after him, followed by the woman. We rose and +followed also. Across the city Brodie slouched his way, with an evident +purpose, it seemed, of replenishing his supply and continuing his round +of peddling the stuff. + +He stopped under the brow of a thickly populated tenement row on the +upper East Side, as though this was his destination. There he stood at +the gate that led down to a cellar, looking up and down as if wondering +whether he was observed. We had slunk into a doorway. + +A woman coming down the street, swinging a chatelaine, walked close to +him, spoke, and for a moment they talked. + +“It’s the gun-moll,” remarked Kennedy. “She’s getting Brodie off his +guard. This must be the root of that grapevine system, as they call it.” + +Suddenly from the shadow of the next house a stealthy figure sprang out +on Brodie. It was our dip, a dip no longer but a regular stick-up man, +with a gun jammed into the face of his victim and a broad hand over his +mouth. Skilfully the woman went through Brodie’s pockets, her nimble +fingers missing not a thing. + +“Now—beat it,” we heard the dip whisper hoarsely, “and if you raise a +holler, we’ll get you right, next time.” + +Brodie fled as fast as his weakened nerves would permit his shaky limbs +to move. As he disappeared, the dip sent something dark hurtling over +the roof of the house across the street and hurried toward us. + +“What was that?” I asked. + +“I think it was the pistol on the end of a stout cord. That is a +favourite trick of the gunmen after a job. It destroys at least a part +of the evidence. You can’t throw a gun very far alone, you know. But +with it at the end of a string you can lift it up over the roof of a +tenement. If Brodie squeals to a copper and these people are caught, +they can’t hold them under the pistol law, anyhow.” + +The dip had caught sight of us, with his ferret eyes in the doorway. +Quickly Kennedy passed over the money in return for the motley array of +objects taken from Brodie. The dip and his gun-moll disappeared into +the darkness as quickly as they had emerged. + +There was a curious assortment—the paraphernalia of a drug fiend, old +letters, a key, and several other useless articles. The pickpocket had +retained the money from the sale of the dope as his own particular +honorarium. + +“Brodie has led us up to the source of his supply,” remarked Kennedy, +thoughtfully regarding the stuff. “And the dip has given us the key to +it. Are you game to go in?” + +A glance up and down the street showed it still deserted. We wormed our +way in the shadow to the cellar before which Brodie had stood. The +outside door was open. We entered, and Craig stealthily struck a match, +shading it in his hands. + +At one end we were confronted by a little door of mystery, barred with +iron and held by an innocent enough looking padlock. It was this lock, +evidently, to which the key fitted, opening the way into the +subterranean vault of brick and stone. + +Kennedy opened it and pushed back the door. There was a little square +compartment, dark as pitch and delightfully cool and damp. He lighted a +match, then hastily blew it out and switched on an electric bulb which +it disclosed. + +“Can’t afford risks like that here,” he exclaimed, carefully disposing +of the match, as our eyes became accustomed to the light. + +On every side were pieces of gas-pipe, boxes, and paper, and on shelves +were jars of various materials. There was a work-table littered with +tools, pieces of wire, boxes, and scraps of metal. + +“My word!” exclaimed Kennedy, as he surveyed the curious scene before +us, “this is a regular bomb factory—one of the most amazing exhibits +that the history of crime has ever produced.” + + + + +XVIII + +THE “COKE” FIEND + + +I followed him in awe as he made a hasty inventory of what we had +discovered. There were as many as a dozen finished and partly finished +infernal machines of various sizes and kinds, some of tremendous +destructive capacity. Kennedy did not even attempt to study them. All +about were high explosives, chemicals, dynamite. There was gunpowder of +all varieties, antimony, blasting-powder, mercury cyanide, chloral +hydrate, chlorate of potash, samples of various kinds of shot, some of +the outlawed soft-nosed dumdum bullets, cartridges, shells, pieces of +metal purposely left with jagged edges, platinum, aluminum, iron, +steel—a conglomerate mass of stuff that would have gladdened an +anarchist. + +Kennedy was examining a little quartz-lined electric furnace, which was +evidently used for heating soldering irons and other tools. Everything +had been done, it seemed, to prevent explosions. There were no open +lights and practically no chance for heat to be communicated far among +the explosives. Indeed, everything had been arranged to protect the +operator himself in his diabolical work. + +Kennedy had switched on the electric furnace, and from the various +pieces of metal on the table selected several. These he was placing +together in a peculiar manner, and to them he attached some copper wire +which lay in a corner in a roll. + +Under the work-table, beneath the furnace, one could feel the warmth of +the thing slightly. Quickly he took the curious affair, which he had +hastily shaped, and fastened it under the table at that point, then led +the wires out through a little barred window to an air-shaft, the only +means of ventilation of the place except the door. + +While he was working I had been gingerly inspecting the rest of the +den. In a corner, just beside the door, I had found a set of shelves +and a cabinet. On both were innumerable packets done up in white paper. +I opened one and found it contained several pinches of a white, +crystalline substance. + +“Little portions of cocaine,” commented Kennedy, when I showed him what +I had found. “In the slang of the fiends, ‘decks.’” + +On the top of the cabinet he discovered a little enamelled box, much +like a snuff-box, in which were also some of the white flakes. Quickly +he emptied them out and replaced them with others from jars which had +not been made up into packets. + +“Why, there must be hundreds of ounces of the stuff here, to say +nothing of the various things they adulterate it with,” remarked +Kennedy. “No wonder they are so careful when it is a felony even to +have it in your possession in such quantities. See how careful they are +about the adulteration, too. You could never tell except from the +effect whether it was the pure or only a few-per-cent.-pure article.” + +Kennedy took a last look at the den, to make sure that nothing had been +disturbed that would arouse suspicion. + +“We may as well go,” he remarked. “To-morrow, I want to be free to make +the connection outside with that wire in the shaft.” + +Imagine our surprise, the next morning, when a tap at our door revealed +Loraine Keith herself. + +“Is this Professor Kennedy?” she asked, gazing at us with a half-wild +expression which she was making a tremendous effort to control. +“Because if it is, I have something to tell him that may interest Mr. +Carton.” + +We looked at her curiously. Without her make-up she was pallid and +yellow in spots, her hands trembling, cold, and sweaty, her eyes sunken +and glistening, with pupils dilated, her breathing short and hurried, +restless, irresolute, and careless of her personal appearance. + +“Perhaps you wonder how I heard of you and why I have come to you,” she +went on. “It is because I have a confession to make. I saw Mr. Haddon +just before he was—kidnapped.” + +She seemed to hesitate over the word. + +“How did you know I was interested?” asked Kennedy keenly. + +“I heard him mention your name with Mr. Carton’s.” + +“Then he knew that I was more than a reporter for the Star,” remarked +Kennedy. “Kidnapped, you say? How?” + +She shot a glance half of suspicion, half of frankness, at us. + +“That’s what I must confess. Whoever did it must have used me as a +tool. Mr. Haddon and I used to be good friends—I would be yet.” + +There was evident feeling in her tone which she did not have to assume. +“All I remember yesterday was that, after lunch, I was in the office of +the Mayfair when he came in. On his desk was a package. I don’t know +what has become of it. But he gave one look at it, seemed to turn pale, +then caught sight of me. ‘Loraine,’ he whispered, ‘we used to be good +friends. Forgive me for turning you down. But you don’t understand. Get +me away from here—come with me—call a cab.’ + +“Well, I got into the cab with him. We had a chauffeur whom we used to +have in the old days. We drove furiously, avoiding the traffic men. He +told the driver to take us to my apartment—and—and that is the last I +remember, except a scuffle in which I was dragged from the cab on one +side and he on the other.” + +She had opened her handbag and taken from it a little snuff-box, like +that which we had seen in the den. + +“I—I can’t go on,” she apologised, “without this stuff.” + +“So you are a cocaine fiend, also?” remarked Kennedy. + +“Yes, I can’t help it. There is an indescribable excitement to do +something great, to make a mark, that goes with it. It’s soon gone, but +while it lasts I can sing and dance, do anything until every part of my +body begins crying for it again. I was full of the stuff when this +happened yesterday; had taken too much, I guess.” + +The change in her after she had snuffed some of the crystals was +magical. From a quivering wretch she had become now a self-confident +neurasthenic. + +“You know where that stuff will land you, I presume?” questioned +Kennedy. + +“I don’t care,” she laughed hollowly. “Yes, I know what you are going +to tell me. Soon I’ll be hunting for the cocaine bug, as they call it, +imagining that in my skin, under the flesh, are worms crawling, perhaps +see them, see the little animals running around and biting me. Oh, you +don’t know. There are two souls to the cocainist. One is tortured by +the suffering which the stuff brings; the other laughs at the fears and +pains. But it brings such thoughts! It stimulates my mind, makes it +work without, against my will, gives me such visions—oh, I can not go +on. They would kill me if they knew I had come to you. Why have I? Has +not Haddon cast me off? What is he to me, now?” + +It was evident that she was growing hysterical. I wondered whether, +after all, the story of the kidnapping of Haddon might not be a figment +of her brain, simply an hallucination due to the drug. + +“They?” inquired Kennedy, observing her narrowly. “Who?” + +“I can’t tell. I don’t know. Why did I come? Why did I come?” + +She was reaching again for the snuff-box, but Kennedy restrained her. + +“Miss Keith,” he remarked, “you are concealing something from me. There +is some one,” he paused a moment, “whom you are shielding.” + +“No, no,” she cried. “He was taken. Brodie had nothing to do with it, +nothing. That is what you mean. I know. This stuff increases my +sensitiveness. Yet I hate Coke Brodie—oh—let me go. I am all +unstrung. Let me see a doctor. To-night, when I am better, I will tell +all.” + +Loraine Keith had torn herself from him, had instantly taken a pinch of +the fatal crystals, with that same ominous change from fear to +self-confidence. What had been her purpose in coming at all? It had +seemed at first to implicate Brodie, but she had been quick to shield +him when she saw that danger. I wondered what the fascination might be +which the wretch exercised over her. + +“To-night—I will see you to-night,” she cried, and a moment later she +was gone, as unexpectedly as she had come. + +I looked at Kennedy blankly. + +“What was the purpose of that outburst?” I asked. + +“I can’t say,” he replied. “It was all so incoherent that, from what I +know of drug fiends, I am sure she had a deep-laid purpose in it all. +It does not change my plans.” + +Two hours later we had paid a deposit on an empty flat in the +tenement-house in which the bomb-maker had his headquarters, and had +received a key to the apartment from the janitor. After considerable +difficulty, owing to the narrowness of the air-shaft, Kennedy managed +to pick up the loose ends of the wire which had been led out of the +little window at the base of the shaft, and had attached it to a couple +of curious arrangements which he had brought with him. One looked like +a large taximeter from a motor cab; the other was a diminutive +gas-metre, in looks at least. Attached to them were several bells and +lights. + +He had scarcely completed installing the thing, whatever it was, when a +gentle tap at the door startled me. Kennedy nodded, and I opened it. It +was Carton. + +“I have had my men watching the Mayfair,” he announced. “There seems to +be a general feeling of alarm there, now. They can’t even find Loraine +Keith. Brodie, apparently, has not shown up in his usual haunts since +the episode of last night.” + +“I wonder if the long arm of this vice trust could have reached out and +gathered them in, too?” I asked. + +“Quite likely,” replied Carton, absorbed in watching Kennedy. “What’s +this?” + +A little bell had tinkled sharply, and a light had flashed up on the +attachments to the apparatus. + +“Nothing. I was just testing it to see if it works. It does, although +the end which I installed down below was necessarily only a makeshift. +It is not this red light with the shrill bell that we are interested +in. It is the green light and the low-toned bell. This is a thermopile.” + +“And what is a thermopile?” queried Carton. + +“For the sake of one who has forgotten his physics,” smiled Kennedy, “I +may say this is only another illustration of how all science ultimately +finds practical application. You probably have forgotten that when two +half-rings of dissimilar metals are joined together and one is suddenly +heated or chilled, there is produced at the opposite connecting point a +feeble current which will flow until the junctures are both at the same +temperature. You might call this a thermo-electric thermometer, or a +telethermometer, or a microthermometer, or any of a dozen names.” + +“Yes,” I agreed mechanically, only vaguely guessing at what he had in +mind. + +“The accurate measurement of temperature is still a problem of +considerable difficulty,” he resumed, adjusting the thermometer. “A +heated mass can impart vibratory motion to the ether which fills space, +and the wave-motions of ether are able to reproduce in other bodies +motions similar to those by which they are caused. At this end of the +line I merely measure the electromotive force developed by the +difference in temperature of two similar thermo-electric junctions, +opposed. We call those junctions in a thermopile ‘couples,’ and by +getting the recording instruments sensitive enough, we can measure one +one-thousandth of a degree. + +“Becquerel was the first, I believe, to use this property. But the +machine which you see here was one recently invented for registering +the temperature of sea water so as to detect the approach of an +iceberg. I saw no reason why it should not be used to measure heat as +well as cold. + +“You see, down there I placed the couples of the thermopile beneath the +electric furnace on the table. Here I have the mechanism, operated by +the feeble current from the thermopile, opening and closing switches, +and actuating bells and lights. Then, too, I have the recording +instrument. The thing is fundamentally very simple and is based on +well-known phenomena. It is not uncertain and can be tested at any +time, just as I did then, when I showed a slight fall in temperature. +Of course it is not the slight changes I am after, not the gradual but +the sudden changes in temperature.” + +“I see,” said Carton. “If there is a drop, the current goes one way and +we see the red light; a rise and it goes the other, and we see a green +light.” + +“Exactly,” agreed Kennedy. “No one is going to approach that chamber +down-stairs as long as he thinks any one is watching, and we do not +know where they are watching. But the moment any sudden great change is +registered, such as turning on that electric furnace, we shall know it +here.” + +It must have been an hour that we sat there discussing the merits of +the case and speculating on the strange actions of Loraine Keith. + +Suddenly the red light flashed out brilliantly. + +“What’s that?” asked Carton quickly. + +“I can’t tell, yet,” remarked Kennedy. “Perhaps it is nothing at all. +Perhaps it is a draught of cold air from opening the door. We shall +have to wait and see.” + +We bent over the little machine, straining our eyes and ears to catch +the visual and audible signals which it gave. + +Gradually the light faded, as the thermopile adjusted itself to the +change in temperature. + +Suddenly, without warning, a low-toned bell rang before us and a +bright-green light flashed up. + +“That can have only one meaning,” cried Craig excitedly. “Some one is +down there in that inferno—perhaps the bomb-maker himself.” + +The bell continued to ring and the light to glow, showing that whoever +was there had actually started the electric furnace. What was he +preparing to do? I felt that, even though we knew there was some one +there, it did us little good. I, for one, had no relish for the job of +bearding such a lion in his den. + +We looked at Kennedy, wondering what he would do next. From the package +in which he had brought the two registering machines he quietly took +another package, wrapped up, about eighteen inches long and apparently +very heavy. As he did so he kept his attention fixed on the +telethermometer. Was he going to wait until the bomb-maker had finished +what he had come to accomplish? + +It was perhaps fifteen minutes after our first alarm that the signals +began to weaken. + +“Does that mean that he has gone—escaped?” inquired Carton anxiously. + +“No. It means that his furnace is going at full power and that he has +forgotten it. It is what I am waiting for. Come on.” + +Seizing the package as he hurried from the room, Kennedy dashed out on +the street and down the outside cellar stairs, followed by us. + +He paused at the thick door and listened. Apparently there was not a +sound from the other side, except a whir of a motor and a roar which +might have been from the furnace. Softly he tried the door. It was +locked on the inside. + +Was the bomb-maker there still? He must be. Suppose he heard us. Would +he hesitate a moment to send us all to perdition along with himself? + +How were we to get past that door? Really, the deathlike stillness on +the other side was more mysterious than would have been the detonation +of some of the criminal’s explosive. + +Kennedy had evidently satisfied himself on one point. If we were to get +into that chamber we must do it ourselves, and we must do it quickly. + +From the package which he carried he pulled out a stubby little +cylinder, perhaps eighteen inches long, very heavy, with a short stump +of a lever projecting from one side. Between the stonework of a chimney +and the barred door he laid it horizontally, jamming in some pieces of +wood to wedge it tighter. + +Then he began to pump on the handle vigorously. The almost impregnable +door seemed slowly to bulge. Still there was no sign of life from +within. Had the bomb-maker left before we arrived? + +“This is my scientific sledge-hammer,” panted Kennedy, as he worked the +little lever backward and forward more quickly—“a hydraulic ram. There +is no swinging of axes or wielding of crowbars necessary in breaking +down an obstruction like this, nowadays. Such things are obsolete. This +little jimmy, if you want to call it that, has a power of ten tons. +That ought to be enough.” + +It seemed as if the door were slowly being crushed in before the +irresistible ten-ton punch of the hydraulic ram. + +Kennedy stopped. Evidently he did not dare to crush the door in +altogether. Quickly he released the ram and placed it vertically. Under +the now-yawning door jamb he inserted a powerful claw of the ram and +again he began to work the handle. + +A moment later the powerful door buckled, and Kennedy deftly swung it +outward so that it fell with a crash on the cellar floor. + +As the noise reverberated, there came a sound of a muttered curse from +the cavern. Some one was there. + +We pressed forward. + +On the floor, in the weird glare of the little furnace, lay a man and a +woman, the light playing over their ghastly, set features. + +Kennedy knelt over the man, who was nearest the door. + +“Call a doctor, quick,” he ordered, reaching over and feeling the pulse +of the woman, who had half fallen out of her chair. “They will, be all +right soon. They took what they thought was their usual adulterated +cocaine—see, here is the box in which it was. Instead, I filled the +box with the pure drug. They’ll come around. Besides, Carton needs both +of them in his fight.” + +“Don’t take any more,” muttered the woman, half conscious. “There’s +something wrong with it, Haddon.” + +I looked more closely at the face in the half-darkness. + +It was Haddon himself. + +“I knew he’d come back when the craving for the drug became intense +enough,” remarked Kennedy. + +Carton looked at Kennedy in amazement. Haddon was the last person in +the world whom he had evidently expected to discover here. + +“How—what do you mean?” + +“The episode of the telephone booth gave me the first hint. That is the +favourite stunt of the drug fiend—a few minutes alone, and he thinks +no one is the wiser about his habit. Then, too, there was the story +about his speed mania. That is a frequent failing of the cocainist. The +drug, too, was killing his interest in Loraine Keith—that is the last +stage. + +“Yet under its influence, just as with his lobbygow and lieutenant, +Brodie, he found power and inspiration. With him it took the form of +bombs to protect himself in his graft.” + +“He can’t—escape this time—Loraine. We’ll leave it—at his house—you +know—Carton—” + +We looked quickly at the work-table. On it was a gigantic bomb of +clockwork over which Haddon had been working. The cocaine which was to +have given him inspiration had, thanks to Kennedy, overcome him. + +Beside Loraine Keith were a suit-case and a Gladstone. She had +evidently been stuffing the corners full of their favourite nepenthe, +for, as Kennedy reached down and turned over the closely packed woman’s +finery and the few articles belonging to Haddon, innumerable packets +from the cabinet dropped out. + +“Hulloa—what’s this?” he exclaimed, as he came to a huge roll of bills +and a mass of silver and gold coin. “Trying to double-cross us all the +time. That was her clever game—to give him the hours he needed to +gather what money he could save and make a clean getaway. Even cocaine +doesn’t destroy the interest of men and women in that,” he concluded, +turning over to Carton the wealth which Haddon had amassed as one of +the meanest grafters of the city of graft. + +Here was a case which I could not help letting the Star have +immediately. Notes or no notes, it was local news of the first order. +Besides, anything that concerned Carton was of the highest political +significance. + +It kept me late at the office and I overslept. Consequently I did not +see much of Craig the next morning, especially as he told me he had +nothing special, having turned down a case of a robbery of a safe, on +the ground that the police were much better fitted to catch ordinary +yeggmen than he was. During the day, therefore, I helped in directing +the following up of the Haddon case for the Star. + +Then, suddenly, a new front page story crowded this one of the main +headlines. With a sigh of relief, I glanced at the new thriller, found +it had something to do with the Navy Department, and that it came from +as far away as Washington. There was no reason now why others could not +carry on the graft story, and I left, not unwillingly. My special work +just now was keeping on the trail of Kennedy, and I was glad to go back +to the apartment and wait for him. + +“I suppose you saw that despatch from Washington in this afternoon’s +papers?” he queried, as he came in, tossing a late edition of the +Record down on my desk. + +Across the front page extended a huge black scare-head: “NAVY’S MOST +VITAL SECRET STOLEN.” + +“Yes,” I shrugged, “but you can’t get me much excited by what the +rewrite men on the Record say.” + +“Why?” he asked, going directly into his own room. + +“Well,” I replied, glancing through the text of the story, “the actual +facts are practically the same as in the other papers. Take this, for +instance, ‘On the night of the celebration of the anniversary of the +battle of Manila there were stolen from the Navy Department plans which +the Record learns exclusively represent the greatest naval secret in +the world.’ So much for that paragraph—written in the office. Then it +goes on: + +“The whole secret-service machinery of the Government has been put in +operation. No one has been able to extract from the authorities the +exact secret which was stolen, but it is believed to be an invention +which will revolutionise the structure and construction of the most +modern monster battleships. Such knowledge, it is said, in the hands of +experts might prove fatal in almost any fight in which our newer ships +met others of about equal fighting power, as with it marksmen might +direct a shot that would disable our ships. + +“It is the opinion of the experts that the theft was executed by a +skilled draughtsman or other civilian employe. At any rate, the thief +knew what to take and its value. There is, at least, one nation, it is +asserted, which faces the problem of bringing its ships up to the +standard of our own to which the plans would be very valuable. + +“The building had been thrown open to the public for the display of +fireworks on the Monument grounds before it. The plans are said to have +been on one of the draughting-tables, drawn upon linen to be made into +blue-prints. They are known to have been on the tables when the +draughting-room was locked for the night. + +“The room is on the third floor of the Department and has a balcony +looking out on the Monument. Many officers and officials had their +families and friends on the balcony to witness the celebration, though +it is not known that any one was in the draughting-room itself. All +were admitted to the building on passes. The plans were tacked to a +draughting-board in the room, but when it was opened in the morning the +linen sheet was gone, and so were the thumb-tacks. The plans could +readily have been rolled into a small bundle and carried under a coat +or wrap. + +“While the authorities are trying to minimise the actual loss, it is +believed that this position is only an attempt to allay the great +public concern.” + +I paused. “Now then,” I added, picking up one of the other papers I had +brought up-town myself, “take the Express. It says that the plans were +important, but would have been made public in a few months, anyhow. +Here: + +“The theft—or mislaying, as the Department hopes it will prove to +be—took place several days ago. Official confirmation of the report is +lacking, but from trustworthy unofficial sources it is learned that +only unimportant parts of plans are missing, presumably minor +structural details of battle-ship construction, and other things of a +really trivial character, such as copies of naval regulations, etc. + +“The attempt to make a sensational connection between the loss and a +controversy which is now going on with a foreign government is greatly +to be deplored and is emphatically asserted to be utterly baseless. It +bears traces of the jingoism of those ‘interests’ which are urging +naval increases. + +“There is usually very little about a battle-ship that is not known +before her keel is laid, or even before the signing of the contracts. +At any rate, when it is asserted that the plans represent the dernier +cri in some form of war preparation, it is well to remember that a +‘last cry’ is last only until there is a later. Naval secrets are few, +anyway, and as it takes some years to apply them, this loss cannot be +of superlative value to any one. Still, there is, of course, a market +for such information in spite of the progress toward disarmament, but +the rule in this case will be the rule as in a horse trade, ‘Caveat +emptor.’” + +“So there you are,” I concluded. “You pay your penny for a paper, and +you take your choice.” + +“And the Star,” inquired Kennedy, coming to the door and adding with an +aggravating grin, “the infallible?” + +“The Star,” I replied, unruffled, “hits the point squarely when it says +that whether the plans were of immediate importance or not, the real +point is that if they could be stolen, really important things could be +taken also. For instance, ‘The thought of what the thief might have +stolen has caused much more alarm than the knowledge of what he has +succeeded in taking.’ I think it is about time those people in +Washington stopped the leak if—” + +The telephone rang insistently. + +“I think that’s for me,” exclaimed Craig, bounding out of his room and +forgetting his quiz of me. “Hello—yes—is that you, Burke? At the +Grand Central—half an hour—all right. I’m bringing Jameson. Good-bye.” + +Kennedy jammed down the receiver on the hook. + + + + +XIX + +THE SUBMARINE MYSTERY + + +“The Star was not far from right, Walter,” he added, seriously. “If the +battleship plans could be stolen, other things could be—other things +were. You remember Burke of the secret service? I’m going up to Lookout +Hill on the Connecticut shore of the Sound with him to-night. The +rewrite men on the Record didn’t have the facts, but they had accurate +imaginations. The most vital secret that any navy ever had, that would +have enabled us in a couple of years to whip the navies of the world +combined against us, has been stolen.” + +“And that is?” I asked. + +“The practical working-out of the newest of sciences, the science of +telautomatics.” + +“Telautomatics?” I repeated. + +“Yes. There is something weird, fascinating about the very idea. I sit +up here safely in this room, turning switches, pressing buttons, +depressing levers. Ten miles away a vehicle, a ship, an aeroplane, a +submarine obeys me. It may carry enough of the latest and most powerful +explosive that modern science can invent, enough, if exploded, to rival +the worst of earthquakes. Yet it obeys my will. It goes where I direct +it. It explodes where I want it. And it wipes off the face of the earth +anything which I want annihilated. + +“That’s telautomatics, and that is what has been stolen from our navy +and dimly sensed by you clever newspaper men, from whom even the secret +service can’t quite hide everything. The publication of the rumour +alone that the government knows it has lost something has put the +secret service in a hole. What might have been done quietly and in a +few days has got to be done in the glare of the limelight and with the +blare of a brass band—and it has got to be done right away, too. Come +on, Walter. I’ve thrown together all we shall need for one night—and +it doesn’t include any pajamas, either.” + +A few minutes later we met our friend Burke of the secret service at +the new terminal. He had wired Kennedy earlier in the day saying that +he would be in New York and would call him up. + +“The plans, as I told you in my message,” began Burke, when we had +seated ourselves in a compartment of the Pullman, “were those of +Captain Shirley, covering the wireless-controlled submarine. The old +captain is a thoroughbred, too. I’ve known him in Washington. Comes of +an old New England, family with plenty of money but more brains. For +years he has been working on this science of radio-telautomatics, has +all kinds of patents, which he has dedicated to the United States, too. +Of course the basic, pioneer patents are not his. His work has been in +the practical application of them. And, Kennedy, there are some secrets +about his latest work that he has not patented; he has given them +outright to the Navy Department, because they are too valuable even to +patent.” + +Burke, who liked a good detective tale himself, seemed pleased at +holding Kennedy spellbound. + +“For instance,” he went on, “he has on the bay up here a submarine +which can be made into a crewless dirigible. He calls it the Turtle, I +believe, because that was the name of the first American submarine +built by Dr. Bushnell during the Revolution, even before Fulton.” + +“You have theories of your own on the case?” asked Craig. + +“Well, there are several possibilities. You know there are submarine +companies in this country, bitter rivals. They might like to have those +plans. Then, too, there are foreign governments.” + +He paused. Though he said nothing, I felt that there was no doubt what +he hinted at. At least one government occurred to me which would like +the plans above all others. + +“Once some plans of a submarine were stolen, I recall,” ruminated +Kennedy. “But that theft, I am satisfied, was committed in behalf of a +rival company.” + +“But, Kennedy,” exclaimed Burke, “it was bad enough when the plans were +stolen. Now Captain Shirley wires me that some one must have tampered +with his model. It doesn’t work right. He even believes that his own +life may be threatened. And there is scarcely a real clue,” he added +dejectedly. “Of course we are watching all the employes who had access +to the draughting-room and tracing everybody who was in the building +that night. I have a complete list of them. There are three or four who +will bear watching. For instance, there is a young attache of one of +the embassies, named Nordheim.” + +“Nordheim!” I echoed, involuntarily. I had expected an Oriental name. + +“Yes, a German. I have been looking up his record, and I find that once +he was connected in some way with the famous Titan Iron Works, at Kiel, +Germany. We began watching him day before yesterday, but suddenly he +disappeared. Then, there is a society woman in Washington, a Mrs. +Bayard Brainard, who was at the Department that night. We have been +trying to find her. To-day I got word that she was summering in the +cottage colony across the bay from Lookout Hill. At any rate, I had to +go up there to see the captain, and I thought I’d kill a whole flock of +birds with one stone. The chief thought, too, that if you’d take the +case with us you had best start on it up there. Next, you will no doubt +want to go back to Washington with me.” + +Lookout Hill was the name of the famous old estate of the Shirleys, on +a point of land jutting out into Long Island Sound and with a +neighbouring point enclosing a large, deep, safe harbour. On the +highest ground of the estate, with a perfect view of both harbour and +sound, stood a large stone house, the home of Captain Shirley, of the +United States navy, retired. + +Captain Shirley, a man of sixty-two or three, bronzed and wiry, met us +eagerly. + +“So this is Professor Kennedy; I’m glad to meet you, sir,” he welcomed, +clasping Craig’s hand in both of his—a fine figure as he stood erect +in the light of the portecochere. “What’s the news from Washington, +Burke? Any clues?” + +“I can hardly tell,” replied the secret service man, with assumed +cheerfulness. “By the way, you’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes +while I run back into town on a little errand. Meanwhile, Captain, will +you explain to Professor Kennedy just how things are? Perhaps he’d +better begin by seeing the Turtle herself.” + +Burke had not waited longer than to take leave. + +“The Turtle,” repeated the captain, leading the way into the house. +“Well, I did call it that at first. But I prefer to call it the Z99. +You know the first submarines, abroad at least, were sometimes called +Al, A2, A3, and so on. They were of the diving, plunging type, that is, +they submerged on an inclined keel, nose down, like the Hollands. Then +came the B type, in which the hydroplane appeared; the C type, in which +it was more prominent, and a D type, where submergence is on a +perfectly even keel, somewhat like our Lakes. Well, this boat of mine +is a last word—the Z99. Call it the Turtle, if you like.” + +We were standing for a moment in a wide Colonial hall in which a fire +was crackling in a huge brick fireplace, taking the chill off the night +air. + +“Let me give you a demonstration, first,” added the captain. “Perhaps +Z99 will work—perhaps not.” + +There was an air of disappointment about the old veteran as he spoke, +uncertainly now, of what a short time ago he had known to be a +certainty and one of the greatest it had ever been given the inventive +mind of man to know. + +A slip of a girl entered from the library, saw us, paused, and was +about to turn back. Silhouetted against the curtained door, there was +health, animation, gracefulness, in every line of her wavy chestnut +hair, her soft, sparkling brown eyes, her white dress and hat to match, +which contrasted with the healthy glow of tan on her full neck and +arms, and her dainty little white shoes, ready for anything from tennis +to tango. + +“My daughter Gladys, Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson,” introduced the +captain. “We are going to try the Z99 again, Gladys.” + +A moment later we four were walking to the edge of the cliff where +Captain Shirley had a sort of workshop and signal-station. + +He lighted the gas, for Lookout Hill was only on the edge of the town +and boasted gas, electricity, and all modern improvements, as well as +the atmosphere of old New England. + +“The Z99 is moored just below us at my private dock,” began the +captain. “I have a shed down there where we usually keep her, but I +expected you, and she is waiting, thoroughly overhauled. I have +signalled to my men—fellows I can trust, too, who used to be with me +in the navy—to cast her off. There—now we are ready.” + +The captain turned a switch. Instantly a couple of hundred feet below +us, on the dark and rippling water, a light broke forth. Another +signal, and the light changed. + +It was moving. + +“The principle of the thing,” said Captain Shirley, talking to us but +watching the moving light intently, “briefly, is that I use the +Hertzian waves to actuate relays on the Z99. That is, I send a child +with a message, the grown man, through the relay, so to speak, does the +work. So, you see, I can sit up here and send my little David out +anywhere to strike down a huge Goliath. + +“I won’t bore you, yet, with explanations of my radio-combinator, the +telecommutator, the aerial coherer relay, and the rest of the +technicalities of wireless control of dirigible, self-propelled +vessels. They are well known, beginning with pioneers like Wilson and +Gardner in England, Roberts in Australia, Wirth and Lirpa in Germany, +Gabet in France, and Tesla, Edison, Sims, and the younger Hammond in +our own country. + +“The one thing, you may not know, that has kept us back while wireless +telegraphy has gone ahead so fast is that in wireless we have been able +to discard coherers and relays and use detectors and microphones in +their places. But in telautomatics we have to keep the coherer. That +has been the barrier. The coherer until recently has been spasmodic, +until we had Hammond’s mercury steel-disc coherer and now my own. Why,” +he cried, “we are just on the threshold, now, of this great science +which Tesla has named telautomatics—the electric arm that we can +stretch out through space to do our work and fight our battles.” + +It was not difficult to feel the enthusiasm of the captain over an +invention of such momentous possibilities, especially as the Z99 was +well out in the harbour now and we could see her flashing her red and +green signal-lights back to us. + +“You see,” the captain resumed, “I have twelve numbers here on the keys +of this radio-combinator—forward, back, stop propeller motor, rudder +right, rudder left, stop steering motor, light signals front, light +signals rear, launch torpedoes, and so on. The idea is that of a +delayed contact. The machinery is always ready, but it delays a few +seconds until the right impulse is given, a purely mechanical problem. +I take advantage of the delay to have the message repeated by a signal +back to me. I can even change it, then. You can see for yourself that +it really takes no experience to run the thing when all is going right. +Gladys has done it frequently herself. All you have to do is to pay +attention, and press the right key for the necessary change. It is when +things go wrong that even an expert like myself—confound it—there’s +something wrong!” + +The Z99 had suddenly swerved. Captain Shirley’s brow knitted. We +gathered around closer, Gladys next to her father and leaning anxiously +over the transmitting apparatus. + +“I wanted to turn her to port yet she goes to starboard, and signals +starboard, too. There—now—she has stopped altogether. What do you +think of that?” + +Gladys stroked the old seafarer’s hand gently, as he sat silently at +the table, peering with contracted brows out into the now brilliantly +moonlit night. + +Shirley looked up at his daughter, and the lines on his face relaxed as +though he would hide his disappointment from her eager eyes. + +“Confound that light! What’s the matter with it?” he exclaimed, +changing the subject, and glancing up at the gas-fixture. + +Kennedy had already been intently looking at the Welsbach burner +overhead, which had been flickering incessantly. “That gas company!” +added the Captain, shaking his head in disgust, and showing annoyance +over a trivial thing to hide deep concern over a greater, as some men +do. “I shall use the electricity altogether after this contract with +the company expires. I suppose you literary men, Mr. Jameson, would +call that the light that failed.” + +There was a forced air about his attempt to be facetious that did not +conceal, but rather accentuated, the undercurrent of feelings in him. + +“On the contrary,” broke in Kennedy, “I shouldn’t be surprised to find +that it is the light that succeeded.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“I wouldn’t have said anything about it if you hadn’t noticed it +yourself. In fact, I may be wrong. It suggests something to me, but it +will need a good deal of work to verify it, and then it may not be of +any significance. Is that the way the Z99 has behaved always lately?” + +“Yes, but I know that she hasn’t broken down of herself,” Captain +Shirley asserted. “It never did before, not since I perfected that new +coherer. And now it always does, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes +after I start her out.” + +Shirley was watching the lights as they serpentined their way to us +across the nearly calm water of the bay, idly toying with the now +useless combinator. + +“Wait here,” he said, rising hurriedly. “I must send my motor-boat out +there to pick her up and tow her in.” + +He was gone down the flight of rustic steps on the face of the cliff +before we could reply. + +“I wish father wouldn’t take it to heart so,” murmured Gladys. +“Sometimes I fear that success or failure of this boat means life or +death to him.” + +“That is exactly why we are here,” reassured Kennedy, turning earnestly +to her, “to help him to settle this thing at once. This is a beautiful +spot,” he added, as we stood on the edge of the cliff and looked far +out over the tossing waves of the sound. + +“What is on that other point?” asked Kennedy, turning again toward the +harbour itself. + +“There is a large cottage colony there,” she replied. “Of course many +of the houses are still closed so early in the season, but it is a +beautiful place in the summer. The hotel over there is open now, +though.” + +“You must have a lively time when the season is at its height,” +ventured Kennedy. “Do you know a cottager there, a Mrs. Brainard?” + +“Oh, yes, indeed. I have known her in Washington for some time.” + +“No doubt the cottagers envy you your isolation here,” remarked +Kennedy, turning and surveying the beautifully kept grounds. “I should +think it would be pleasant, too, to have an old Washington friend here.” + +“It is. We often invite our friends over for lawn-parties and other +little entertainments. Mrs. Brainard has just arrived and has only had +time to return my first visit to her, but I expect we shall have some +good times this summer.” + +It was evident, at least, that Gladys was not concealing anything about +her friend, whether there was any suspicion or not of her. + +We had gone into the house to await the return of Captain Shirley. +Burke had just returned, his face betraying that he was bursting with +news. + +“She’s here, all right,” he remarked in an undertone to Kennedy, “in +the Stamford cottage—quite an outfit. French chauffeur, two Japanese +servants, maids, and all.” + +“The Stamford cottage?” repeated Gladys. “Why, that is where Mrs. +Brainard lives.” + +She gave a startled glance at Kennedy, as she suddenly seemed to +realise that both he and the secret-service man had spoken about her +friend. + +“Yes,” said Burke, noting on the instant the perfect innocence of her +concern. “What do you know about Mrs. Brainard? Who, where is, Mr. +Brainard?” + +“Dead, I believe,” Gladys hesitated. “Mrs. Brainard has been well known +in Washington circles for years. Indeed, I invited her with us the +night of the Manila display.” + +“And Mr. Nordheim?” broke in Burke. + +“N-no,” she hesitated. “He was there, but I don’t know as whose guest.” + +“Did he seem very friendly with. Mrs. Brainard?” pursued the detective. + +I thought I saw a shade of relief pass over her face as she answered, +“Yes.” I could only interpret it that perhaps Nordheim had been +attentive to Gladys herself and that she had not welcomed his +attentions. + +“I may as well tell you,” she said, at length. “It is no secret in our +set, and I suppose you would find it out soon, anyhow. It is said that +he is engaged to Mrs. Brainard—that is all.” + +“Engaged?” repeated Burke. “Then that would account for his being at +the hotel here. At least, it would offer an excuse.” + +Gladys was not slow to note the stress that Burke laid on the last word. + +“Oh, impossible,” she began hurriedly, “impossible that he could have +known anything about this other matter. Why, she told me he was to sail +suddenly for Germany and came up here for a last visit before he went, +and to arrange to come back on his return. Oh, he could know +nothing—impossible.” + +“Why impossible?” persisted Burke. “They have submarines in Germany, +don’t they? And rival companies, too.” + +“Who have rival companies?” inquired a familiar voice. It was Captain +Shirley, who had returned out of breath from his long climb up the +steps from the shore. + +“The Germans. I was speaking of an attache named Nordheim.” + +“Who is Nordheim?” inquired the captain. + +“You met him at the Naval building, that night, don’t you remember?” +replied Gladys. + +“Oh, yes, I believe I do—dimly. He was the man who seemed so devoted +to Mrs. Brainard.” + +“I think he is, too, father,” she replied hastily. “He has been +suddenly called to Berlin and planned to spend the last few days here, +at the hotel, so as to be near her. She told me that he had been +ordered back to Washington again before he sailed and had had to cut +his visit short.” + +“When did you first notice the interference with the Turtle?” asked +Burke. “I received your message this morning.” + +“Yesterday morning was the first,” replied the captain. + +“He arrived the night before and did not leave until yesterday +afternoon,” remarked Burke. + +“And we arrived to-night,” put in Craig quietly. “The interference is +going on yet.” + +“Then the Japs,” I cut in, at last giving voice to the suspicion I had +of the clever little Orientals. + +“They could not have stolen the plans,” asserted Burke, shaking his +head. “No, Nordheim and Mrs. Brainard were the only ones who could have +got into the draughting room the night of the Manila celebration.” + +“Burke,” said Kennedy, rising, “I wish you would take me into town. +There are a few messages I would like to send. You will excuse us, +Captain, for a few hours? Good evening, Miss Shirley.” As he bowed I +heard Kennedy add to her: “Don’t worry about your father. Everything +will come out all right soon.” + +Outside, in the car which Burke had hired, Craig added: “Not to town. +That was an excuse not to alarm Miss Shirley too much over her friend. +Take us over past the Stamford cottage, first.” + +The Stamford cottage was on the beach, between the shore front and the +road. It was not a new place but was built in the hideous style of some +thirty years ago with all sorts of little turned and knobby ornaments. +We paused down the road a bit, though not long enough to attract +attention. There were lights on every floor of the cottage, although +most of the neighbouring cottages were dark. + +“Well protected by lightning-rods,” remarked Kennedy, as he looked the +Stamford cottage over narrowly. “We might as well drive on. Keep an eye +on the hotel, Burke. It may be that Nordheim intends to return, after +all.” + +“Assuming that he has left,” returned the secret-service man. + +“But you said he had left,” said Kennedy. “What do you mean?” + +“I hardly know myself,” wearily remarked Burke, on whom the strain of +the case, to which we were still fresh, had begun to tell. “I only know +that I called up Washington after I heard he had been at the hotel, and +no one at our headquarters knew that he had returned. They may have +fallen down, but they were to watch both his rooms and the embassy.” + +“H-m,” mused Kennedy. “Why didn’t you say that before?” + +“Why, I assumed that he had gone back, until you told me there was +interference to-night, too. Now, until I can locate him definitely I’m +all at sea—that’s all.” + +It was now getting late in the evening, but Kennedy had evidently no +intention of returning yet to Lookout Hill. We paused at the hotel, +which was in the centre of the cottage colony, and flanked by a hill +that ran back of the colony diagonally and from which a view of both +the hotel and the cottages could be obtained. Burke’s inquiries +developed the fact that Nordheim had left very hurriedly and in some +agitation. “To tell you the truth,” confided the clerk, with whom Burke +had ingratiated himself, “I thought he acted like a man who was +watched.” + +Late as it was, Kennedy insisted on motoring to the railroad station +and catching the last train to New York. As there seemed to be nothing +that I could do at Lookout Hill, I accompanied him on the long and +tedious ride, which brought us back to the city in the early hours of +the morning. + +We stopped just long enough to run up to the laboratory and to secure a +couple of little instruments which looked very much like small +incandescent lamps in a box. Then, by the earliest train from New York, +we returned to Lookout Hill, with only such sleep as Kennedy had +predicted, snatched in the day coaches of the trains and during a brief +wait in the station. + +A half-hour’s freshening up with a dip in the biting cold water of the +bay, breakfast with Captain Shirley and Miss Gladys, and a return to +the excitement of the case, had to serve in place of rest. Burke +disappeared, after a hasty conference with Kennedy, presumably to watch +Mrs. Brainard, the hotel, and the Stamford cottage to see who went in +and out. + +“I’ve had the Z99 brought out of its shed,” remarked the captain, as we +rose from the breakfast-table. “There was nothing wrong as far as I +could discover last night or by a more careful inspection this morning. +I’d like to have you take a look at her now, in the daylight.” + +“I was about to suggest,” remarked Kennedy, as we descended the steps +to the shore, “that perhaps, first, it might be well to take a short +run in her with the crew, just to make sure that there is nothing wrong +with the machinery.” + +“A good idea,” agreed the captain. + +We came to the submarine, lying alongside the dock and looking like a +huge cigar. The captain preceded us down the narrow hatchway, and I +followed Craig. The deck was cleared, the hatch closed, and the vessel +sealed. + + + + +XX + +THE WIRELESS DETECTOR + + +Remembering Jules Verne’s enticing picture of life on the palatial +Nautilus, I may as well admit that I was not prepared for a real +submarine. My first impression, as I entered the hold, was that of +discomfort and suffocation. I felt, too, that I was too close to too +much whirring machinery. I gazed about curiously. On all sides were +electrical devices and machines to operate the craft and the torpedoes. +I thought, also, that the water outside was uncomfortably close; one +could almost feel it. The Z99 was low roofed, damp, with an intricate +system of rods, controls, engines, tanks, stop-cocks, compasses, +gauges—more things than it seemed the human mind, to say nothing of +wireless, could possibly attend to at once. + +“The policy of secrecy which governments keep in regard to submarines,” +remarked the captain, running his eye over everything at once, it +seemed, “has led them to be looked upon as something mysterious. But +whatever you may think of telautomatics, there is really no mystery +about an ordinary submarine.” + +I did not agree with our “Captain Nemo,” as, the examination completed, +he threw in a switch. The motor started. The Z99 hummed and trembled. +The fumes of gasoline were almost suffocating at first, in spite of the +prompt ventilation to clear them off. There was no escape from the +smell. I had heard of “gasoline heart,” but the odour only made me sick +and dizzy. Like most novices, I suppose, I was suffering excruciating +torture. Not so, Kennedy. He got used to it in no time; indeed, seemed +to enjoy the very discomfort. + +I felt that there was only one thing necessary to add to it, and that +was the odour of cooking. Cooking, by the way, on a submarine is +uncertain and disagreeable. There was a little electric heater, I +found, which might possibly have heated enough water for one cup of +coffee at a time. + +In fact, space was economised to the utmost. Only the necessaries of +life were there. Every inch that could be spared was given over to +machinery. It was everywhere, compact, efficient—everything for +running the boat under water, guiding it above and below, controlling +its submersion, compressing air, firing torpedoes, and a thousand other +things. It was wonderful as it was. But when one reflected that all +could be done automatically, or rather telautomatically, it was simply +astounding. + +“You see,” observed Captain Shirley, “when she is working automatically +neither the periscope nor the wireless-mast shows. The wireless +impulses are carried down to her from an inconspicuous float which +trails along the surface and carries a short aerial with a wire running +down, like a mast, forming practically invisible antennae.” + +As he was talking the boat was being “trimmed” by admitting water as +ballast into the proper tanks. + +“The Z99,” he went on, “is a submersible, not a diving, submarine. That +is to say, the rudder guides it and changes the angle of the boat. But +the hydroplanes pull it up and down, two pairs of them set fore and aft +of the centre of gravity. They lift or lower the boat bodily on an even +keel, not by plunging and diving. I will now set the hydroplanes at ten +degrees down and the horizontal rudder two degrees up, and the boat +will submerge to a depth of thirty feet and run constant at that depth.” + +He had shut off the gasoline motor and started the storage-battery +electric motor, which was used when running submerged. The great motors +gave out a strange, humming sound. The crew conversed in low, +constrained tones. There was a slightly perceptible jar, and the boat +seemed to quiver just a bit from stem to stern. In front of Shirley was +a gauge which showed the depth of submergence and a spirit-level which +showed any inclination. + +“Submerged,” he remarked, “is like running on the surface under +dense-fog conditions.” + +I did not agree with those who have said there is no difference running +submerged or on the surface. Under way on the surface was one thing. +But when we dived it was most unpleasant. I had been reassured at the +start when I heard that there were ten compressed-air tanks under a +pressure of two thousand pounds to the square inch. But only once +before had I breathed compressed air and that was when one of our cases +once took us down into the tunnels below the rivers of New York. It was +not a new sensation, but at fifty feet depth I felt a little tingling +all over my body, a pounding of the ear-drums, and just a trace of +nausea. + +Kennedy smiled as I moved about. “Never mind, Walter,” he said. “I know +how you feel on a first trip. One minute you are choking from lack of +oxygen, then in another part of the boat you are exhilarated by too +much of it. Still,” he winked, “don’t forget that it is regulated.” + +“Well,” I returned, “all I can say is that if war is hell, a submarine +is war.” + +I had, however, been much interested in the things about me. Forward, +the torpedo-discharge tubes and other apparatus about the little doors +in the vessel’s nose made it look somewhat like the shield used in +boring a tunnel under compressed air. + +“Ordinary torpedo-boats use the regular automobile torpedo,” remarked +Captain Shirley, coming ubiquitously up behind me. “I improve on that. +I can discharge the telautomobile torpedo, and guide it either from the +boat, as we are now, or from the land station where we were last night, +at will.” + +There was something more than pride in his manner. He was deadly in +earnest about his invention. + +We had come over to the periscope, the “eye” of the submarine when she +is running just under the surface, but of no use now that we were below. +“Yes,” he remarked, in answer to my half-spoken question, “that is the +periscope. Usually there is one fixed to look ahead and another that is +movable, in order to take in what is on the sides and in the rear. I +have both of those. But, in addition, I have the universal periscope, +the eye that sees all around, three hundred and sixty degrees—a very +clever application of an annular prism with objectives, condenser, and +two eyepieces of low and high power.” + +A call from one of the crew took him into the stern to watch the +operation of something, leaving me to myself, for Kennedy was roaming +about on a still hunt for anything that might suggest itself. The +safety devices, probably more than any other single thing, interested +me, for I had read with peculiar fascination of the great disasters to +the Lutin, the Pluviose, the Farfardet, the A8, the Foca, the Kambala, +the Japanese No 6, the German U3, and others. + +Below us I knew there was a keel that could be dropped, lightening the +boat considerably. Also, there was the submarine bell, immersed in a +tank of water, with telephone receivers attached by which one could +“listen in,” for example, before rising, say, from sixty feet to twenty +feet, and thus “hear” the hulls of other ships. The bell was struck by +means of air pressure, and was the same as that used for submarine +signalling on ships. Water, being dense, is an excellent conductor of +sound. Even in the submarine itself, I could hear the muffled clang of +the gong. + +Then there were buoys which could be released and would fly to the +surface, carrying within them a telephone, a light, and a whistle. I +knew also something of the explosion dangers on a submarine, both from +the fuel oil used when running on the surface, and from the storage +batteries used when running submerged. Once in a while a sailor would +take from a jar a piece of litmus paper and expose it, showing only a +slight discolouration due to carbon dioxide. That was the least of my +troubles. For a few moments, also, the white mice in a cage interested +me. White mice were carried because they dislike the odour of gasoline +and give warning of any leakage by loud squeals. + +The fact was that there was so much of interest that, the first +discomfort over, I was, like Kennedy, beginning really to enjoy the +trip. + +I was startled suddenly to hear the motors stop. There was no more of +that interminable buzzing. The Z99 responded promptly to the air +pressure that was forcing the water out of the tanks. The gauge showed +that we were gradually rising on an even keel. A man sprang up the +narrow hatchway and opened the cover through which we could see a +little patch of blue sky again. The gasoline motor was started, and we +ran leisurely back to the dock. The trip was over—safely. As we landed +I felt a sense of gladness to get away from that feeling of being cut +off from the world. It was not fear of death or of the water, as nearly +as I could analyse it, but merely that terrible sense of isolation from +man and nature as we know it. + +A message from Burke was waiting for Kennedy at the wharf. He read it +quickly, then handed it to Captain Shirley and myself. + + Have just received a telegram from Washington. Great + excitement at the embassy. Cipher telegram has been + despatched to the Titan Iron Works. One of my men in + Washington reports a queer experience. He had been following + one of the members of the embassy staff, who saw he was being + shadowed, turned suddenly on the man, and exclaimed, “Why are + you hounding us still?” What do you make of it? No trace yet + of Nordheim + + BURKE. + +The lines in Craig’s face deepened in thought as he folded the message +and remarked abstractedly, “She works all right when you are aboard.” +Then he recalled himself. “Let us try her again without a crew.” + +Five minutes later we had ascended to the aerial conning-tower, and all +was in readiness to repeat the trial of the night before. Vicious and +sly the Z99 looked in the daytime as she slipped off, under the unseen +guidance of the wireless, with death hidden under her nose. Just as +during the first trial we had witnessed, she began by fulfilling the +highest expectations. Straight as an arrow she shot out of the +harbour’s mouth, half submerged, with her periscope sticking up and +bearing the flag proudly flapping, leaving behind a wake of white foam. + +She turned and re-entered the harbour, obeying Captain Shirley’s every +whim, twisting in and out of the shipping much to the amazement of the +old salts, who had never become used to the weird sight. She cut a +figure eight, stopped, started again. + +Suddenly I could see by the look on Captain Shirley’s face that +something was wrong. Before either of us could speak, there was a spurt +of water out in the harbour, a cloud of spray, and the Z99 sank in a +mass of bubbles. She had heeled over and was resting on the mud and +ooze of the harbour bottom. The water had closed over her, and she was +gone. + +Instantly all the terrible details of the sinking of the Lutin and +other submarines flashed over me. I fancied I could see on the Z99 the +overturned accumulators. I imagined the stifling fumes, the struggle +for breath in the suddenly darkened hull. Almost as if it had happened +half an hour ago, I saw it. + +“Thank God for telautomatics,” I murmured, as the thought swept over me +of what we had escaped. “No one was aboard her, at least.” + +Chlorine was escaping rapidly from the overturned storage batteries, +for a grave danger lurks in the presence of sea water, in a submarine, +in combination with any of the sulphuric acid. Salt water and sulphuric +acid produce chlorine gas, and a pint of it inside a good-sized +submarine would be sufficient to render unconscious the crew of a boat. +I began to realise the risks we had run, which my confidence in Captain +Shirley had minimised. I wondered whether hydrogen in dangerous +quantities might not be given off, and with the short-circuiting of the +batteries perhaps explode. Nothing more happened, however. All kinds of +theories suggested themselves. Perhaps in some way the gasoline motor +had been started while the boat was depressed, the “gas” had escaped, +combined with air, and a spark had caused an explosion. There were so +many possibilities that it staggered me. Captain Shirley sat stunned. + +Yet here was the one great question, Whence had come the impulse that +had sent the famous Z99 to her fate? + +“Could it have been through something internal?” I asked. “Could a +current from one of the batteries have influenced the receiving +apparatus?” + +“No,” replied the captain mechanically. “I have a secret method of +protecting my receiving instruments from such impulses within the hull.” + +Kennedy was sitting silently in the corner, oblivious to us up to this +point. + +“But not to impulses from outside the hull,” he broke in. + +Unobserved, he had been bending over one of the little instruments +which had kept us up all night and bad cost a tedious trip to New York +and back. + +“What’s that?” I asked. + +“This? This is a little instrument known as the audion, a wireless +electric-wave detector.” + +“Outside the hull?” repeated Shirley, still dazed. + +“Yes,” cried Kennedy excitedly. “I got my first clue from that +flickering Welsbach mantle last night. Of course it flickered from the +wireless we were using, but it kept on. You know in the gas-mantle +there is matter in a most mobile and tenuous state, very sensitive to +heat and sound vibrations. + +“Now, the audion, as you see, consists of two platinum wings, parallel +to the plane of a bowed filament of an incandescent light in a vacuum. +It was invented by Dr. Lee DeForest to detect wireless. When the light +is turned on and the little tantalum filament glows, it is ready for +business. + +“It can be used for all systems of wireless—singing spark, quenched +spark, arc sets, telephone sets; in fact, it will detect a wireless +wave from whatever source it is sent. It is so susceptible that a man +with one attached to an ordinary steel-rod umbrella on a rainy night +can pick up wireless messages that are being transmitted within some +hundreds of miles radius.” + +The audion buzzed. + +“There—see? Our wireless is not working. But with the audion you can +see that some wireless is, and a fairly near and powerful source it is, +too.” + +Kennedy was absorbed in watching the audion. + +Suddenly he turned and faced us. He had evidently reached a conclusion. +“Captain,” he cried, “can you send a wireless message? Yes? Well, this +is to Burke. He is over there back of the hotel on the hill with some +of his men. He has one there who understands wireless, and to whom I +have given another audion. Quick, before this other wireless cuts in on +us again. I want others to get the message as well as Burke. Send this: +‘Have your men watch the railroad station and every road to it. +Surround the Stamford cottage. There is some wireless interference from +that direction.’” + +As Shirley, with a half-insane light in his eyes, flashed the message +mechanically through space, Craig rose and signalled to the house. +Under the portecochere I saw a waiting automobile, which an instant +later tore up the broken-stone path and whirled around almost on two +wheels near the edge of the cliff. Glowing with health and excitement, +Gladys Shirley was at the wheel herself. In spite of the tenseness of +the situation, I could not help stopping to admire the change in the +graceful, girlish figure of the night before, which was now all lithe +energy and alertness in her eager devotion to carrying out the minutest +detail of Kennedy’s plan to aid her father. + +“Excellent, Miss Shirley,” exclaimed Kennedy, “but when I asked Burke +to have you keep a car in readiness, I had no idea you would drive it +yourself.” + +“I like it,” she remonstrated, as he offered to take the wheel. +“Please—please—let me drive. I shall go crazy if I’m not doing +something. I saw the Z99 go down. What was it? Who—” + +“Captain,” called Craig. “Quick—into the car. We must hurry. To the +Stamford house, Miss Shirley. No one can get away from it before we +arrive. It is surrounded.” + +Everything was quiet, apparently, about the house as our wild ride +around the edge of the harbour ended under the deft guidance of Gladys +Shirley. Here and there, behind a hedge or tree, I could see a lurking +secret-service man. Burke joined us from behind a barn next door. + +“Not a soul has gone in or out,” he whispered. “There does not seem to +be a sign of life there.” + +Craig and Burke had by this time reached the broad veranda. They did +not wait to ring the bell, but carried the door down literally off its +hinges. We followed closely. + +A scream from the drawing-room brought us to a halt. It was Mrs. +Brainard, tall, almost imperial in her loose morning gown, her dark +eyes snapping fire at the sudden intrusion. I could not tell whether +she had really noticed that the house was watched or was acting a part. + +“What does this mean?” she demanded. “What—Gladys—you—” + +“Florence—tell them—it isn’t so—is it? You don’t know a thing about +those plans of father’s that were—stolen—that night.” + +“Where is Nordheim?” interjected Burke quickly, a little of his “third +degree” training getting the upper hand. + +“Nordheim?” + +“Yes—you know. Tell me. Is he here?” + +“Here? Isn’t it bad enough to hound him, without hounding me, too? Will +you merciless detectives drive us all from, place to place with your +brutal suspicions?” + +“Merciless?” inquired Burke, smiling with sarcasm. “Who has been +hounding him?” + +“You know very well what I mean,” she repeated, drawing herself up to +her full height and patting Gladys’s hand to reassure her. “Read that +message on the table.” + +Burke picked up a yellow telegram dated New York, two days before. + + It was as I feared when I left you. The secret service must + have rummaged my baggage both here and at the hotel. They + have taken some very valuable papers of mine. + +“Secret service—rummage baggage?” repeated Burke, himself now in +perplexity. “That is news to me. We have rummaged no trunks or bags, +least of all Nordheim’s. In fact, we have never been able to find them +at all.” + +“Upstairs, Burke—the servants’ quarters,” interrupted Craig +impatiently. “We are wasting time here.” + +Mrs. Brainard offered no protest. I began to think that the whole thing +was indeed a surprise to her, and that she had, in fact, been reading, +instead of making a studied effort to appear surprised at our intrusion. + +Room after room was flung open without finding any one, until we +reached the attic, which had been finished off into several rooms. One +door was closed. Craig opened it cautiously. It was pitch dark in spite +of the broad daylight outside. We entered gingerly. + +On the floor lay two dark piles of something. My foot touched one of +them. I drew back in horror at the feeling. It was the body of a man. + +Kennedy struck a light, and as he bent over in its little circle of +radiance, he disclosed a ghastly scene. + +“Hari-kiri!” he ejaculated. “They must have got my message to Burke and +have seen that the house was surrounded.” + +The two Japanese servants had committed suicide. + +“Wh-what does it all mean?” gasped Mrs. Brainard, who had followed us +upstairs with Gladys. + +Burke’s lip curled slightly and he was about to speak. + +“It means,” hastened Kennedy, “that you have been double crossed, Mrs. +Brainard. Nordheim stole those plans of Captain Shirley’s submarine for +his Titan Iron Works. Then the Japs stole them from his baggage at the +hotel. He thought the secret service had them. The Japs waited here +just long enough to try the plans against the Z99 herself—to destroy +Captain Shirley’s work by his own method of destruction. It was clever, +clever. It would make his labours seem like a failure and would +discourage others from keeping up the experiments. They had planned to +steal a march on the world. Every time the Z99 was out they worked up +here with their improvised wireless until they found the wave-length +Shirley was using. It took fifteen or twenty minutes, but they managed, +finally, to interfere so that they sent the submarine to the bottom of +the harbour. Instead of being the criminal, Burke, Mrs. Brainard is the +victim, the victim both of Nordheim and of her servants.” + +Craig had thrown open a window and had dropped down on his knees before +a little stove by which the room was heated. He was poking eagerly in a +pile of charred paper and linen. + +“Shirley,” he cried, “your secret is safe, even though the duplicate +plans were stolen. There will be no more interference.” + +The Captain seized Craig by both hands and wrung them like the handle +of a pump. + +“Oh, thank you—thank you—thank you,” cried Gladys, running up and +almost dancing with joy at the change in her father. “I—I could +almost—kiss you!” + +“I could let you,” twinkled Craig, promptly, as she blushed deeply. +“Thank you, too, Mrs. Brainard,” he added, turning to acknowledge her +congratulations also. “I am glad I have been able to be of service to +you.” + +“Won’t you come back to the house for dinner?” urged the Captain. + +Kennedy looked at me and smiled. “Walter,” he said, “this is no place +for two old bachelors like us.” + +Then turning, he added, “Many thanks, sir,—but, seriously, last night +we slept principally in day coaches. Really I must turn the case over +to Burke now and get back to the city to-night early.” + +They insisted on accompanying us to the station, and there the +congratulations were done all over again. + +“Why,” exclaimed Kennedy, as we settled ourselves in the Pullman after +waving a final good-bye, “I shall be afraid to go back to that town +again. I—I almost did kiss her!” + +Then his face settled into its usual stern lines, although softened, I +thought. I am sure that it was not the New England landscape, with its +quaint stone fences, that he looked at out of the window, but the +recollection of the bright dashing figure of Gladys Shirley. + +It was seldom that a girl made so forcible an impression on Kennedy, I +know, for on our return he fairly dived into work, like the Z99 +herself, and I did not see him all the next day until just before +dinner time. Then he came in and spent half an hour restoring his +acid-stained fingers to something like human semblance. + +He said nothing about his research work of the day, and I was just +about to remark that a day had passed without its usual fresh alarum +and excursion, when a tap on the door buzzer was followed by the +entrance of our old friend Andrews, head of the Great Eastern Life +Insurance Company’s own detective service. + +“Kennedy,” he began, “I have a startling case for you. Can you help me +out with it?” + +As he sat down heavily, he pulled from his immense black wallet some +scraps of paper and newspaper cuttings. + +“You recall, I suppose,” he went on, unfolding the papers without +waiting for an answer, “the recent death of young Montague Phelps, at +Woodbine, just outside the city?” + +Kennedy nodded. The death of Phelps, about ten days before, had +attracted nation-wide attention because of the heroic fight for life he +had made against what the doctors admitted had puzzled them—a new and +baffling manifestation of coma. They had laboured hard to keep him +awake, but had not succeeded, and after several days of lying in a +comatose state he had finally succumbed. It was one of those strange +but rather frequent cases of long sleeps reported in the newspapers, +although it was by no means one which might be classed as +record-breaking. + +The interest in Phelps lay, a great deal, in the fact that the young +man had married the popular dancer, Anginette Petrovska, a few months +previously. His honeymoon trip around the world had suddenly been +interrupted, while the couple were crossing Siberia, by the news of the +failure of the Phelps banking-house in Wall Street and the practical +wiping-out of his fortune. He had returned, only to fall a victim to a +greater misfortune. + +“A few days before his death,” continued Andrews, measuring his words +carefully, “I, or rather the Great Eastern, which had been secretly +investigating the case, received this letter. What do you think of it?” + +He spread out on the table a crumpled note in a palpably disguised +handwriting: + + TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: + + You would do well to look Into the death of Montague Phelps, + Jr. I accuse no one, assert nothing. But when a young man + apparently in the best of health, drops off so mysteriously + and even the physician in the case can give no very + convincing information, that case warrants attention. I know + what I know. + + AN OUTSIDER. + + + + +XXI + +THE GHOULS + + +“H-M,” mused Kennedy, weighing the contents of the note carefully, “one +of the family, I’ll be bound—unless the whole thing is a hoax. By the +way, who else is there in the immediate family?” + +“Only a brother, Dana Phelps, younger and somewhat inclined to +wildness, I believe. At least, his father did not trust him with a +large inheritance, but left most of his money in trust. But before we +go any further, read that.” + +Andrews pulled from the papers a newspaper cutting on which he had +drawn a circle about the following item. As we read, he eyed us sharply. + + PHELPS TOMB DESECRATED + + Last night, John Shaughnessy, a night watchman employed by + the town of Woodbine, while on his rounds, was attracted by + noises as of a violent struggle near the back road in the + Woodbine Cemetery, on the outskirts of the town. He had varied + his regular rounds because of the recent depredations of + motor-car yeggmen who had timed him in pulling off several jobs + lately. As he hurried toward the large mausoleum of the Phelps + family, he saw two figures slink away in opposite directions in + the darkness. One of them, he asserts positively, seemed to be a + woman in black, the other a man whom he could not see clearly. + They readily eluded pursuit in the shadows, and a moment later + he heard the whir of a high-powered car, apparently bearing them + away. + + At the tomb there was every evidence of a struggle. Things + had been thrown about; the casket had been broken open, but + the body of Montague Phelps, Jr., which had been interred there + about ten days ago, was not touched or mutilated. + + It was a shocking and extraordinary violation. Shaughnessy + believes that some personal jewels may have been buried with + Phelps and that the thieves were after them, that they fought + over the loot, and in the midst of the fight were scared away. + + The vault is of peculiar construction, a costly tomb in which + repose the bodies of the late Montague Phelps, Sr., of his wife, + and now of his eldest son. The raid had evidently been carefully + planned to coincide with a time when Shaughnessy would + ordinarily have been on the other side of the town. The entrance + to the tomb had been barred, but during the commotion the ghouls + were surprised and managed to escape without accomplishing + their object and leaving no trace. + + Mrs. Phelps, when informed of the vandalism, was shocked, + and has been in a very nervous state since the tomb was forced + open. The local authorities seem extremely anxious that every + precaution should be taken to prevent a repetition of the + ghoulish visit to the tomb, but as yet the Phelps family has + taken no steps. + +“Are you aware of any scandal, any skeleton in the closet in the +family?” asked Craig, looking up. + +“No—not yet,” considered Andrews. “As soon as I heard of the +vandalism, I began to wonder what could have happened in the Phelps +tomb, as far as our company’s interests were concerned. You see, that +was yesterday. To-day this letter came along,” he added, laying down a +second very dirty and wrinkled note beside the first. It was quite +patently written by a different person from the first; its purport was +different, indeed quite the opposite of the other. “It was sent to Mrs. +Phelps,” explained Andrews, “and she gave it out herself to the police.” + + Do not show this to the police. Unless you leave $5000 in gold + in the old stump in the swamp across from the cemetery, you + will have reason to regret it. If you respect the memory of + the dead, do this, and do it quietly. + + BLACK HAND. + +“Well,” I ejaculated, “that’s cool. What threat would be used to back +this demand on the Phelpses?” + +“Here’s the situation,” resumed Andrews, puffing violently on his +inevitable cigar and toying with the letters and clippings. “We have +already held up payment of the half-million dollars of insurance to the +widow as long as we can consistently do so. But we must pay soon, +scandal or not, unless we can get something more than mere conjecture.” + +“You are already holding it up?” queried Craig. + +“Yes. You see, we investigate thoroughly every suspicious death. In +most cases, no body is found. This case is different in that respect. +There is a body, and it is the body of the insured, apparently. But a +death like this, involving the least mystery, receives careful +examination, especially if, as in this case, it has recently been +covered by heavy policies. My work has often served to reverse the +decision of doctors and coroners’ juries. + +“An insurance detective, as you can readily appreciate, Kennedy, soon +comes to recognise the characteristics in the crimes with which he +deals. For example, writing of the insurance plotted for rarely +precedes the conspiracy to defraud. That is, I know of few cases in +which a policy originally taken out in good faith has subsequently +become the means of a swindle. + +“In outright-murder cases, the assassin induces the victim to take out +insurance in his favour. In suicide cases, the insured does so himself. +Just after his return home, young Phelps, who carried fifty thousand +dollars already, applied for and was granted one of the largest +policies we have ever written—half a million.” + +“Was it incontestible without the suicide clause?” asked Kennedy. + +“Yes,” replied Andrews, “and suicide is the first and easiest theory. +Why, you have no idea how common the crime of suicide for the sake of +the life insurance is becoming. Nowadays, we insurance men almost +believe that every one who contemplates ending his existence takes out +a policy so as to make his life, which is useless to him, a benefit, at +least, to some one—and a nightmare to the insurance detective.” + +“I know,” I cut in, for I recalled having been rather interested in the +Phelps case at the time, “but I thought the doctors said finally that +death was due to heart failure.” + +“Doctor Forden who signed the papers said so,” corrected Andrews. +“Heart failure—what does that mean? As well say breath failure, or +nerve failure. I’ll tell you what kind of failure I think it was. It +was money failure. Hard times and poor investments struck Phelps before +he really knew how to handle his small fortune. It called him home +and—pouf!—he is off—to leave to his family a cool half-million by +his death. But did he do it himself or did some one else do it? That’s +the question.” + +“What is your theory,” inquired Kennedy absently, “assuming there is no +scandal hidden in the life of Phelps before or after he married the +Russian dancer?” + +“I don’t know, Kennedy,” confessed Andrews. “I have had so many +theories and have changed them so rapidly that all I lay claim to +believing, outside of the bald facts that I have stated, is that there +must have been some poison. I rather sense it, feel that there is no +doubt of it, in fact. That is why I have come to you. I want you to +clear it up, one way or another. The company has no interest except in +getting at the truth.” + +“The body is really there?” asked Kennedy. “You saw it?” + +“It was there no later than this afternoon, and in an almost perfect +state of preservation, too.” + +Kennedy seemed to be looking at and through Andrews as if he would +hypnotise the truth out of him. “Let me see,” he said quickly. “It is +not very late now. Can we visit the mausoleum to-night?” + +“Easily. My car is down-stairs. Woodbine is not far, and you’ll find it +a very attractive suburb, aside from this mystery.” + +Andrews lost no time in getting us out to Woodbine, and on the fringe +of the little town, one of the wealthiest around the city, he deposited +us at the least likely place of all, the cemetery. A visit to a +cemetery is none too enjoyable even on a bright day. In the early night +it is positively uncanny. What was gruesome in the daylight became +doubly so under the shroud of darkness. + +We made our way into the grounds through a gate, and I, at least, even +with all the enlightenment of modern science, could not restrain a +weird and creepy sensation. + +“Here is the Phelps tomb,” directed Andrews, pausing beside a marble +structure of Grecian lines and pulling out a duplicate key of a new +lock which had been placed on the heavy door of grated iron. As we +entered, it was with a shudder at the damp odour of decay. Kennedy had +brought his little electric bull’s-eye, and, as he flashed it about, we +could see at a glance that the reports had not been exaggerated. +Everything showed marks of a struggle. Some of the ornaments had been +broken, and the coffin itself had been forced open. + +“I have had things kept just as we found them,” explained Andrews. + +Kennedy peered into the broken coffin long and attentively. With a +little effort I, too, followed the course of the circle of light. The +body was, as Andrews had said, in an excellent, indeed a perfect, state +of preservation. There were, strange to say, no marks of decay. + +“Strange, very strange,” muttered Kennedy to himself. + +“Could it have been some medical students, body-snatchers?” I asked +musingly. “Or was it simply a piece of vandalism? I wonder if there +could have been any jewels buried with him, as Shaughnessy said? That +would make the motive plain robbery.” + +“There were no jewels,” said Andrews, his mind not on the first part of +my question, but watching Kennedy intently. + +Craig had dropped on his knees on the damp, mildewed floor, and +bringing his bull’s-eye close to the stones, was examining some spots +here and there. + +“There could not have been any substitution?” I whispered, with, my +mind still on the broken coffin. “That would cover up the evidence of a +poisoning, you know.” + +“No,” replied Andrews positively, “although bodies can be obtained +cheaply enough from a morgue, ostensibly for medical purposes. No, that +is Phelps, all right.” + +“Well, then,” I persisted, “body-snatchers, medical students?” + +“Not likely, for the same reason,” he rejected. + +We bent over closer to watch Kennedy. Apparently he had found a number +of round, flat spots with little spatters beside them. He was carefully +trying to scrape them up with as little of the surrounding mould as +possible. + +Suddenly, without warning, there was a noise outside, as if a person +were moving through the underbrush. It was fearsome in its suddenness. +Was it human or wraith? Kennedy darted to the door in time to see a +shadow glide silently away, lost in the darkness of the fine old +willows. Some one had approached the mausoleum for a second time, not +knowing we were there, and had escaped. Down the road we could hear the +purr of an almost silent motor. + +“Somebody is trying to get in to conceal something here,” muttered +Kennedy, stifling his disappointment at not getting a closer view of +the intruder. + +“Then it was not a suicide,” I exclaimed. “It was a murder!” + +Craig shook his head sententiously. Evidently he not prepared yet to +talk. + +With another look at the body in the broken casket he remarked: +“To-morrow I want to call on Mrs. Phelps and Doctor Forden, and, if it +is possible to find him, Dana Phelps. Meanwhile, Andrews, if you and +Walter will stand guard here, there is an apparatus which I should like +to get from my laboratory and set up here before it is too late.” + +It was far past the witching hour of midnight, when graveyards +proverbially yawn, before Craig returned in the car. Nothing had +happened in the meantime except those usual eery noises that one may +hear in the country at night anywhere. Our visitor of the early evening +seemed to have been scared away for good. + +Inside the mausoleum, Kennedy set up a peculiar machine which he +attached to the electric-light circuit in the street by a long wire +which he ran loosely over the ground. Part of the apparatus consisted +of an elongated box lined with lead, to which were several other +attachments, the nature of which I did not understand, and a +crank-handle. + +“What’s that?” asked Andrews curiously, as Craig set up a screen +between the apparatus and the body. + +“This is a calcium-tungsten screen,” remarked Kennedy, adjusting now +what I know to be a Crookes’ tube on the other side of the body itself, +so that the order was: the tube, the body, the screen, and the oblong +box. Without a further word we continued to watch him. + +At last, the apparatus adjusted apparently to his satisfaction, he +brought out a jar of thick white liquid and a bottle of powder. + +“Buttermilk and a couple of ounces of bismuth sub-carbonate,” he +remarked, as he mixed some in a glass, and with a pump forced it down +the throat of the body, now lying so that the abdomen was almost flat +against the screen. + +He turned a switch and the peculiar bluish effulgence, which always +appears when a Crookes’ tube is being used, burst forth, accompanied by +the droning of his induction-coil and the welcome smell of ozone +produced by the electrical discharge in the almost fetid air of the +tomb. Meanwhile, he was gradually turning the handle of the crank +attached to the oblong box. He seemed so engrossed in the delicateness +of the operation that we did not question him, in fact did not move. +For Andrews, at least, it was enough to know that he had succeeded in +enlisting Kennedy’s services. + +Well along toward morning it was before Kennedy had concluded his +tests, whatever they were, and had packed away his paraphernalia. + +“I’m afraid it will take me two or three days to get at this evidence, +even now,” he remarked, impatient at even the limitations science put +on his activity. We had started back for a quick run to the city and +rest. “But, anyhow, it will give us a chance to do some investigating +along other lines.” + +Early the next day, in spite of the late session of the night before, +Kennedy started me with him on a second visit to Woodbine. This time he +was armed with a letter of introduction from Andrews to Mrs. Phelps. + +She proved to be a young woman of most extraordinary grace and beauty, +with a superb carriage such as only years of closest training under the +best dancers of the world could give. There was a peculiar velvety +softness about her flesh and skin, a witching stoop to her shoulders +that was decidedly continental, and in her deep, soulful eyes a +half-wistful look that was most alluring. In fact, she was as +attractive a widow as the best Fifth Avenue dealers in mourning goods +could have produced. + +I knew that ‘Ginette Phelps had been, both as dancer and wife, always +the centre of a group of actors, artists, and men of letters as well as +of the world and affairs. The Phelpses had lived well, although they +were not extremely wealthy, as fortunes go. When the blow fell, I could +well fancy that the loss of his money had been most serious to young +Montague, who had showered everything as lavishly as he was able upon +his captivating bride. + +Mrs. Phelps did not seem to be overjoyed at receiving us, yet made no +open effort to refuse. + +“How long ago did the coma first show itself?” asked Kennedy, after our +introductions were completed. “Was your husband a man of neurotic +tendency, as far as you could judge?” + +“Oh, I couldn’t say when it began,” she answered, in a voice that was +soft and musical and under perfect control. “The doctor would know that +better. No, he was not neurotic, I think.” + +“Did you ever see Mr. Phelps take any drugs—not habitually, but just +before this sleep came on?” + +Kennedy was seeking his information in a manner and tone that would +cause as little offence as possible “Oh, no,” she hastened. “No, +never—absolutely.” + +“You called in Dr. Forden the last night?” + +“Yes, he had been Montague’s physician many years ago, you know.” + +“I see,” remarked Kennedy, who was thrusting about aimlessly to get her +off her guard. “By the way, you know there is a great deal of gossip +about the almost perfect state of preservation of the body, Mrs. +Phelps. I see it was not embalmed.” + +She bit her lip and looked at Kennedy sharply. + +“Why, why do you and Mr. Andrews worry me? Can’t you see Doctor Forden?” + +In her annoyance I fancied that there was a surprising lack of sorrow. +She seemed preoccupied. I could not escape the feeling that she was +putting some obstacle in our way, or that from the day of the discovery +of the vandalism, some one had been making an effort to keep the real +facts concealed. Was she shielding some one? It flashed over me that +perhaps, after all, she had submitted to the blackmail and had buried +the money at the appointed place. There seemed to be little use in +pursuing the inquiry, so we excused ourselves, much, I thought, to her +relief. + +We found Doctor Forden, who lived on the same street as the Phelpses +several squares away, most fortunately at home. Forden was an extremely +interesting man, as is, indeed, the rule with physicians. I could not +but fancy, however, that his hearty assurance that he would be glad to +talk freely on the case was somewhat forced. + +“You were sent for by Mrs. Phelps, that last night, I believe, while +Phelps was still alive?” asked Kennedy. + +“Yes. During the day it had been impossible to arouse him, and that +night, when Mrs. Phelps and the nurse found him sinking even deeper +into the comatose state, I was summoned again. He was beyond hope then. +I did everything I could, but he died a few moments after I arrived.” + +“Did you try artificial respiration?” asked Kennedy. + +“N-no,” replied Forden. “I telephoned here for my respirator, but by +the time it arrived at the house it was too late. Nothing had been +omitted while he was still struggling with the spark of life. When that +went out what was the use?” + +“You were his personal physician?” + +“Yes.” + +“Had you ever noticed that he took any drug?” + +Doctor Forden shot a quick glance at Kennedy. “Of course not. He was +not a drug fiend.” + +“I didn’t mean that he was addicted to any drug. But had he taken +anything lately, either of his own volition or with the advice or +knowledge of any one else?” + +“Of course not.” + +“There’s another strange thing I wish to ask your opinion about,” +pursued Kennedy, not to be rebuffed. “I have seen his body. It is in an +excellent state of preservation, almost lifelike. And yet I understand, +or at least it seems, that it was not embalmed.” + +“You’ll have to ask the undertaker about that,” answered the doctor +brusquely. + +It was evident that he was getting more and more constrained in his +answers. Kennedy did not seem to mind it, but to me it seemed that he +must be hiding something. Was there some secret which medical ethics +kept locked in his breast? Kennedy had risen and excused himself. + +The interviews had not resulted in much, I felt, yet Kennedy did not +seem to care. Back in the city again, he buried himself in his +laboratory for the rest of the day, most of the time in his dark room, +where he was developing photographic plates or films, I did not know +which. + +During the afternoon Andrews dropped in for a few moments to report +that he had nothing to add to what had already developed. He was not +much impressed by the interviews. + +“There’s just one thing I want to speak about, though,” he said at +length, unburdening his mind. “That tomb and the swamp, too, ought to +be watched. Last night showed me that there seems to be a regular +nocturnal visitor and that we cannot depend on that town night watchman +to scare him off. Yet if we watch up there, he will be warned and will +lie low. How can we watch both places at once and yet remain hidden?” + +Kennedy nodded approval of the suggestion. “I’ll fix that,” he replied, +anxious to return to his photographic labours. “Meet me, both of you, +on the road from the station at Woodbine, just as it is getting dusk.” +Without another word he disappeared into the dark room. + +We met him that night as he had requested. He had come up to Woodbine +in the baggage-car of the train with a powerful dog, for all the world +like a huge, grey wolf. + +“Down, Schaef,” he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncanny +interest in me. “Let me introduce my new dog-detective,” he chuckled. +“She has a wonderful record as a police-dog.” + +We were making our way now through the thickening shadows of the town +to the outskirts. “She’s a German sheep-dog, a Schaferhund,” he +explained. “For my part, it is the English bloodhound in the open +country and the sheep-dog in the city and the suburbs.” + +Schaef seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild, +prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog +which are such a great help to it. She was a fine, alert, upstanding +dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown like +a lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of the +smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail. + +Untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy’s control, +and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience. + +At the cemetery we established a strict watch about the Phelps +mausoleum and the swamp which lay across the road, not a difficult +thing to do as far as concealment went, owing to the foliage. Still, +for the same reason, it was hard to cover the whole ground. In the +shadow of a thicket we waited. Now and then we could hear Schaef +scouting about in the underbrush, crouching and hiding, watching and +guarding. + +As the hours of waiting in the heavily laden night air wore on, I +wondered whether our vigil in this weird place would be rewarded. The +soughing of the night wind in the evergreens, mournful at best, was +doubly so now. Hour after hour we waited patiently. + +At last there was a slight noise from the direction opposite the +mausoleum and toward the swamp next to the cemetery. + +Kennedy reached out and drew us back into the shadow deeper. “Some one +is prowling about, approaching the mausoleum on that side, I think,” he +whispered. + +Instantly there recurred to me the thought I had had earlier in the day +that perhaps, after all, the five thousand dollars of hush money, for +whatever purpose it might be extorted, had been buried in the swamp by +Mrs. Phelps in her anxiety. Had that been what she was concealing? +Perhaps the blackmailer had come to reconnoitre, and, if the money was +there, to take it away. + +Schaef, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly. From our +hiding-place we could just see her. She had heard the sounds, too, even +before we had, and for an instant stood with every muscle tense. + +Then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush. An instant later, +the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. Schaef kept right on, never +stopping a second, except, perhaps, for surprise. + +“Crack!” almost in her face came a second spit of fire in the darkness, +and a bullet crashed through the leaves and buried itself in a tree +with a ping. The intruder’s marksmanship was poor, but the dog paid no +attention to it. + +“One of the few animals that show no fear of gunfire,” muttered +Kennedy, in undisguised admiration. + +“G-R-R-R,” we heard from the police-dog. + +“She has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun,” cried Kennedy, +now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction. “She has been +taught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearly out of the +fight.” + +We followed, too. As we approached we were just in time to see Schaef +running in and out between the legs of a man who had heard us approach +and was hastily making tracks for the road. As he tripped, she lunged +for his back. + +Kennedy blew shrilly on a police whistle. Reluctantly, Schaef let go. +One could see that with all her canine instinct she wanted to “get” +that man. Her jaws were open, as, with longing eyes, she stood over the +prostrate form in the grass. The whistle was a signal, and she had been +taught to obey unquestioningly. + +“Don’t move until we get to you, or you are a dead man,” shouted +Kennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran. “Are you hurt?” + +There was no answer, but as we approached, the man moved, ever so +little, through curiosity to see his pursuers. + +Schaef shot forward. Again the whistle sounded and she dropped back. We +bent over to seize him as Kennedy secured the dog. + +“She’s a devil,” ground out the prone figure on the grass. + +“Dana Phelps!” exclaimed Andrews, as the man turned his face toward us. +“What are you doing, mixed up in this?” + +Suddenly there was a movement in the rear, toward the mausoleum itself. +We turned, but it was too late. Two dark figures slunk through the +gloom, bearing something between them. Kennedy slipped the leash off +Schaef and she shot out like a unchained bolt of lightning. + +There was the whir of a high-powered machine which must have sneaked up +with the muffler on during the excitement. They had taken a desperate +chance and had succeeded. They were gone! + + + + +XXII + +THE X-RAY “MOVIES” + + +Still holding Dana Phelps between us, we hurried toward the tomb and +entered. While our attention had been diverted in the direction of the +swamp, the body of Montague Phelps had been stolen. + +Dana Phelps was still deliberately brushing off his clothes. Had he +been in league with them, executing a flank movement to divert our +attention? Or had it all been pure chance? + +“Well?” demanded Andrews. + +“Well?” replied Dana. + +Kennedy said nothing, and I felt that, with our capture, the mystery +seemed to have deepened rather than cleared. + +As Andrews and Phelps faced each other, I noticed that the latter was +now and then endeavouring to cover his wrist, where the dog had torn +his coat sleeve. + +“Are you hurt badly?” inquired Kennedy. + +Dana said nothing, but backed away. Kennedy advanced, insisting on +looking at the wounds. As he looked he disclosed a semicircle of marks. + +“Not a dog bite,” he whispered, turning to me and fumbling in his +pocket. “Besides, those marks are a couple of days old. They have scabs +on them.” + +He had pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, and, unknown to +Phelps, was writing in the darkness. I leaned over. Near the point, in +the tube through which the point for writing was, protruded a small +accumulator and tiny electric lamp which threw a little disc of light, +so small that it could be hidden by the hand, yet quite sufficient to +guide Craig in moving the point of his pencil for the proper formation +of whatever he was recording on the surface of the paper. + +“An electric-light pencil,” he remarked laconically, in an undertone. + +“Who were the others?” demanded Andrews of Dana. + +There was a pause as though he were debating whether or not to answer +at all. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “I wish I did.” + +“You don’t know?” queried Andrews, with incredulity. + +“No, I say I wish I did know. You and your dog interrupted me just as I +was about to find out, too.” + +We looked at each other in amazement. Andrews was frankly skeptical of +the coolness of the young man. Kennedy said nothing for some moments. + +“I see you don’t want to talk,” he put in shortly. + +“Nothing to talk about,” grunted Dana, in disgust. + +“Then why are you here?” + +“Nothing but conjecture. No facts, only suspicions,” said Dana, half to +himself. + +“You expect us to believe that?” insinuated Andrews. + +“I can’t help what you believe. That is the fact.” + +“And you were not with them?” + +“No.” + +“You’ll be within call, if we let you go now, any time that we want +you?” interrupted Kennedy, much to the surprise of Andrews. + +“I shall stay in Woodbine as long as there is any hope of clearing up +this case. If you want me, I suppose I shall have to stay anyhow, even +if there is a clue somewhere else.” + +“I’ll take your word for it,” offered Kennedy. + +“I’ll give it.” + +I must say that I rather liked the young chap, although I could make +nothing out of him. + +As Dana Phelps disappeared down the road, Andrews turned to Kennedy. +“What did you do that for?” he asked, half critically. + +“Because we can watch him, anyway,” answered Craig, with a significant +glance at the now empty casket. “Have him shadowed, Andrews. It may +lead to something and it may not. But in any case don’t let him get out +of reach.” + +“Here we are in a worse mystery than ever,” grumbled Andrews. “We have +caught a prisoner, but the body is gone, and we can’t even show that he +was an accomplice.” + +“What were you writing?” I asked Craig, endeavouring to change the +subject to one more promising. + +“Just copying the peculiar shape of those marks on Phelps’ arm. Perhaps +we can improve on the finger-print method of identification. Those were +the marks of human teeth.” + +He was glancing casually at his sketch as he displayed it to us. I +wondered whether he really expected to obtain proof of the identity of +at least one of the ghouls by the tooth-marks. + +“It shows eight teeth, one of them decayed,” he remarked. “By the way, +there’s no use watching here any longer. I have some more work to do in +the laboratory which will keep me another day. To-morrow night I shall +be ready. Andrews, in the mean time I leave the shadowing of Dana to +you, and with the help of Jameson I want you to arrange to have all +those connected with the case at my laboratory to-morrow night without +fail.” + +Andrews and I had to do some clever scheming to bring pressure to bear +on the various persons interested to insure their attendance, now that +Craig was ready to act. Of course there was no difficulty in getting +Dana Phelps. Andrews’s shadows reported nothing in his actions of the +following day that indicated anything. Mrs. Phelps came down to town by +train and Doctor Forden motored in. Andrews even took the precaution to +secure Shaughnessy and the trained nurse, Miss Tracy, who had been with +Montague Phelps during his illness but had not contributed anything +toward untangling the case. Andrews and myself completed the little +audience. + +We found Kennedy heating a large mass of some composition such as +dentists use in taking impressions of the teeth. + +“I shall be ready in a moment,” he excused himself, still bending over +his Bunsen flame. “By the way, Mr. Phelps, if you will permit me.” + +He had detached a wad of the softened material. Phelps, taken by +surprise, allowed him to make an impression of his teeth, almost before +he realised what Kennedy was doing. The precedent set, so to speak, +Kennedy approached Doctor Forden. He demurred, but finally consented. +Mrs. Phelps followed, then the nurse, and even Shaughnessy. + +With a quick glance at each impression, Kennedy laid them aside to +harden. + +“I am ready to begin,” he remarked at length, turning to a peculiar +looking instrument, something like three telescopes pointing at a +centre in which was a series of glass prisms. + +“These five senses of ours are pretty dull detectives sometimes,” +Kennedy began. “But I find that when we are able to call in outside aid +we usually find that there are no more mysteries.” + +He placed something in a test-tube in line before one of the barrels of +the telescopes, near a brilliant electric light. + +“What do you see, Walter?” he asked, indicating an eyepiece. + +I looked. “A series of lines,” I replied. “What is it?” + +“That,” he explained, “is a spectroscope, and those are the lines of +the absorption spectrum. Each of those lines, by its presence, denotes +a different substance. Now, on the pavement of the Phelps mausoleum I +found, you will recall, some roundish spots. I have made a very diluted +solution of them which is placed in this tube. + +“The applicability of the spectroscope to the differentiation of +various substances is too well known to need explanation. Its value +lies in the exact nature of the evidence furnished. Even the very +dilute solution which I have been able to make of the material scraped +from these spots gives characteristic absorption bands between the D +and E lines, as they are called. Their wave-lengths are between 5774 +and 5390. It is such a distinct absorption spectrum that it is possible +to determine with certainty that the fluid actually contains a certain +substance, even though the microscope might fail to give sure proof. +Blood—human blood—that was what those stains were.” + +He paused. “The spectra of the blood pigments,” he added, “of the +extremely minute quantities of blood and the decomposition products of +hemoglobin in the blood are here infallibly shown, varying very +distinctly with the chemical changes which the pigments may undergo.” + +Whose blood was it? I asked myself. Was it of some one who had visited +the tomb, who was surprised there or surprised some one else there? I +was hardly ready for Kennedy’s quick remark. + +“There were two kinds of blood there. One was contained in the spots on +the floor all about the mausoleum. There are marks on the arm of Dana +Phelps which he probably might say were made by the teeth of my +police-dog, Schaef. They are human tooth-marks, however. He was bitten +by some one in a struggle. It was his blood on the floor of the +mausoleum. Whose were the teeth?” + +Kennedy fingered the now set impressions, then resumed: “Before I +answer that question, what else does the spectroscope show? I found +some spots near the coffin, which has been broken open by a heavy +object. It had slipped and had injured the body of Montague Phelps. +From the injury some drops had oozed. My spectroscope tells me that +that, too, is blood. The blood and other muscular and nervous fluids of +the body had remained in an aqueous condition instead of becoming +pectous. That is a remarkable circumstance.” + +It flashed over me what Kennedy had been driving at in his inquiry +regarding embalming. If the poisons of the embalming fluid had not been +injected, he had now clear proof regarding anything his spectroscope +discovered. + +“I had expected to find a poison, perhaps an alkaloid,” he continued +slowly, as he outlined his discoveries by the use of one of the most +fascinating branches of modern science, spectroscopy. “In cases of +poisoning by these substances, the spectroscope often has obvious +advantages over chemical methods, for minute amounts will produce a +well-defined spectrum. The spectroscope ‘spots’ the substance, to use a +police idiom, the moment the case is turned over to it. There was no +poison there.” He had raised his voice to emphasise the startling +revelation. “Instead, I found an extraordinary amount of the substance +and products of glycogen. The liver, where this substance is stored, is +literally surcharged in the body of Phelps.” + +He had started his moving-picture machine. + +“Here I have one of the latest developments in the moving-picture art,” +he resumed, “an X-ray moving picture, a feat which was until recently +visionary, a science now in its infancy, bearing the formidable names +of biorontgenography, or kinematoradiography.” + +Kennedy was holding his little audience breathless as he proceeded. I +fancied I could see Anginette Phelps give a little shudder at the +prospect of looking into the very interior of a human body. But she was +pale with the fascination of it. Neither Forden nor the nurse looked to +the right or to the left. Dana Phelps was open-eyed with wonder. + +“In one X-ray photograph, or even in several,” continued Kennedy, “it +is difficult to discover slight motions. Not so in a moving picture. +For instance, here I have a picture which will show you a living body +in all its moving details.” + +On the screen before us was projected a huge shadowgraph of a chest and +abdomen. We could see the vertebrae of the spinal column, the ribs, and +the various organs. + +“It is difficult to get a series of photographs directly from a +fluorescent screen,” Kennedy went on. “I overcome the difficulty by +having lenses of sufficient rapidity to photograph even faint images on +that screen. It is better than the so-called serial method, by which a +number of separate X-ray pictures are taken and then pieced together +and rephotographed to make the film. I can focus the X-rays first on +the screen by means of a special quartz objective which I have devised. +Then I take the pictures. + +“Here, you see, are the lungs in slow or rapid respiration. There is +the rhythmically beating heart, distinctly pulsating in perfect +outline. There is the liver, moving up and down with the diaphragm, the +intestines, and the stomach. You can see the bones moving with the +limbs, as well as the inner visceral life. All that is hidden to the +eye by the flesh is now made visible in striking manner.” + +Never have I seen an audience at the “movies” so thrilled as we were +now, as Kennedy swayed our interest at his will. I had been dividing my +attention between Kennedy and the extraordinary beauty of the famous +Russian dancer. I forgot Anginette Phelps entirely. + +Kennedy placed another film in the holder. + +“You are now looking into the body of Montague Phelps,” he announced +suddenly. + +We leaned forward eagerly. Mrs. Phelps gave a half-suppressed gasp. +What was the secret hidden in it? + +There was the stomach, a curved sack something like a bagpipe or a +badly made boot, with a tiny canal at the toe connecting it with the +small intestine. There were the heart and lungs. + +“I have rendered the stomach visible,” resumed Kennedy, “made it +‘metallic,’ so to speak, by injecting a solution of bismuth in +buttermilk, the usual method, by which it becomes more impervious to +the X-rays and hence darker in the skiagraph. I took these pictures not +at the rate of fourteen or so a second, like the others, but at +intervals of a few seconds. I did that so that, when I run them off, I +get a sort of compressed moving picture. What you see in a short space +of time actually took much longer to occur. I could have either kind of +picture, but I prefer the latter. + +“For, you will take notice that there is movement here—of the heart, +of the lungs, of the stomach—faint, imperceptible under ordinary +circumstances, but nevertheless, movement.” + +He was pointing at the lungs. “A single peristaltic contraction takes +place normally in a very few seconds. Here it takes minutes. And the +stomach. Notice what the bismuth mixture shows. There is a very slow +series of regular wave-contractions from the fundus to the pylorus. +Ordinarily one wave takes ten seconds to traverse it; here it is so +slow as almost to be unnoticed.” + +What was the implication of his startling, almost gruesome, discovery? +I saw it clearly, yet hung on his words, afraid to admit even to myself +the logical interpretation of what I saw. + +“Reconstruct the case,” continued Craig excitedly. “Mr. Phelps, always +a bon vivant and now so situated by marriage that he must be so, comes +back to America to find his personal fortune—gone. + +“What was left? He did as many have done. He took out a new large +policy on his life. How was he to profit by it? Others have committed +suicide, have died to win. Cases are common now where men have ended +their lives under such circumstances by swallowing +bichloride-of-mercury tablets, a favourite method, it seems, lately. + +“But Phelps did not want to die to win. Life was too sweet to him. He +had another scheme.” Kennedy dropped his voice. + +“One of the most fascinating problems in speculation as to the future +of the race under the influence of science is that of suspended +animation. The usual attitude is one of reserve or scepticism. There is +no necessity for it. Records exist of cases where vital functions have +been practically suspended, with no food and little air. Every day +science is getting closer to the control of metabolism. In the trance +the body functions are so slowed as to simulate death. You have heard +of the Indian fakirs who bury themselves alive and are dug up days +later? You have doubted it. But there is nothing improbable in it. + +“Experiments have been made with toads which have been imprisoned in +porous rock where they could get the necessary air. They have lived for +months in a stupor. In impervious rock they have died. Frozen fish can +revive; bears and other animals hibernate. There are all gradations +from ordinary sleep to the torpor of death. Science can slow down +almost to a standstill the vital processes so that excretions disappear +and respiration and heart-beat are almost nil. + +“What the Indian fakir does in a cataleptic condition may be +duplicated. It is not incredible that they may possess some vegetable +extract by which they perform their as yet unexplained feats of +prolonged living burial. For, if an animal free from disease is +subjected to the action of some chemical and physical agencies which +have the property of reducing to the extreme limit the motor forces and +nervous stimulus, the body of even a warm-blooded animal may be brought +down to a condition so closely resembling death that the most careful +examination may fail to detect any signs of life. The heart will +continue working regularly at low tension, supplying muscles and other +parts with sufficient blood to sustain molecular life, and the stomach +would naturally react to artificial stimulus. At any time before +decomposition of tissue has set in, the heart might be made to resume +its work and life come back. + +“Phelps had travelled extensively. In Siberia he must undoubtedly have +heard of the Buriats, a tribe of natives who hibernate, almost like the +animals, during the winters, succumbing to a long sleep known as the +‘leshka.’ He must have heard of the experiments of Professor +Bakhmetieff, who studied the Buriats and found that they subsisted on +foods rich in glycogen, a substance in the liver which science has +discovered makes possible life during suspended animation. He must have +heard of ‘anabiose,’ as the famous Russian calls it, by which +consciousness can be totally removed and respiration and digestion +cease almost completely.” + +“But—the body—is gone!” some one interrupted. I turned. It was Dana +Phelps, now leaning forward in wide-eyed excitement. + +“Yes,” exclaimed Craig. “Time was passing rapidly. The insurance had +not been paid. He had expected to be revived and to disappear with +Anginette Phelps long before this. Should the confederates of Phelps +wait? They did not dare. To wait longer might be to sacrifice him, if +indeed they had not taken a long chance already. Besides, you yourself +had your suspicions and had written the insurance company hinting at +murder.” + +Dana nodded, involuntarily confessing. + +“You were watching them, as well as the insurance investigator, Mr. +Andrews. It was an awful dilemma. What was to be done? He must be +resuscitated at any risk. + +“Ah—an idea! Rifle the grave—that was the way to solve it. That would +still leave it possible to collect the insurance, too. The blackmail +letter about the five thousand dollars was only a blind, to lay on the +mythical Black Hand the blame for the desecration. Brought into light, +humidity, and warmth, the body would recover consciousness and the +life-functions resume their normal state after the anabiotic coma into +which Phelps had drugged himself. + +“But the very first night the supposed ghouls were discovered. Dana +Phelps, already suspicious regarding the death of his brother, +wondering at the lack of sentiment which Mrs. Phelps showed, since she +felt that her husband was not really dead—Dana was there. His +suspicions were confirmed, he thought. Montague had been, in reality, +murdered, and his murderers were now making away with the evidence. He +fought with the ghouls, yet apparently, in the darkness, he did not +discover their identity. The struggle was bitter, but they were two to +one. Dana was bitten by one of them. Here are the marks of +teeth—teeth—of a woman.” + +Anginette Phelps was sobbing convulsively. She had risen and was facing +Doctor Forden with outstretched hands. + +“Tell them!” she cried wildly. + +Forden seemed to have maintained his composure only by a superhuman +effort. + +“The—body is—at my office,” he said, as we faced him with deathlike +stillness. “Phelps had told us to get him within ten days. We did get +him, finally. Gentlemen, you, who were seeking murderers, are, in +effect, murderers. You kept us away two days too long. It was too late. +We could not revive him. Phelps is really dead!” + +“The deuce!” exclaimed Andrews, “the policy is incontestible!” + +As he turned to us in disgust, his eyes fell on Anginette Phelps, +sobered down by the terrible tragedy and nearly a physical wreck from +real grief. + +“Still,” he added hastily, “we’ll pay without a protest.” + +She did not even hear him. It seemed that the butterfly in her was +crushed, as Dr. Forden and Miss Tracy gently led her away. + +They had all left, and the laboratory was again in its normal state of +silence, except for the occasional step of Kennedy as he stowed away +the apparatus he had used. + +“I must say that I was one of the most surprised in the room at the +outcome of that case,” I confessed at length. “I fully expected an +arrest.” + +He said nothing, but went on methodically restoring his apparatus to +its proper place. + +“What a peculiar life you lead, Craig,” I pursued reflectively. “One +day it is a case that ends with such a bright spot in our lives as the +recollection of the Shirleys; the next goes to the other extreme of +gruesomeness and one can hardly think about it without a shudder. And +then, through it all, you go with the high speed power of a racing +motor.” + +“That last case appealed to me, like many others,” he ruminated, “just +because it was so unusual, so gruesome, as you call it.” + +He reached into the pocket of his coat, hung over the back of a chair. + +“Now, here’s another most unusual case, apparently. It begins, really, +at the other end, so to speak, with the conviction, begins at the very +place where we detectives send a man as the last act of our little +dramas.” + +“What?” I gasped, “another case before even this one is fairly cleaned +up? Craig—you are impossible. You get worse instead of better.” + +“Read it,” he said, simply. Kennedy handed me a letter in the angular +hand affected by many women. It was dated at Sing Sing, or rather +Ossining. Craig seemed to appreciate the surprise which my face must +have betrayed at the curious combination of circumstances. + +“Nearly always there is the wife or mother of a condemned man who lives +in the shadow of the prison,” he remarked quietly, adding, “where she +can look down at the grim walls, hoping and fearing.” + +I said nothing, for the letter spoke for itself. + +I have read of your success as a scientific detective and hope that you +will pardon me for writing to you, but it is a matter of life or death +for one who is dearer to me than all the world. + +Perhaps you recall reading of the trial and conviction of my husband, +Sanford Godwin, at East Point. The case did not attract much attention +in New York papers, although he was defended by an able lawyer from the +city. + +Since the trial, I have taken up my residence here in Ossining in order +to be near him. As I write I can see the cold, grey walls of the state +prison that holds all that is dear to me. Day after day, I have watched +and waited, hoped against hope. The courts are so slow, and lawyers are +so technical. There have been executions since I came here, too—and I +shudder at them. Will this appeal be denied, also? + +My husband was accused of murdering by poison—hemlock, they +alleged—his adoptive parent, the retired merchant, Parker Godwin, +whose family name he took when he was a boy. After the death of the old +man, a later will was discovered in which my husband’s inheritance was +reduced to a small annuity. The other heirs, the Elmores, asserted, and +the state made out its case on the assumption, that the new will +furnished a motive for killing old Mr. Godwin, and that only by +accident had it been discovered. + +Sanford is innocent. He could not have done it. It is not in him to do +such a thing. I am only a woman, but about some things I know more than +all the lawyers and scientists, and I KNOW that he is innocent. + +I cannot write all. My heart is too full. Cannot you come and advise +me? Even if you cannot take up the case to which I have devoted my +life, tell me what to do. I am enclosing a check for expenses, all I +can spare at present. + +Sincerely yours, + +NELLA GODWIN. + +“Are you going?” I asked, watching Kennedy as he tapped the check +thoughtfully on the desk. + +“I can hardly resist an appeal like that,” he replied, absently +replacing the check in the envelope with the letter. + + + + +XXIII + +THE DEATH HOUSE + + +In the early forenoon, we were on our way by train “up the river” to +Sing Sing, where, at the station, a line of old-fashioned cabs and +red-faced cabbies greeted us, for the town itself is hilly. + +The house to which we had been directed was on the hill, and from its +windows one could look down on the barracks-like pile of stone with the +evil little black-barred slits of windows, below and perhaps a quarter +of a mile away. + +There was no need to be told what it was. Its very atmosphere breathed +the word “prison.” Even the ugly clutter of tall-chimneyed workshops +did not destroy it. Every stone, every grill, every glint of a sentry’s +rifle spelt “prison.” + +Mrs. Godwin was a pale, slight little woman, in whose face shone an +indomitable spirit, unconquered even by the slow torture of her lonely +vigil. Except for such few hours that she had to engage in her simple +household duties, with now and then a short walk in the country, she +was always watching that bleak stone house of atonement. + +Yet, though her spirit was unconquered, it needed no physician to tell +one that the dimming of the lights at the prison on the morning set for +the execution would fill two graves instead of one. For she had come to +know that this sudden dimming of the corridor lights, and then their +almost as sudden flaring-up, had a terrible meaning, well known to the +men inside. Hers was no less an agony than that of the men in the +curtained cells, since she had learned that when the lights grow dim at +dawn at Sing Sing, it means that the electric power has been borrowed +for just that little while to send a body straining against the straps +of the electric chair, snuffing out the life of a man. + +To-day she had evidently been watching in both directions, watching +eagerly the carriages as they climbed the hill, as well as in the +direction of the prison. + +“How can I ever thank you, Professor Kennedy,” she greeted us at the +door, keeping back with difficulty the tears that showed how much it +meant to have any one interest himself in her husband’s case. + +There was that gentleness about Mrs. Godwin that comes only to those +who have suffered much. + +“It has been a long fight,” she began, as we talked in her modest +little sitting-room, into which the sun streamed brightly with no +thought of the cold shadows in the grim building below. “Oh, and such a +hard, heartbreaking fight! Often it seems as if we had exhausted every +means at our disposal, and yet we shall never give up. Why cannot we +make the world see our case as we see it? Everything seems to have +conspired against us—and yet I cannot, I will not believe that the law +and the science that have condemned him are the last words in law and +science.” + +“You said in your letter that the courts were so slow and the lawyers +so—” + +“Yes, so cold, so technical. They do not seem to realise that a human +life is at stake. With them it is almost like a game in which we are +the pawns. And sometimes I fear, in spite of what the lawyers say, that +without some new evidence, it—it will go hard with him.” + +“You have not given up hope in the appeal?” asked Kennedy gently. + +“It is merely on technicalities of the law,” she replied with quiet +fortitude, “that is, as nearly as I can make out from the language of +the papers. Our lawyer is Salo Kahn, of the big firm of criminal +lawyers, Smith, Kahn.” + +“Conine,” mused Kennedy, half to himself. I could not tell whether he +was thinking of what he repeated or of the little woman. + +“Yes, the active principle of hemlock,” she went on. “That was what the +experts discovered, they swore. In the pure state, I believe, it is +more poisonous than anything except the cyanides. And it was absolutely +scientific evidence. They repeated the tests in court. There was no +doubt of it. But, oh, he did not do it. Some one else did it. He did +not—he could not.” + +Kennedy said nothing for a few minutes, but from his tone when he did +speak it was evident that he was deeply touched. + +“Since our marriage we lived with old Mr. Godwin in the historic Godwin +House at East Point,” she resumed, as he renewed his questioning. +“Sanford—that was my husband’s real last name until he came as a boy +to work for Mr. Godwin in the office of the factory and was adopted by +his employer—Sanford and I kept house for him. + +“About a year ago he began to grow feeble and seldom went to the +factory, which Sanford managed for him. One night Mr. Godwin was taken +suddenly ill. I don’t know how long he had been ill before we heard him +groaning, but he died almost before we could summon a doctor. There was +really nothing suspicious about it, but there had always been a great +deal of jealousy of my husband in the town and especially among the few +distant relatives of Mr. Godwin. What must have started as an idle, +gossipy rumour developed into a serious charge that my husband had +hastened his old guardian’s death. + +“The original will—THE will, I call it—had been placed in the safe of +the factory several years ago. But when the gossip in the town grew +bitter, one day when we were out, some private detectives entered the +house with a warrant—and they did actually find a will, another will +about which we knew nothing, dated later than the first and hidden with +some papers in the back of a closet, or sort of fire proof box, built +into the wall of the library. The second will was identical with the +first in language except that its terms were reversed and instead of +being the residuary legatee, Sanford was given a comparatively small +annuity, and the Elmores were made residuary legatees instead of +annuitants.” + +“And who are these Elmores?” asked Kennedy curiously. + +“There are three, two grandnephews and a grandniece, Bradford, Lambert, +and their sister Miriam.” + +“And they live—” + +“In East Point, also. Old Mr. Godwin was not very friendly with his +sister, whose grandchildren they were. They were the only other heirs +living, and although Sanford never had anything to do with it, I think +they always imagined that he tried to prejudice the old man against +them.” + +“I shall want to see the Elmores, or at least some one who represents +them, as well as the district attorney up there who conducted the case. +But now that I am here, I wonder if it is possible that I could bring +any influence to bear to see your husband?” + +Mrs. Godwin sighed. + +“Once a month,” she replied, “I leave this window, walk to the prison, +where the warden is very kind to me, and then I can see Sanford. Of +course there are bars between us besides the regular screen. But I can +have an hour’s talk, and in those talks he has described to me exactly +every detail of his life in the—the prison. We have even agreed on +certain hours when we think of each other. In those hours I know almost +what he is thinking.” She paused to collect herself. “Perhaps there may +be some way if I plead with the warden. Perhaps—you may be considered +his counsel now—you may see him.” + +A half hour later we sat in the big registry room of the prison and +talked with the big-hearted, big-handed warden. Every argument that +Kennedy could summon was brought to bear. He even talked over long +distance with the lawyers in New York. At last the rules were relaxed +and Kennedy was admitted on some technicality as counsel. Counsel can +see the condemned as often as necessary. + +We were conducted down a flight of steps and past huge steel-barred +doors, along corridors and through the regular prison until at last we +were in what the prison officials called the section for the condemned. +Every one else calls this secret heart of the grim place, the death +house. + +It is made up of two rows of cells, some eighteen or twenty in all, a +little more modern in construction than the twelve hundred archaic +caverns that pass for cells in the main prison. + +At each end of the corridor sat a guard, armed, with eyes never off the +rows of cells day or night. + +In the wall, on one side, was a door—the little green door—the door +from the death house to the death chamber. + +While Kennedy was talking to the prisoner, a guard volunteered to show +me the death chamber and the “chair.” No other furniture was there in +the little brick house of one room except this awful chair, of yellow +oak with broad, leather straps. There it stood, the sole article in the +brightly varnished room of about twenty-five feet square with walls of +clean blue, this grim acolyte of modern scientific death. There were +the wet electrodes that are fastened to the legs through slits in the +trousers at the calves; above was the pipe-like fixture, like a +gruesome helmet of leather that fits over the head, carrying the other +electrode. + +Back of the condemned was the switch which lets loose a lethal store of +energy, and back of that the prison morgue where the bodies are taken. +I looked about. In the wall to the left toward the death house was also +a door, on this side yellow. Somehow I could not get from my mind the +fascination of that door—the threshold of the grave. + +Meanwhile Kennedy sat in the little cage and talked with the convicted +man across the three-foot distance between cell and screen. I did not +see him at that time, but Kennedy repeated afterward what passed, and +it so impressed me that I will set it down as if I had been present. + +Sanford Godwin was a tall, ashen-faced man, in the prison pallor of +whose face was written the determination of despair, a man in whose +blue eyes was a queer, half-insane light of hope. One knew that if it +had not been for the little woman at the window at the top of the hill, +the hope would probably long ago have faded. But this man knew she was +always there, thinking, watching, eagerly planning in aid of any new +scheme in the long fight for freedom. + +“The alkaloid was present, that is certain,” he told Kennedy. “My wife +has told you that. It was scientifically proved. There is no use in +attacking that.” + +Later on he remarked: “Perhaps you think it strange that one in the +very shadow of the death chair”—the word stuck in his throat—“can +talk so impersonally of his own case. Sometimes I think it is not my +case, but some one else’s. And then—that door.” + +He shuddered and turned away from it. On one side was life, such as it +was; on the other, instant death. No wonder he pleaded with Kennedy. + +“Why, Walter,” exclaimed Craig, as we walked back to the warden’s +office to telephone to town for a car to take us up to East Point, +“whenever he looks out of that cage he sees it. He may close his +eyes—and still see it. When he exercises, he sees it. Thinking by day +and dreaming by night, it is always there. Think of the terrible hours +that man must pass, knowing of the little woman eating her heart out. +Is he really guilty? I must find out. If he is not, I never saw a +greater tragedy than this slow, remorseless approach of death, in that +daily, hourly shadow of the little green door.” + +East Point was a queer old town on the upper Hudson, with a varying +assortment of industries. Just outside, the old house of the Godwins +stood on a bluff overlooking the majestic river. Kennedy had wanted to +see it before any one suspected his mission, and a note from Mrs. +Godwin to a friend had been sufficient. + +Carefully he went over the deserted and now half-wrecked house, for the +authorities had spared nothing in their search for poison, even going +over the garden and the lawns in the hope of finding some of the +poisonous shrub, hemlock, which it was contended had been used to put +an end to Mr. Godwin. + +As yet nothing had been done to put the house in order again and, as we +walked about, we noticed a pile of old tins in the yard which had not +been removed. + +Kennedy turned them over with his stick. Then he picked one up and +examined it attentively. + +“H-m—a blown can,” he remarked. + +“Blown?” I repeated. + +“Yes. When the contents of a tin begin to deteriorate they sometimes +give off gases which press out the ends of the tin. You can see how +these ends bulge.” + +Our next visit was to the district attorney, a young man, Gordon +Kilgore, who seemed not unwilling to discuss the case frankly. + +“I want to make arrangements for disinterring the body,” explained +Kennedy. “Would you fight such a move?” + +“Not at all, not at all,” he answered brusquely. “Simply make the +arrangements through Kahn. I shall interpose no objection. It is the +strongest, most impregnable part of the case, the discovery of the +poison. If you can break that down you will do more than any one else +has dared to hope. But it can’t be done. The proof was too strong. Of +course it is none of my business, but I’d advise some other point of +attack.” + +I must confess to a feeling of disappointment when Kennedy announced +after leaving Kilgore that, for the present, there was nothing more to +be done at East Point until Kahn had made the arrangements for +reopening the grave. + +We motored back to Ossining, and Kennedy tried to be reassuring to Mrs. +Godwin. + +“By the way,” he remarked, just before we left, “you used a good deal +of canned goods at the Godwin house, didn’t you?” + +“Yes, but not more than other people, I think,” she said. + +“Do you recall using any that were—well, perhaps not exactly spoiled, +but that had anything peculiar about them?” + +“I remember once we thought we found some cans that seemed to have been +attacked by mice—at least they smelt so, though how mice could get +through a tin can we couldn’t see.” + +“Mice?” queried Kennedy. “Had a mousey smell? That’s interesting. Well, +Mrs. Godwin, keep up a good heart. Depend on me. What you have told me +to-day has made me more than interested in your case. I shall waste no +time in letting you know when anything encouraging develops.” + +Craig had never had much patience with red tape that barred the way to +the truth, yet there were times when law and legal procedure had to be +respected, no matter how much they hampered, and this was one of them. +The next day the order was obtained permitting the opening again of the +grave of old Mr. Godwin. The body was exhumed, and Kennedy set about +his examination of what secrets it might hide. + +Meanwhile, it seemed to me that the suspense was terrible. Kennedy was +moving slowly, I thought. Not even the courts themselves could have +been more deliberate. Also, he was keeping much to himself. + +Still, for another whole day, there was the slow, inevitable approach +of the thing that now, I, too, had come to dread—the handing down of +the final decision on the appeal. + +Yet what could Craig do otherwise, I asked myself. I had become deeply +interested in the case by this time and spent the time reading all the +evidence, hundreds of pages of it. It was cold, hard, brutal, +scientific fact, and as I read I felt that hope faded for the +ashen-faced man and the pallid little woman. It seemed the last word in +science. Was there any way of escape? + +Impatient as I was, I often wondered what must have been the suspense +of those to whom the case meant everything. + +“How are the tests coming along?” I ventured one night, after Kahn had +arranged for the uncovering of the grave. + +It was now two days since Kennedy had gone up to East Point to +superintend the exhumation and had returned to the city with the +materials which had caused him to keep later hours in the laboratory +than I had ever known even the indefatigable Craig to spend on a +stretch before. + +He shook his head doubtfully. + +“Walter,” he admitted, “I’m afraid I have reached the limit on the line +of investigation I had planned at the start.” + +I looked at him in dismay. “What then?” I managed to gasp. + +“I am going up to East Point again to-morrow to look over that house +and start a new line. You can go.” + +No urging was needed, and the following day saw us again on the ground. +The house, as I have said, had been almost torn to pieces in the search +for the will and the poison evidence. As before, we went to it +unannounced, and this time we had no difficulty in getting in. Kennedy, +who had brought with him a large package, made his way directly to a +sort of drawing-room next to the large library, in the closet of which +the will had been discovered. + +He unwrapped the package and took from it a huge brace and bit, the bit +a long, thin, murderous looking affair such as might have come from a +burglar’s kit. I regarded it much in that light. + +“What’s the lay?” I asked, as he tapped over the walls to ascertain of +just what they were composed. + +Without a word he was now down on his knees, drilling a hole in the +plaster and lath. When he struck an obstruction he stopped, removed the +bit, inserted another, and began again. + +“Are you going to put in a detectaphone?” I asked again. + +He shook his head. “A detectaphone wouldn’t be of any use here,” he +replied. “No one is going to do any talking in that room.” + +Again the brace and bit were at work. At last the wall had been +penetrated, and he quickly removed every trace from the other side that +would have attracted attention to a little hole in an obscure corner of +the flowered wall-paper. + +Next, he drew out what looked like a long putty-blower, perhaps a foot +long and three-eighths of an inch in diameter. + +“What’s that?” I asked, as he rose after carefully inserting it. + +“Look through it,” he replied simply, still at work on some other +apparatus he had brought. + +I looked. In spite of the smallness of the opening at the other end, I +was amazed to find that I could see nearly the whole room on the other +side of the wall. + +“It’s a detectascope,” he explained, “a tube with a fish-eye lens which +I had an expert optician make for me.” + +“A fish-eye lens?” I repeated. + +“Yes. The focus may be altered in range so that any one in the room may +be seen and recognised and any action of his may be detected. The +original of this was devised by Gaillard Smith, the adapter of the +detectaphone. The instrument is something like the cytoscope, which the +doctors use to look into the human interior. Now, look through it +again. Do you see the closet?” + +Again I looked. “Yes,” I said, “but will one of us have to watch here +all the time?” + +He had been working on a black box in the meantime, and now he began to +set it up, adjusting it to the hole in the wall which he enlarged on +our side. + +“No, that is my own improvement on it. You remember once we used a +quick-shutter camera with an electric attachment, which moved the +shutter on the contact of a person with an object in the room? Well, +this camera has that quick shutter. But, in addition, I have adapted to +the detectascope an invention by Professor Robert Wood, of Johns +Hopkins. He has devised a fish-eye camera that ‘sees’ over a radius of +one hundred and eighty degrees—not only straight in front, but over +half a circle, every point in that room. + +“You know the refracting power of a drop of water. Since it is a globe, +it refracts the light which reaches it from all directions. If it is +placed like the lens of a camera, as Dr. Wood tried it, so that +one-half of it catches the light, all the light caught will be +refracted through it. Fishes, too, have a wide range of vision. Some +have eyes that see over half a circle. So the lens gets its name. +Ordinary cameras, because of the flatness of their lenses, have a range +of only a few degrees, the widest in use, I believe, taking in only +ninety-six, or a little more than a quarter of a circle. So, you see, +my detectascope has a range almost twice as wide as that of any other.” + +Though I did not know what he expected to discover and knew that it was +useless to ask, the thing seemed very interesting. Craig did not pause, +however, to enlarge on the new machine, but gathered up his tools and +announced that our next step would be a visit to a lawyer whom the +Elmores had retained as their personal counsel to look after their +interests, now that the district attorney seemed to hare cleared up the +criminal end of the case. + +Hollins was one of the prominent attorneys of East Point, and before +the election of Kilgore as prosecutor had been his partner. Unlike +Kilgore, we found him especially uncommunicative and inclined to resent +our presence in the case as intruders. + +The interview did not seem to me to be productive of anything. In fact, +it seemed as if Craig were giving Hollins much more than he was getting. + +“I shall be in town over night,” remarked Craig. “In fact, I am +thinking of going over the library up at the Godwin house soon, very +carefully.” He spoke casually. “There may be, you know, some +finger-prints on the walls around that closet which might prove +interesting.” + +A quick look from Hollins was the only answer. In fact, it was seldom +that he uttered more than a monosyllable as we talked over the various +aspects of the case. + +A half-hour later, when he had left and had gone to the hotel, I asked +Kennedy suspiciously, “Why did you expose your hand to Hollins, Craig?” + +He laughed. “Oh, Walter,” he remonstrated, “don’t you know that it is +nearly always useless to look for finger-prints, except under some +circumstances, even a few days afterward? This is months, not days. Why +on iron and steel they last with tolerable certainty only a short time, +and not much longer on silver, glass, or wood. But they are seldom +permanent unless they are made with ink or blood or something that +leaves a more or less indelible mark. That was a ‘plant.’” + +“But what do you expect to gain by it?” + +“Well,” he replied enigmatically, “no one is necessarily honest.” + +It was late in the afternoon when Kennedy again visited the Godwin +house and examined the camera. Without a word he pulled the +detectascope from the wall and carried the whole thing to the +developing-room of the local photographer. + +There he set to work on the film and I watched him in silence. He +seemed very much excited as he watched the film develop, until at last +he held it up, dripping, to the red light. + +“Some one has entered that room this afternoon and attempted to wipe +off the walls and woodwork of that closet, as I expected,” he exclaimed. + +“Who was it?” I asked, leaning over. + +Kennedy said nothing, but pointed to a figure on the film. I bent +closer. It was the figure of a woman. + +“Miriam!” I exclaimed in surprise. + + + + +XXIV + +THE FINAL DAY + + +I looked aghast at him. If it had been either Bradford or Lambert, both +of whom we had come to know since Kennedy had interested himself in the +case, or even Hollins or Kilgore, I should not have been surprised. But +Miriam! + +“How could she have any connection with the case?” I asked +incredulously. + +Kennedy did not attempt to explain. “It is a fatal mistake, Walter, for +a detective to assume that he knows what anybody would do in any given +circumstances. The only safe course for him is to find out what the +persons in question did do. People are always doing the unexpected. +This is a case of it, as you see. I am merely trying to get back at +facts. Come; I think we might as well not stay over night, after all. I +should like to drop off on the way back to the city to see Mrs. Godwin.” + +As we rode up the hill I was surprised to see that there was no one at +the window, nor did any one seem to pay attention to our knocking at +the door. + +Kennedy turned the knob quickly and strode in. + +Seated in a chair, as white as a wraith from the grave, was Mrs. +Godwin, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. + +“What’s the matter?” demanded Kennedy, leaping to her side and grasping +her icy hand. + +The stare on her face seemed to change slightly as she recognised him. + +“Walter—some water—and a little brandy—if there is any. Tell +me—what has happened?” + +From her lap a yellow telegram had fluttered to the floor, but before +he could pick it up, she gasped, “The appeal—it has been denied.” +Kennedy picked up the paper. It was a message, unsigned, but not from +Kahn, as its wording and in fact the circumstances plainly showed. + +“The execution is set for the week beginning the fifth,” she continued, +in the same hollow, mechanical voice. “My God—that’s next Monday!” + +She had risen now and was pacing the room. + +“No! I’m not going to faint. I wish I could. I wish I could cry. I wish +I could do something. Oh, those Elmores—they must have sent it. No one +would have been so cruel but they.” + +She stopped and gazed wildly out of the window at the prison. Neither +of us knew what to say for the moment. + +“Many times from this window,” she cried, “I have seen a man walk out +of that prison gate. I always watch to see what he does, though I know +it is no use. If he stands in the free air, stops short, and looks up +suddenly, taking a long look at every house—I hope. But he always +turns for a quick, backward look at the prison and goes half running +down the hill. They always stop in that fashion, when the steel door +opens outward. Yet I have always looked and hoped. But I can hope no +more—no more. The last chance is gone.” + +“No—not the last chance,” exclaimed Craig, springing to her side lest +she should fall. Then he added gently, “You must come with me to East +Point—immediately.” + +“What—leave him here—alone—in the last days? No—no—no. Never. I +must see him. I wonder if they have told him yet.” + +It was evident that she had lost faith in Kennedy, in everybody, now. + +“Mrs. Godwin,” he urged. “Come—you must. It is a last chance.” + +Eagerly he was pouring out the story of the discovery of the afternoon +by the little detectascope. + +“Miriam?” she repeated, dazed. “She—know anything—it can’t be. +No—don’t raise a false hope now.” + +“It is the last chance,” he urged again. “Come. There is not an hour to +waste now.” + +There was no delay, no deliberation about Kennedy now. He had been +forced out into the open by the course of events, and he meant to take +advantage of every precious moment. + +Down the hill our car sped to the town, with Mrs. Godwin still +protesting, but hardly realising what was going on. Regardless of +tolls, Kennedy called up his laboratory in New York and had two of his +most careful students pack up the stuff which he described minutely to +be carried to East Point immediately by train. Kahn, too, was at last +found and summoned to meet us there also. + +Miles never seemed longer than they did to us as we tore over the +country from Ossining to East Point, a silent party, yet keyed up by an +excitement that none of us had ever felt before. + +Impatiently we awaited the arrival of the men from Kennedy’s +laboratory, while we made Mrs. Godwin as comfortable as possible in a +room at the hotel. In one of the parlours Kennedy was improvising a +laboratory as best he could. Meanwhile, Kahn had arrived, and together +we were seeking those whose connection with, or interest in, the case +made necessary their presence. + +It was well along toward midnight before the hasty conference had been +gathered; besides Mrs. Godwin, Salo Kahn, and ourselves, the three +Elmores, Kilgore, and Hollins. + +Strange though it was, the room seemed to me almost to have assumed the +familiar look of the laboratory in New York. There was the same clutter +of tubes and jars on the tables, but above all that same feeling of +suspense in the air which I had come to associate with the clearing up +of a case. There was something else in the air, too. It was a peculiar +mousey smell, disagreeable, and one which made it a relief to have +Kennedy begin in a low voice to tell why he had called us together so +hastily. + +“I shall start,” announced Kennedy, “at the point where the state left +off—with the proof that Mr. Godwin died of conine, or hemlock +poisoning. Conine, as every chemist knows, has a long and well-known +history. It was the first alkaloid to be synthesised. Here is a sample, +this colourless, oily fluid. No doubt you have noticed the mousey odour +in this room. As little as one part of conine to fifty thousand of +water gives off that odour—it is characteristic. + +“I have proceeded with extraordinary caution in my investigation of +this case,” he went on. “In fact, there would have been no value in it, +otherwise, for the experts for the people seem to have established the +presence of conine in the body with absolute certainty.” + +He paused and we waited expectantly. + +“I have had the body exhumed and have repeated the tests. The alkaloid +which I discovered had given precisely the same results as in their +tests.” + +My heart sank. What was he doing—convicting the man over again? + +“There is one other test which I tried,” he continued, “but which I can +not take time to duplicate to-night. It was testified at the trial that +conine, the active principle of hemlock, is intensely poisonous. No +chemical antidote is known. A fifth of a grain has serious results; a +drop is fatal. An injection of a most minute quantity of real conine +will kill a mouse, for instance, almost instantly. But the conine which +I have isolated in the body is inert!” + +It came like a bombshell to the prosecution, so bewildering was the +discovery. + +“Inert?” cried Kilgore and Hollins almost together. “It can’t be. You +are making sport of the best chemical experts that money could obtain. +Inert? Read the evidence—read the books.” + +“On the contrary,” resumed Craig, ignoring the interruption, “all the +reactions obtained by the experts have been duplicated by me. But, in +addition, I tried this one test which they did not try. I repeat: the +conine isolated in the body is inert.” + +We were too perplexed to question him. + +“Alkaloids,” he continued quietly, “as you know, have names that end in +‘in’ or ‘ine’—morphine, strychnine, and so on. Now there are two kinds +of alkaloids which are sometimes called vegetable and animal. Moreover, +there is a large class of which we are learning much which are called +the ptomaines—from ptoma, a corpse. Ptomaine poisoning, as every one +knows, results when we eat food that has begun to decay. + +“Ptomaines are chemical compounds of an alkaloidal nature formed in +protein substances during putrefaction. They are purely chemical bodies +and differ from the toxins. There are also what are called leucomaines, +formed in living tissues, and when not given off by the body they +produce auto-intoxication. + +“There are more than three score ptomaines, and half of them are +poisonous. In fact, illness due to eating infected foods is much more +common than is generally supposed. Often there is only one case in a +number of those eating the food, due merely to that person’s inability +to throw off the poison. Such cases are difficult to distinguish. They +are usually supposed to be gastro-enteritis. Ptomaines, as their name +shows, are found in dead bodies. They are found in all dead matter +after a time, whether it is decayed food or a decaying corpse. + +“No general reaction is known by which the ptomaines can be +distinguished from the vegetable alkaloids. But we know that animal +alkaloids always develop either as a result of decay of food or of the +decay of the body itself.” + +At one stroke Kennedy had reopened the closed case and had placed the +experts at sea. + +“I find that there is an animal conine as well as the true conine,” he +hammered out. “The truth of this matter is that the experts have +confounded vegetable conine with cadaveric conine. That raises an +interesting question. Assuming the presence of conine, where did it +come from?” + +He paused and began a new line of attack. “As the use of canned goods +becomes more and more extensive, ptomaine poisoning is more frequent. +In canning, the cans are heated. They are composed of thin sheets of +iron coated with tin, the seams pressed and soldered with a thin line +of solder. They are filled with cooked food, sterilised, and closed. +The bacteria are usually all killed, but now and then, the apparatus +does not work, and they develop in the can. That results in a ‘blown +can’—the ends bulge a little bit. On opening, a gas escapes, the food +has a bad odour and a bad taste. Sometimes people say that the tin and +lead poison them; in practically all cases the poisoning is of +bacterial, not metallic, origin. Mr. Godwin may have died of poisoning, +probably did. But it was ptomaine poisoning. The blown cans which I +have discovered would indicate that.” + +I was following him closely, yet though this seemed to explain a part +of the case, it was far from explaining all. + +“Then followed,” he hurried on, “the development of the usual ptomaines +in the body itself. These, I may say, had no relation to the cause of +death itself. The putrefactive germs began their attack. Whatever there +may have been in the body before, certainly they produced a cadaveric +ptomaine conine. For many animal tissues and fluids, especially if +somewhat decomposed, yield not infrequently compounds of an oily nature +with a mousey odour, fuming with hydrochloric acid and in short, acting +just like conine. There is ample evidence, I have found, that conine or +a substance possessing most, if not all, of its properties is at times +actually produced in animal tissues by decomposition. And the fact is, +I believe, that a number of cases have arisen, in which the poisonous +alkaloid was at first supposed to have been discovered which were +really mistakes.” + +The idea was startling in the extreme. Here was Kennedy, as it were, +overturning what had been considered the last word in science as it had +been laid down by the experts for the prosecution, opinions so +impregnable that courts and juries had not hesitated to condemn a man +to death. + +“There have been cases,” Craig went on solemnly, “and I believe this to +be one, where death has been pronounced to have been caused by wilful +administration of a vegetable alkaloid, which toxicologists would now +put down as ptomaine-poisoning cases. Innocent people have possibly +already suffered and may in the future. But medical experts—” he laid +especial stress on the word—“are much more alive to the danger of +mistake than formerly. This was a case where the danger was not +considered, either through carelessness, ignorance, or prejudice. + +“Indeed, ptomaines are present probably to a greater or less extent in +every organ which is submitted to the toxicologist for examination. If +he is ignorant of the nature of these substances, he may easily mistake +them for vegetable alkaloids. He may report a given poison present when +it is not present. It is even yet a new line of inquiry which has only +recently been followed, and the information is still comparatively +small and inadequate. + +“It is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for the chemist to state +absolutely that he has detected true conine. Before he can do it, the +symptoms and the post-mortem appearance must agree; analysis must be +made before, not after, decomposition sets in, and the amount of the +poison found must be sufficient to experiment with, not merely to react +to a few usual tests. + +“What the experts asserted so positively, I would not dare to assert. +Was he killed by ordinary ptomaine poisoning, and had conine, or rather +its double, developed first in his food along with other ptomaines that +were not inert? Or did the cadaveric conine develop only in the body +after death? Chemistry alone can not decide the question so glibly as +the experts did. Further proof must be sought. Other sciences must come +to our aid.” + +I was sitting next to Mrs. Godwin. As Kennedy’s words rang out, her +hand, trembling with emotion, pressed my arm. I turned quickly to see +if she needed assistance. Her face was radiant. All the fees for big +cases in the world could never have compensated Kennedy for the mute, +unrestrained gratitude which the little woman shot at him. + +Kennedy saw it, and in the quick shifting of his eyes to my face, I +read that he relied on me to take care of Mrs. Godwin while he plunged +again into the clearing up of the mystery. + +“I have here the will—the second one,” he snapped out, turning and +facing the others in the room. + +Craig turned a switch in an apparatus which his students had brought +from New York. From a tube on the table came a peculiar bluish light. + +“This,” he explained, “is a source of ultraviolet rays. They are not +the bluish light which you see, but rays contained in it which you can +not see. + +“Ultraviolet rays have recently been found very valuable in the +examination of questioned documents. By the use of a lens made of +quartz covered with a thin film of metallic silver, there has been +developed a practical means of making photographs by the invisible rays +of light above the spectrum—these ultraviolet rays. The quartz lens is +necessary, because these rays will not pass through ordinary glass, +while the silver film acts as a screen to cut off the ordinary light +rays and those below the spectrum. By this means, most white objects +are photographed black and even transparent objects like glass are +black. + +“I obtained the copy of this will, but under the condition from the +surrogate that absolutely nothing must be done to it to change a fibre +of the paper or a line of a letter. It was a difficult condition. While +there are chemicals which are frequently resorted to for testing the +authenticity of disputed documents such as wills and deeds, their use +frequently injures or destroys the paper under test. So far as I could +determine, the document also defied the microscope. + +“But ultraviolet photography does not affect the document tested in any +way, and it has lately been used practically in detecting forgeries. I +have photographed the last page of the will with its signatures, and +here it is. What the eye itself can not see, the invisible light +reveals.” + +He was holding the document and the copy, just an instant, as if +considering how to announce with best effect what he had discovered. + +“In order to unravel this mystery,” he resumed, looking up and facing +the Elmores, Kilgore, and Hollins squarely, “I decided to find out +whether any one had had access to that closet where the will was +hidden. It was long ago, and there seemed to be little that I could do. +I knew it was useless to look for fingerprints. + +“So I used what we detectives now call the law of suggestion. I +questioned closely one who was in touch with all those who might have +had such access. I hinted broadly at seeking fingerprints which might +lead to the identity of one who had entered the house unknown to the +Godwins, and placed a document where private detectives would +subsequently find it under suspicious circumstances. + +“Naturally, it would seem to one who was guilty of such an act, or knew +of it, that there might, after all, be finger-prints. I tried it. I +found out through this little tube, the detectascope, that one really +entered the room after that, and tried to wipe off any supposed +finger-prints that might still remain. That settled it. The second will +was a forgery, and the person who entered that room so stealthily this +afternoon knows that it is a forgery.” + +As Kennedy slapped down on the table the film from his camera, which +had been concealed, Mrs. Godwin turned her now large and unnaturally +bright eyes and met those of the other woman in the room. + +“Oh—oh—heaven help us—me, I mean!” cried Miriam, unable to bear the +strain of the turn of events longer. “I knew there would be +retribution—I knew—I knew—” + +Mrs. Godwin was on her feet in a moment. + +“Once my intuition was not wrong though all science and law was against +me,” she pleaded with Kennedy. There was a gentleness in her tone that +fell like a soft rain on the surging passions of those who had wronged +her so shamefully. “Professor Kennedy, Miriam could not have forged—” + +Kennedy smiled. “Science was not against you, Mrs. Godwin. Ignorance +was against you. And your intuition does not go contrary to science +this time, either.” + +It was a splendid exhibition of fine feeling which Kennedy waited to +have impressed on the Elmores, as though burning it into their minds. + +“Miriam Elmore knew that her brothers had forged a will and hidden it. +To expose them was to convict them of a crime. She kept their secret, +which was the secret of all three. She even tried to hide the +finger-prints which would have branded her brothers. + +“For ptomaine poisoning had unexpectedly hastened the end of old Mr. +Godwin. Then gossip and the ‘scientists’ did the rest. It was +accidental, but Bradford and Lambert Elmore were willing to let events +take their course and declare genuine the forgery which they had made +so skilfully, even though it convicted an innocent man of murder and +killed his faithful wife. As soon as the courts can be set in motion to +correct an error of science by the truth of later science, Sing Sing +will lose one prisoner from the death house and gain two forgers in his +place.” + +Mrs. Godwin stood before us, radiant. But as Kennedy’s last words sank +into her mind, her face clouded. + +“Must—must it be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?” she +pleaded eagerly. “Must that grim prison take in others, even if my +husband goes free?” + +Kennedy looked at her long and earnestly, as if to let the beauty of +her character, trained by its long suffering, impress itself on his +mind indelibly. + +He shook his head slowly. + +“I’m afraid there is no other way, Mrs. Godwin,” he said gently taking +her arm and leaving the others to be dealt with by a constable whom he +had dozing in the hotel lobby. + +“Kahn is going up to Albany to get the pardon—there can be no doubt +about it now,” he added. “Mrs. Godwin, if you care to do so, you may +stay here at the hotel, or you may go down with us on the midnight +train as far as Ossining. I will wire ahead for a conveyance to meet +you at the station. Mr. Jameson and I must go on to New York.” + +“The nearer I am to Sanford now, the happier I shall be,” she answered, +bravely keeping back the tears of happiness. + +The ride down to New York, after our train left Ossining, was +accomplished in a day coach in which our fellow passengers slept in +every conceivable attitude of discomfort. + +Yet late, or rather early, as it was, we found plenty of life still in +the great city that never sleeps. Tired, exhausted, I was at least glad +to feel that finally we were at home. + +“Craig,” I yawned, as I began to throw off my clothes, “I’m ready to +sleep a week.” + +There was no answer. + +I looked up at him almost resentfully. He had picked up the mail that +lay under our letter slot and was going through it as eagerly as if the +clock registered P.M. instead of A.M. + +“Let me see,” I mumbled sleepily, checking over my notes, “how many +days have we been at it?” + +I turned the pages slowly, after the manner in which my mind was +working. + +“It was the twenty-sixth when you got that letter from Ossining,” I +calculated, “and to-day makes the thirtieth. My heavens—is there still +another day of it? Is there no rest for the wicked?” + +Kennedy looked up and laughed. + +He was pointing at the calendar on the desk before him. + +“There are only thirty days in the month,” he remarked slowly. + +“Thank the Lord,” I exclaimed. “I’m all in!” + +He tipped his desk-chair back and bit the amber of his meerchaum +contemplatively. + +“But to-day is the first,” he drawled, turning the leaf on the calendar +with just a flicker of a smile. + +THE END + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAM DOCTOR ***
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