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diff --git a/75523-0.txt b/75523-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad3b622 --- /dev/null +++ b/75523-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10771 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75523 *** + + +The Achievements of Luther Trant + +by Edwin Balmer & William MacHarg +illustrated by William Oberhardt + +Published 1910 by Small, Maynard & Company +Copyright, 1909–1910 by Benj. B. Hampton + + + +CONTENTS + + Foreword + I. The Man in the Room + II. The Fast Watch + III. The Red Dress + IV. The Private Bank Puzzle + V. The Man Higher Up + VI. The Chalchihuitl Stone + VII. The Empty Cartridges + VIII. The Axton Letters + IX. The Eleventh Hour + + + + [Illustration: A gentleman seated in an armchair looks on in + consternation at a man standing before him with a placid expression. + Surrounding them are three other gentlemen and a lady, all studying + the seated gentleman carefully.] + + Caption: “I do not know him,” Axton’s eyes glanced furtively about. + “I have never seen him before. This is not Lawler.” (See “The Axton + Letters”) + + + +FOREWORD + +Except for its characters and plot, this book is not a work of the +imagination. + +The methods which the fictitious _Trant_—one time assistant in a +psychological laboratory, now turned detective—here uses to solve the +mysteries which present themselves to him, are real methods; the tests +he employs are real tests. + +Though little known to the general public, they are precisely such as +are being used daily in the psychological laboratories of the great +universities—both in America and Europe—by means of which modern men +of science are at last disclosing and defining the workings of that +oldest of world-mysteries—the human mind. + +The facts which _Trant_ uses are in no way debatable facts; nor do +they rest on evidence of untrained, imaginative observers. Innumerable +experiments in our university laboratories have established beyond +question that, for instance, the resistance of the human body to a +weak electric current varies when the subject is frightened or +undergoes emotion; and the consequent variation in the strength of the +current, depending directly upon the amount of emotional disturbance, +can be registered by the galvanometer for all to see. The hand resting +upon an automatograph _will_ travel toward an object which excites +emotion, however capable its possessor may be of restraining all other +evidence of what he feels. + +If these facts are not used as yet except in the academic experiments +of the psychological laboratories and the very real and useful purpose +to which they have been put in the diagnosis of insanities, it is not +because they are incapable of wider use. The results of the “new +psychology” are coming every day closer to an exact interpretation. +The hour is close at hand when they will be used not merely in the +determination of guilt and innocence, but to establish in the courts +the credibility of witnesses and the impartiality of jurors, and by +employers to ascertain the fitness and particular abilities of their +employees. + +_Luther Trant_, therefore, nowhere in this book needs to invent or +devise an experiment or an instrument for any of the results he here +attains; he has merely to adapt a part of the tried and accepted +experiments of modern, scientific psychology. He himself is a +character of fiction; but his methods are matters of fact. + +The Authors. + + + +CHAPTER I + +The Man in the Room + +“Amazing, Trant.” + +“More than merely amazing! Face the fact, Dr. Reiland, and it is +astounding, incredible, disgraceful, that after five thousand years of +civilization, our police and court procedures recognize no higher +knowledge of men than the first Pharaoh put into practice in Egypt +before the pyramids!” + +Young Luther Trant ground his heel impatiently into the hoar frost on +the campus walk. His queerly mismated eyes—one more gray than blue, +the other more blue than gray—flashed at his older companion +earnestly. Then, with the same rebellious impatience, he caught step +once more with Reiland, as he went on in his intentness: + +“You saw the paper this morning, Dr. Reiland? ‘A man’s body found in +Jackson Park’; six suspects seen near the spot have been arrested. +‘The Schlaack’s abduction or murder’; three men under arrest for that +since last Wednesday. ‘The Lawton trial progressing’; with the +likelihood that young Lawton will be declared innocent; eighteen +months he has been in confinement—eighteen months of indelible +association with criminals! And then the big one: ‘Sixteen men held as +suspected of complicity in the murder of Bronson, the prosecuting +attorney.’ Did you ever hear of such a carnival of arrest? And put +beside that the fact that for ninety-three out of every one hundred +homicides no one is ever punished!” + +The old professor turned his ruddy face, glowing with the frosty, +early-morning air, patiently and questioningly toward his young +companion. For some time Dr. Reiland had noted uneasily the growing +restlessness of his brilliant but hotheaded young aid, without being +able to tell what it portended. + +“Well, Trant,” he asked now, “what is it?” + +“Just that, professor! Five thousand years of being civilized,” Trant +burst on, “and we still have the ‘third degree’! We still confront a +suspect with his crime, hoping he will ‘flush’ or ‘lose color,’ ‘gasp’ +or ‘stammer.’ And if in the face of this crude test we find him +prepared or hardened so that he can prevent the blood from suffusing +his face, or too noticeably leaving it; if he inflates his lungs +properly and controls his tongue when he speaks, we are ready to call +him innocent. Is it not so, sir?” + +“Yes,” the old man nodded, patiently. “It is so, I fear. What then, +Trant?” + +“What, Dr. Reiland? Why, you and I and every psychologist in every +psychological laboratory in this country and abroad have been playing +with the answer for years! For years we have been measuring the effect +of every thought, impulse and act in the human being. Daily I have +been proving, as mere laboratory experiments to astonish a row of +staring sophomores, that which—applied in courts and jails—would +conclusively prove a man innocent in five minutes, or condemn him as a +criminal on the evidence of his own uncontrollable reactions. And more +than that, Dr. Reiland! Teach any detective what you have taught to +me, and if he has half the persistence in looking for the marks of +crime on _men_ that he had in tracing its marks on _things_, he can +clear up half the cases that fill the jail in three days.” + +“And the other half within the week, I suppose, Trant?” + +The older man smiled at the other’s enthusiasm. + +For five years Reiland had seen his young companion almost daily; +first as a freshman in the elementary psychology class—a red-haired, +energetic country-boy, ill at ease among even the slight restrictions +of this fresh-water university. The boy’s eager, active mind had +attracted his attention in the beginning; as he watched him change +into a man, Trant’s almost startling powers of analysis and +comprehension had aroused the old professor’s admiration. The compact, +muscular body, which endured without fatigue the great demands Trant +made upon it and brought him fresh to recitations from two hours sleep +after a night of work; and the tireless eagerness which drove him at a +gallop through courses where others plodded, had led Reiland to +appoint Trant his assistant just before his graduation. But this +energy told Reiland, too, that he could not hope to hold Trant long to +the narrow activities of a university; and it was with marked +uneasiness that the old professor glanced sideways now while he waited +for the younger man to finish what he was saying. + +“Dr. Reiland,” Trant went on more soberly, “you have taught me the use +of the cardiograph, by which the effect upon the heart of every act +and passion can be read as a physician reads the pulse chart of his +patient, the pneumograph, which traces the minutest meaning of the +breathing; the galvanometer, that wonderful instrument which, though a +man hold every feature and muscle passionless as death, will betray +him through the sweat glands in the palms of his hands. You have +taught me—as a scientific experiment—how a man not seen to stammer or +hesitate, in perfect control of his speech and faculties, must surely +show through his thought associations, which he cannot know he is +betraying, the marks that any important act and every crime must make +indelibly upon his mind—” + +“Associations?” Dr. Reiland interrupted him less patiently. “That is +merely the method of the German doctors—Freud’s method—used by Jung in +Zurich to diagnose the causes of adolescent insanity.” + +“Precisely.” Trant’s eyes flashed, as he faced the old professor. +“Merely the method of the German doctors! The method of Freud and +Jung! Do you think that I, with that method, would not have known +eighteen months ago that Lawton was innocent? Do you suppose that I +could not pick out among those sixteen men the Bronson murderer? If +ever such a problem comes to me I shall not take eighteen months to +solve it. I will not take a week.” + +In spite of himself Dr. Reiland’s lips curled at this arrogant +assertion. “It may be so,” he said. “I have seen, Trant, how the work +of the German, Swiss and American investigators, and the delicate +experiments in the psychological laboratory which make visible and +record the secrets of men’s minds, have fired your imagination. It may +be that the murderer would be as little, or even less, able to conceal +his guilt than the sophomores we test are to hide their knowledge of +the sentences we have had previously read to them. But I myself am too +old a man to try such new things; and you will not meet here any such +problems,” he motioned to the quiet campus with its skeleton trees and +white-frosted grass plots. “But why,” he demanded suddenly in a +startled tone, “is a delicate girl like Margaret Lawrie running across +the campus at seven o’clock on this chilly morning without either hat +or jacket?” + +The girl who was speeding toward them along an intersecting walk, had +plainly caught up as she left her home the first thing handy—a +shawl—which she clutched about her shoulders. On her forehead, very +white under the mass of her dark hair, in her wide gray eyes and in +the tense lines of her straight mouth and rounded chin, Trant read at +once the nervous anxiety of a highly-strung woman. + +“Professor Reiland,” she demanded, in a quick voice, “do you know +where my father is?” + +“My dear Margaret,” the old man took her hand, which trembled +violently, “you must not excite yourself this way.” + +“You do not know!” the girl cried excitedly. “I see it in your face. +Dr. Reiland, father did not come home last night! He sent no word.” + +Reiland’s face went blank. No one knew better than he how great was +the break in Dr. Lawrie’s habits that this fact implied, for the man +was his dearest friend. Dr. Lawrie had been treasurer of the +university twenty years, and in that time only three events—his +marriage, the birth of his daughter, and his wife’s death—had been +allowed to interfere with the stern and rigorous routine into which he +had welded his lonely life. So Reiland paled, and drew the trembling +girl toward him. + +“When did you see him last, Miss Lawrie?” Trant asked gently. + +“Dr. Reiland, last night he went to his university office to work,” +she replied, as though the older man had spoken. “Sunday night. It was +very unusual. All day he had acted so strangely. He looked so tired, +and he has not come back. I am on my way there now to see—if—I can +find him.” + +“We will go with you,” Trant said quickly, as the girl helplessly +broke off. “Harrison, if he is there so early, can tell us what has +called your father away. There is not one chance in a thousand, Miss +Lawrie, that anything has happened to him.” + +“Trant is right, my dear.” Reiland had recovered himself, and looked +up at University Hall in front of them with its fifty windows on the +east glimmering like great eyes in the early morning sun. Only, on +three of these eyes the lids were closed—the shutters of the +treasurer’s office, all saw plainly, were fastened. Trant could not +remember that ever before he had seen shutters closed on University +Hall. They had stood open until, on many, the hinges had rusted solid. +He glanced at Dr. Reiland, who shuddered, but straightened again, +stiffly. + +“There must be a gas leak,” Trant commented, sniffing, as they entered +the empty building. But the white-faced man and girl beside him paid +no heed, as they sped down the corridor. + +At the door of Dr. Lawrie’s office—the third of the doors with high, +ground-glass transoms which opened on both sides into the corridor—the +smell of gas grew stronger. Trant stooped to the keyhole and found it +plugged with paper. He caught the transom bar, set his foot upon the +knob and, drawing himself up, pushed against the transom. It resisted; +but he pounded it in, and, as its glass panes fell tinkling, the fumes +of illuminating gas burst out and choked him. + +“A foot,” he called down to his trembling companions, as he peered +into the darkened room. “Some one on the lounge!” + +Dropping down, he hurried to a recitation room across the corridor and +dragged out a heavy table. Together they drove a corner of this +against the lock; it broke, and as the door whirled back on its hinges +the fumes of gas poured forth, stifling them and driving them back. +Trant rushed in, threw up the three windows, one after the other, and +beat open the shutters. As the gray autumn light flooded the room, a +shriek from the girl and a choking exclamation from Reiland greeted +the figure stretched motionless upon the couch. Trant leaped upon the +flat-topped desk under the gas fixtures in the center of the room and +turned off the four jets from which the gas was pouring. Darting +across the hall, he opened the windows of the room opposite. + +As the strong morning breeze eddied through the building, clearing the +gas before it, while Reiland with tears streaming from his eyes knelt +by the body of his lifelong friend, it lifted from a metal tray upon +the desk scores of fragments of charred paper which scattered over the +room, over the floor and furniture, over even the couch where the +still figure lay, with its white face drawn and contorted. + +Reiland arose and touched his old friend’s hand, his voice breaking. +“He has been dead for hours. Oh, Lawrie!” + +He caught to him the trembling, horrified girl, and she burst into +sobs against his shoulder. Then, while the two men stood beside the +dead body of him in whose charge had been all finances of this great +institution, their eyes met, and in those of Trant was a silent +question. Reddening and paling by turns, Reiland answered it, “No, +Trant, nothing lies behind this death. Whether it was of purpose or by +accident, no secret, no disgrace, drove him to it. That I know.” + +The young man’s oddly mismated eyes glowed into his, questioningly. +“We must get President Joslyn,” Reiland said. “And Margaret,” he +lifted the girl’s head from his shoulder, while she shuddered and +clung to him, “you must go home. Do you feel able to go home alone, +dearie? Everything that is necessary here shall be done.” + +She gathered herself together, choked and nodded. Reiland led her to +the door, and she hurried away, sobbing. + +While Trant was at the telephone Dr. Reiland swept the fragments of +glass across the sill, and closed the door and windows. + +Already feet were sounding in the corridors; and the rooms about were +fast filling before Trant made out the president’s thin figure bending +against the wind as he hurried across the campus. + +Dr. Joslyn’s swift glance as Trant opened the door to him—a glance +which, in spite of the student pallor of his high-boned face, marked +the man of action—considered and comprehended all. + +“So it has come to this,” he said, sadly. “But—who laid Lawrie there?” +he asked sharply after an instant. + +“He laid himself there,” Reiland softly replied. “It was there we +found him.” + +Trant put his finger on a scratch on the wall paper made by the sharp +corner of the davenport lounge; the corner was still white with +plaster. Plainly, the lounge had been violently pushed out of its +position, scratching the paper. + +Dr. Joslyn’s eyes passed on about the room, passed by Reiland’s +appeal, met Trant’s direct look and followed it to the smaller desk +beside the dead treasurer’s. He opened the door to his own office. + +“When Mr. Harrison comes,” he commanded, speaking of Dr. Lawrie’s +secretary and assistant, “tell him I wish to see him. The treasurer’s +office will not be opened this morning.” + +“Harrison is late,” he commented, as he returned to the others. “He +usually is here by seven-thirty. We must notify Branower also.” He +picked up the telephone and called Branower, the president of the +board of trustees, asking him merely to come to the treasurer’s office +at once. + +“Now give me the particulars,” the president said, turning to Trant. + +“They are all before you,” Trant replied briefly. “The room was filled +with gas. These four outlets of the fixture were turned full on. And +besides,” he touched now with his fingers four tips with composition +ends to regulate the flow, which lay upon the table, “these tips had +been removed, probably with these pincers that lie beside them. Where +the nippers came from I do not know.” + +“They belong here,” Joslyn answered, absently. “Lawrie had the +tinkering habit.” He opened a lower desk drawer, filled with tools and +nails and screws, and dropped the nippers into it. + +“The door was locked inside?” inquired the president. + +“Yes, it is a spring lock,” Trant answered. + +“And he had been burning papers.” The president pointed quietly to the +metal tray. + +Dr. Reiland winced. + +“Some one had been burning papers,” Trant softly interpolated. + +“Some one?” The president looked up sharply. + +“These ashes were all in the tray, I think,” Trant contented himself +with answering. “They scattered when I opened the windows.” + +Joslyn lifted a stiletto letter-opener from the desk and tried to +separate, so as to read, the carbonized ashes left in the tray. They +fell into a thousand pieces; and as he gave up the hopeless attempt to +decipher the writing on them, suddenly the young assistant bent before +the couch, slipped his hand under the body, and drew out a crumpled +paper. It was a recently canceled note for twenty thousand dollars +drawn on the University regularly and signed by Dr. Lawrie, as +treasurer. But as the young psychologist started to study it more +closely, President Joslyn’s hand closed over it and took it from +Trant’s grasp. The president himself merely glanced at it; then, with +whitening face, folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. + +“What is the matter, Joslyn?” Dr. Reiland started up. + +“A note,” the president answered shortly. He took a turn or two +nervously up and down the room, paused and stared down at the face of +the man upon the couch; then turned almost pityingly to the old +professor. + +“Reiland,” he said compassionately, “I must tell you that this +shocking affair is not the surprise to me that it seems to have been +to you. I have known for two weeks, and Branower has known for nearly +as long—for I took him into my confidence—that there were +irregularities in the treasurer’s office. I questioned Lawrie about it +when I first stumbled upon the evidence. To my surprise, Lawrie—one of +my oldest personal friends and certainly the man of all men in whose +perfect honesty I trusted most implicitly—refused to reply to my +questions. He would neither admit nor deny the truth of my +accusations; and he begged me almost tearfully to say nothing about +the matter until the meeting of the trustees to-morrow night. I +understood from him that at, or before, the trustees’ meeting he would +have an explanation to make to me; I did not dream, Reiland, that he +would make instead this”—he motioned to the figure on the couch, “this +confession! This note,” he nervously unfolded the paper again, “is +drawn for twenty thousand dollars. I recall the circumstances of it +clearly, Reiland; and I remember that it was authorized by the +trustees for two thousand dollars, not twenty.” + +“But it has been canceled. See, he paid it! And these,” the old +professor pointed in protest to the ashes in the tray, “if these, too, +were notes—raised, as you clearly accuse—he must have paid them. They +were returned.” + +“Paid? Yes!” Dr. Joslyn’s voice rang accusingly. “Paid from the +university funds! The examination which I made personally of his +books, unknown to Lawrie—for I could not confess at first to my old +friend the suspicions I held against him—showed that he had +methodically entered the notes at the amounts we authorized, and later +entered them again at their face amounts as he paid them. The total +discrepancy exceeds one hundred thousand dollars!” + +“Hush!” Reiland was upon him. “Hush.” + +The morning was advancing. The halls resounded with the tread of +students passing to recitation rooms. + +Trant’s eyes had registered all the room, and now measured Joslyn and +Dr. Reiland. They had ceased to be trusted men and friends of his as, +with the quick analysis that the old professor had so admired in his +young assistant, he incorporated them in his problem. + +“Who filled this out?” Trant had taken the paper from the hand of the +president and asked this question suddenly. + +“Harrison. It was the custom. The signature is Lawrie’s, and the note +is regular. Oh, there can be no doubt, Reiland!” + +“No, no!” the old man objected. “James Lawrie was not a thief!” + +“How else can it be? The tips taken from the fixture, the keyhole +plugged with paper, the shutters—never closed before for ten +years—fastened within, the door locked! Burned notes, the single one +left signed in his own hand! And all this on the very day before his +books must have been presented to the trustees! You must face it, +Reiland—you, who have been closer to Lawrie than any other man—face it +as I do! Lawrie is a suicide—a hundred thousand dollars short in his +accounts!” + +“I have been close to him,” the old man answered bravely. “You and I, +Joslyn, were almost his only friends. Lawrie’s life has been open as +the day; and we at least should know that there can have been no +disgraceful reason for his death. + +“Luther,” the old professor turned, stretching out his hands +pleadingly to his young assistant, as he saw that the face of the +president did not soften, “Do you, too, believe this? It is not so! +Oh, my boy, just before this terrible thing, you were telling me of +the new training which could be used to clear the innocent and prove +the guilty. I thought it braggadocio. I scoffed at your ideas. But if +your words were truth, now prove them. Take this shame from this +innocent man.” + +The young man sprang to his friend as he tottered. “Dr. Reiland, I +_shall_ clear him!” he promised wildly. “I shall prove, I swear, not +only that Dr. Lawrie was not a thief, but—he was not even a suicide!” + +“What madness is this, Trant,” the president demanded impatiently, +“when the facts are so plain before us?” + +“So plain, Dr. Joslyn? Yes,” the young man rejoined, “very plain +indeed—the fact that _before_ the papers were burned, _before_ the gas +was turned on or the tips taken from the fixture, _before_ that door +was slammed and the spring lock fastened it from the outside—Dr. +Lawrie was dead and was laid upon that lounge!” + +“What? What—what, Trant?” Reiland and the president exclaimed +together. But the young man addressed himself only to the president. + +“You yourself, sir, before we told you how we found him, saw that Dr. +Lawrie had not himself lain down, but had been laid upon the lounge. +He is not light; some one almost dropped him there, since the edge of +the lounge cut the plaster on the wall. The single note not burned lay +under his body, where it could scarcely have escaped if the notes were +burned first; where it would most surely have been overlooked if the +body already lay there. Gas would not be pouring out during the +burning, so the tips were probably taken off later. It must have +struck you how theatric all this is, that some one has thought of its +effect, that some one has arranged this room, and, leaving Lawrie +dead, has gone away, closing the spring lock—” + +“Luther!” Dr. Reiland had risen, his hands stretched out before him. +“You are charging murder!” + +“Wait!” Dr. Joslyn was standing by the window, and his eyes had caught +the swift approach of a limousine automobile which, with its plate +glass shimmering in the sun, was taking the broad sweep into the +driveway. As it slowed before the entrance, the president swung back +to those in the room. + +“We two,” he said, “were Lawrie’s nearest friends—he had but one +other. Branower is coming now. Go down and prepare him, Trant. His +wife is with him. She must not come up.” + +Trant hurried down without comment. Through the window of the car he +could see the profile of a woman, and beyond it the broad, powerful +face of a man, with sandy beard parted and brushed after a foreign +fashion. Branower had succeeded his father as president of the board +of trustees of the university. At least half a dozen of the +surrounding buildings had been erected by the elder Branower, and +practically his entire fortune had been bequeathed to the university. + +“Well, Trant, what is it?” the trustee asked. He had opened the door +of the limousine and was preparing to descend. + +“Mr. Branower,” Trant replied, “Dr. Lawrie was found this morning dead +in his office.” + +“Dead? This morning?” A muddy grayness appeared under the flush of +Branower’s cheeks. “Why! I was coming to see him—even before I heard +from Joslyn. What was the cause?” + +“The room was filled with gas.” + +“Asphyxiation!” + +“An accident?” the woman asked, leaning forward. Even as she whitened +with the horror of this news, Trant found himself wondering at her +beauty. Every feature was so perfect, so flawless, and her manner so +sweet and full of charm that, at this first close sight of her, Trant +found himself excusing and approving Branower’s marriage. She was an +unknown American girl, whom Branower had met in Paris and had brought +back to reign socially over this proud university suburb where his +father’s friends and associates had had to accept her and—criticise. + +“Dr. Lawrie asphyxiated,” she repeated, “accidentally, Mr. Trant?” + +“We—hope so, Mrs. Branower.” + +“There is no clew to the perpetrator?” + +“Why, if it was an accident, Mrs. Branower, there was no perpetrator.” + +“Cora!” Branower ejaculated. + +“How silly of me!” She flushed prettily. “But Dr. Lawrie’s lovely +daughter; what a shock to her!” + +Branower touched Trant upon the arm. After his first personal shock, +he had become at once a trustee—the trustee of the university whose +treasurer lay dead in his office just as his accounts were to be +submitted to the board. He dismissed his wife hurriedly. “Now, Trant, +let us go up.” + +President Joslyn met Branower’s grasp mechanically and acquainted the +president of the trustees, almost curtly, with the facts as he had +found them. + +Then the eyes of the two men met significantly. + +“It seems, Joslyn,” Branower used almost the same words that Joslyn +had used just before his arrival, “like a—confession! It is suicide?” +the president of the trustees was revolting at the charge. + +“I can see no other solution,” the president replied, “though Mr. +Trant—” + +“And I might have saved this, at least!” The trustee’s face had grown +white as he looked down at the man on the couch. “Oh, Lawrie, why did +I put you off to the last moment?” + +He turned, fumbling in his pocket for a letter. “He sent this +Saturday,” he confessed, pitifully. “I should have come to him at +once, but I could not suspect this.” + +Joslyn read the letter through with a look of increased conviction. It +was in the clear hand of the dead treasurer. “This settles all,” he +said, decidedly, and he re-read it aloud: + + Dear Branower: I pray you, as you have pity for a man with sixty + years of probity behind him facing dishonor and disgrace, to come to + me at the earliest possible hour. Do not, I pray, delay later than + Monday, I implore you. + + James Lawrie. + +Dr. Reiland buried his face in his hands, and Joslyn turned to Trant. +On the young man’s face was a look of deep perplexity. + +“When did you get that, Mr. Branower?” Trant asked, finally. + +“He wrote it Saturday morning. It was delivered to my house Saturday +afternoon. But I was motoring with my wife. I did not get it until I +returned late Sunday afternoon.” + +“Then you could not have come much sooner.” + +“No; yet I might have done something if I had suspected that behind +this letter was hidden his determination to commit suicide.” + +“Not suicide, Mr. Branower!” Trant interrupted curtly. + +“What?” + +“Look at his face. It is white and drawn. If asphyxiated, it would be +blue, swollen. Before the gas was turned on he was dead—struck dead—” + +“Struck dead? By whom?” + +“By the man in this room last night! By the man who burned those +notes, plugged the keyhole, turned on the gas, arranged the rest of +these theatricals, and went away to leave Dr. Lawrie a thief and a +suicide to—protect himself! Two men had access to the university +funds, handled these notes! One lies before us; and the man in this +room last night, I should say, was the other—” he glanced at the +clock—“the man who at the hour of nine has not yet appeared at his +office!” + +“Harrison?” cried Joslyn and Reiland together. + +“Yes, Harrison,” Trant answered, stoutly. “I certainly prefer him for +the man in the room last night.” + +“Harrison?” Branower repeated, contemptuously. “Impossible.” + +“How impossible?” Trant asked, defiantly. + +“Because Harrison, Mr. Trant,” the president of the trustees rejoined, +“was struck senseless at Elgin in an automobile accident Saturday +noon. He has been in the Elgin hospital, scarcely conscious, ever +since.” + +“How did you learn that, Mr. Branower?” + +“I have helped many young men to positions here. Harrison was one. +Because of that, I suppose, he filled in my name on the ‘whom to +notify’ line of a personal identification card he carried. The +hospital doctors notified me just as I was leaving home in my car. I +saw him at the Elgin hospital that afternoon.” + +Young Trant stared into the steady eyes of the president of the +trustees. “Then Harrison could not have been the man in the room last +night. Do you realize what that implies?” he asked, whitening. “I +preferred, I said, to fix him as Harrison. That would keep both Dr. +Lawrie from being the thief and any close personal intimate of his +from being the man who struck him dead here last night. But with +Harrison not here, the treasurer himself must have known all the +particulars of this crime,” he struck the canceled note in his hand, +“and been concealing it for—that close friend of his who came here +with him. You see how very terribly it simplifies our problem? It was +some one close enough to Lawrie to cause him to conceal the thing as +long as he could, and some one intimate enough to know of the +treasurer’s tinkering habits, so that, even in great haste, he could +think at once of the gas nippers in Lawrie’s private tool drawer. +Gentlemen,” the young assistant tensely added, “I must ask you which +of you three was the one in this room with Dr. Lawrie last night?” + +“What!” The word in three different cadences burst from their +lips—amazement, anger, threat. + +He lifted a shaking hand to stop them. + +“I realize,” he went on more quickly, “that, after having suggested +one charge and having it shown false, I am now making a far more +serious one, which, if I cannot prove it, must cost me my position +here. But I make it now again, directly. One of you three was in this +room with Dr. Lawrie last night. Which one? I could tell within the +hour if I could take you successively to the psychological laboratory +and submit you to a test. But, perhaps I need not. Even without that, +I hope soon to be able to tell the other two, for which of you Dr. +Lawrie concerned himself with this crime, and who it was that in +return struck him dead Sunday night and left him to bear a double +disgrace as a suicide.” + +The young psychologist stood an instant gazing into their startled +faces, half frightened at his own temerity in charging thus the three +most respected men in the university; then, as President Joslyn eyed +him sternly, he caught again the enthusiasm of his reasoning, and +flushed and paled. + +“One of you, at least, knows that I speak the truth,” he said, +determinedly; and without a backward look he burst from the room and, +running down the steps, left the campus. + +It was five o’clock that afternoon, when Trant rang the bell at Dr. +Joslyn’s door. He saw that Mr. Branower and Dr. Reiland had been taken +into the president’s private study before him; and that the manner of +all three was less stern toward him than he had expected. + +“Dr. Reiland and Mr. Branower have come to hear the coroner’s report +to me,” Joslyn explained. “The physicians say Lawrie did not die from +asphyxiation. An autopsy to-morrow will show the cause of his death. +But, at least, Trant—you made accusations this morning which can have +no foundation in truth, but in part of what you said you must have +been correct; for obviously some other person was in the room.” + +“But not Harrison,” Trant replied. “I have just come from Elgin, +where, though I was not allowed to speak with him, I saw him in the +hospital.” + +“You doubted he was there?” Branower asked. + +“I wanted to make sure, Mr. Branower. And I have traced the notes, +too,” the young man continued. “All were made out as usual, signed +regularly by Dr. Lawrie and paid by him personally, upon maturity, +from the university reserve. So I have made only more certain that the +man in the room must have been one of Dr. Lawrie’s closest friends. I +came back and saw Margaret Lawrie.” + +Reiland’s eyes filled with tears. “This terrible thing, with her +unfortunate presence with us at the finding of her father’s body, has +prostrated poor Margaret,” he said. + +“I found it so,” Trant rejoined. “Her memory is temporarily destroyed. +I could make her comprehend little. Yet she knows only of her father’s +death; nothing at all has been said to her of the suspicions against +him. Does his death alone seem cause enough for her prostration? More +likely, I think, it points to some guilty knowledge of her father’s +trouble and whom he was protecting. If so, her very condition makes it +impossible for her to conceal those guilty associations under +examination.” + +“Guilty associations?” Dr. Reiland rose nervously. “Do you mean, +Trant, that you think Margaret knows anything of the loss of this +money? Oh, no, no; it is impossible!” + +“It would at any rate account for her prostration,” the assistant +repeated quietly, “and I have determined to make a test of her for +association with her father’s guilt. I will use in this case, Dr. +Reiland, only the simple association of words—Freud’s method.” + +“How? What do you mean?” Branower and Joslyn exclaimed. + +“It is a method for getting at the concealed causes of mental +disturbance. It is especially useful in diagnosing cases of insanity +or mental breakdown from insufficiently known causes. + +“We have a machine, the chronoscope,” Trant continued, as the others +waited, interrogatively, “which registers the time to a thousandth +part of a second, if necessary. The German physicians merely speak a +series of words which may arouse in the patient ideas that are at the +bottom of his insanity. Those words which are connected with the +trouble cause deeper feeling in the subject and are marked by longer +intervals of time before the word in reply can be spoken. The nature +of the word spoken by the patient often clears the causes for his +mental agitation or prostration. + +“In this case, if Margaret Lawrie had reason to believe that any one +of you were closely associated with her father’s trouble, the speaking +of that one’s name or the mentioning of anything connected with that +one, must betray an easily registered and decidedly measurable +disturbance.” + +“I have heard of this,” Joslyn commented. + +“Excellent,” the president of the trustees agreed, “if Margaret’s +physician does not object.” + +“I have already spoken with him,” Trant replied. “Can I expect you all +at Dr. Lawrie’s to-morrow morning when I test Margaret to discover the +identity of the intimate friend who caused the crime charged to her +father?” + +Dr. Lawrie’s three dearest friends nodded in turn. + + +Trant came early the next morning to the dead treasurer’s house to set +up the chronoscope in the spare bedroom next to Margaret Lawrie’s. + +The instrument he had decided to use was the pendulum chronoscope, as +adapted by Professor Fitz of Harvard University. It somewhat resembled +a brass dumb-bell very delicately poised upon an axle so that the +lower part, which was heavier, could swing slowly back and forth like +a pendulum. A light, sharp pointer paralleled this pendulum. The +weight, when started, swung to and fro in the arc of a circle; the +pointer swung beside it. But the pointer, after starting to swing, +could be instantaneously stopped by an electro-magnet. This magnet was +connected with a battery and wires led from it to the two instruments +used in the test. The first pair of wires connected with two bits of +steel which Trant, in conducting the test, would hold between his +lips. The least motion of his lips to enunciate a word would break the +electric circuit and start swinging the pendulum and the pointer +beside it. The second pair of wires led to a sort of telephone +receiver. When Margaret would reply into this, it would close the +circuit and instantaneously the electro-magnet clamped and held the +pointer. A scale along which the pointer traveled gave, down to +thousandths of a second, the time between the speaking of the +suggesting word and the first associated word replied. + +Trant had this instrument set up and tested before he had to turn and +admit Dr. Reiland. Mr. Branower and President Joslyn soon joined them, +and a moment after a nurse entered supporting Margaret Lawrie. Dr. +Reiland himself scarcely recognized her as the same girl who had come +running across the campus to them only the morning before. Her whole +life had been centered on the father so suddenly taken away. + +Trant nodded to the nurse, who withdrew. He looked to Dr. Reiland. + +“Please be sure that she understands,” he said, softly. The older man +bent over the girl, who had been placed upon the bed. + +“Margaret,” he said tenderly, “we know you cannot speak well this +morning, my dear, and that you cannot think very clearly. We shall not +ask you to do much. Mr. Trant is merely going to say some words to you +slowly, one word at a time; and we want you to answer—you need only +speak very gently—anything at all, any word at all, my dear, which you +think of first. I will hold this little horn over you to speak into. +Do you understand, my dear?” + +The big eyes closed in assent. The others drew nervously nearer. +Reiland took the receiving drum at the end of the second set of wires +and held it before the girl’s lips. Trant picked up the mouth metals +attached to the starting wires. + +“We may as well begin at once,” Trant said, as he seated himself +beside the table which held the chronoscope and took a pencil to write +upon a pad of paper the words he suggested, the words associated and +the time elapsing. Then he put his mouthpiece between his lips. + +“Dress!” he enunciated clearly. The pendulum, released by the magnet, +started to swing. The pointer swung beside it in an arc along the +scale. “Skirt!” Miss Lawrie answered, feebly, into the drum at her +lips. The current caught the pointer instantaneously, and Trant noted +the result thus: + + Dress—2.7 seconds—skirt. + +“Dog!” Trant spoke, and started the pointer again. “Cat!” the girl +answered and stopped it. Trant wrote: + + Dog—2.6 seconds—cat. + +A faint smile appeared on the faces of Mr. Branower and Dr. Joslyn, +but Reiland knew that his young assistant was merely establishing the +normal time of Margaret’s associations through words without probable +connection with any disturbance in her mind. + + [Illustration: A man and a woman are seated, several feet apart, + with speaking horns held up to them. The man sits before an + instrument with a curved scale. Three older gentlemen stand around, + watching the proceedings carefully.] + + Caption: “Dress!” he enunciated clearly. “Skirt!” Miss Lawrie + answered feebly + +“Home,” Trant said; and it was five and two-tenths seconds before he +could write “father.” Reiland moved, sympathetically, but the other +men still watched without seeing any significance in the time +extension. Trant waited a moment. “Money!” he said, suddenly. Dr. +Reiland watched the swinging pointer tremblingly. But “purse” from +Margaret stopped it before it had registered more than her established +normal time for innocent associations. + + Money—2.7 seconds—purse. + +“Note!” Trant said, suddenly; and “letter” he wrote again in two and +six-tenths seconds. + +Dr. Joslyn moved impatiently; and Trant brusquely pulled his chair +nearer the table. The chair legs rasped on the hard-wood floor. +Margaret shivered and, when Trant tried her with the next words, she +merely repeated them. President Joslyn moved again. + +“Cannot you proceed, Trant?” he asked. + +“Not unless we can make her understand again, sir,” the young man +answered. “But I think, Dr. Joslyn, if you would show her what we +mean—not merely try to explain again—we might go on. I mean, when I +say the next word, will you take the mouthpiece from Dr. Reiland and +speak into it some different one?” + +“Very well,” the president agreed, impatiently, “if you think it will +do any good.” + +“Thank you!” Trant replaced his mouthpieces. “October!” He named the +month just ended. The pointer started. “Recitations!” the president of +the university answered in one and nine-tenths seconds. + +“Thank you. Now for Miss Lawrie, Dr. Reiland!” + +“Steal!” he tried; and the girl associated “iron” in two and +seven-tenths seconds. + +“Good!” Trant exclaimed. “If you will show her again, I think we can +go ahead. Fourteenth!” he said to the president. Joslyn replied +“fifteenth” in precisely two seconds and passed the drum back. All +watched Miss Lawrie. But again Trant rasped carelessly his chair upon +the floor and the girl merely repeated the next words. Reiland was +unable to make her understand. Joslyn tried to help. Branower shook +his head skeptically. But Trant turned to him. + +“Mr. Branower, you can help me, I believe, if you will take Dr. +Joslyn’s place. I beg your pardon, Dr. Joslyn, but I am sure your +nervousness prevents you from helping now.” + +Branower hesitated a moment, skeptically; then, smiling, acquiesced +and took up the drum. Trant replaced his mouthpieces. + +“Blow!” he said. “Wind!” Branower answered, quietly. Trant +mechanically noted the time, two seconds, for all were intent upon the +next trial with the girl. + +“Books!” Trant said. “Library!” said the girl, now able to associate +the different words and in her minimum time of two and a half seconds. + +“I think we are going again,” said Trant. “If you will keep on, Mr. +Branower. Strike!” he exclaimed, to start the pointer. “Labor +trouble,” Branower returned in just under two seconds; and again he +guided the girl. For “conceal” she answered “hide” at once. Then Trant +tested rapidly this series: + + Margaret, conceal—2.6—hide. + Branower, figure—2.1—shape. + Margaret, thief—2.8—silver. + Branower, twenty-fifth—4.5—twenty-sixth. + +“Joslyn!” Trant tried an intelligible test word suddenly. He had just +suggested “thief” to the girl; now he named her father’s friend, the +president of the university. But “friend” she was able to associate in +two and six-tenths seconds. Trant sank back and wrote this series +without comment: + + Margaret, Joslyn—2.6—friend. + Branower, wife—4.4—Cora. + Margaret, secret—2.7—Alice. + +Trant glanced up, surprised, considered a moment, but then bowed to +Mr. Branower to guide the girl again, saying “wound,” to which he +wrote the reply “no,” after four and six-tenths seconds. Immediately +Trant made the second direct and intelligible test. + +“Branower!” he shot, suggestively, to the girl; but “friend” she was +again able to associate at once. As the moment before the president of +the trustees had glanced at Joslyn, now the president of the +University nodded to Branower. Trant continued his list rapidly: + + Margaret, Branower—2.7—friend. + Branower, letter-opener—4.9—desk. + +“Father!” Trant tried next. But from this there came no association, +as the emotion was too deep. Trant, recognizing this, nodded to Mr. +Branower to start the next test, and wrote: + + Margaret, father—no association. + Branower, Harrison—5.3—Cleveland. + Margaret, university—2.5—study. + Branower, married—2.1—wife. + Margaret, expose—2.6—camera. + Branower, brother—4.9—sister. + Margaret, sink—2.7—kitchen. + Branower, collapse—4.8—balloon. + +“Reiland!” Trant said to the girl at last. It was as if he had put off +the trial for his own old friend as long as he could. Yet if anyone +had been watching him, they would have noted now the quick flash of +his mismated eyes. But all eyes were upon the swinging pointer of the +chronoscope which, at the mention of her father’s best and oldest +friend in that way, Margaret was unable to stop. One full second it +swung, two, three, four, five, six— + +The young assistant in psychology picked up his papers and arose. He +went to the door and called in the nurse from the next room. “That is +all, gentlemen,” he said. “Shall we go down to the study?” + +“Well, Trant?” President Joslyn demanded impatiently, as the four +filed into the room below, which had been Dr. Lawrie’s. “You act as if +you had discovered some clew. What is it?” + +Trant was closing the door carefully, when a surprised exclamation +made him turn. + +“Cora!” Mr. Branower exclaimed; “you here? Oh! You came to see poor +Margaret!” + +“I couldn’t stay home thinking of you torturing her so this morning!” +The beautiful woman swept their faces with a glance of anxious +inquiry. + +“I told Cora last night something about our test, Joslyn,” Branower +explained, leading his wife toward the door. “You can go up to +Margaret now, my dear.” + +She seemed to resist. Trant fixed his eyes upon her, speculatively. + +“I see no reason for sending Mrs. Branower away if she wishes to stay +and hear with us the results of our test which Dr. Reiland is about to +give us.” Trant turned to the old professor and handed him the sheets +upon which he had written his record. + +“Now, Dr. Reiland, please! Will you explain to us what these tell +you?” + +Dr. Joslyn’s hands clenched and Branower drew toward his wife as +Reiland took the papers and examined them earnestly. But the old +professor raised a puzzled face. + +“Luther,” he appealed, “to me these show nothing! Margaret’s normal +association-time for innocent words, as you established at the start, +is about two and one-half seconds. She did not exceed that in any of +the words with guilty associations which you put to her. From these +results, I should say, it is scientifically impossible that she even +knows her father is accused. Her replies indicate nothing +unless—unless,” he paused, painfully, “because she could associate +nothing with my name you consider that implies—” + +“That you are so close to her that at your name, as at the name of her +father, the emotion was very deep, Dr. Reiland,” the young man +interrupted. “But do not look only at Margaret’s associations! Tell +us, instead, what Dr. Joslyn’s and Mr. Branower’s show!” + +“Dr. Joslyn’s and Mr. Branower’s?” + +“Yes! For they show, do they not—unconsciously, but scientifically and +quite irrefutably—that Dr. Joslyn could not possibly have been +concerned in any way with those notes, part of which were due and paid +upon the fourteenth of October; but that Mr. Branower has a far from +innocent association with them, and with the twenty-fifth of the +month, on which the rest were paid!” + +He swung toward the trustee. “So, Mr. Branower, you were the man in +the room Sunday night! _You_, to save the rascal Harrison, your wife’s +brother and the real thief, struck Dr. Lawrie dead in his office, +burned the raised notes, turned on the gas and left him to seem a +suicide and a thief!” + +For the second time within twenty-four hours, Trant held Dr. Reiland +and the president of the university astounded before him. But Branower +gave an ugly laugh. + +“If you could not spare me, you might at least have spared my wife +this last raving accusation! Come, Cora!” he commanded. + +“I thought you might control yourself, Mr. Branower,” Trant returned. +“And when I saw your wife wished to stay I thought I might keep her to +convince even President Joslyn. You see?” he quietly indicated Mrs. +Branower as she fell, white and shaking, into a chair. “Do not think +that I would have told it in this way if these facts were new to her. +I was sure the only surprise to her would be that we knew them.” + +Branower bent to his wife; but she straightened and recovered. + +“Mr. Branower,” Trant continued then, “if you will excuse chance +errors, I will make a fuller statement. + +“I should say, first, that since you kept his relationship a secret, +this Harrison, your wife’s brother, was a rascal before he came here. +Still you procured him his position in the treasurer’s office, where +he soon began to steal. It was very easy. Dr. Lawrie merely signed +notes; Harrison made them out. He could make them out in erasable ink +and raise them after they were signed, or in any other simple way. +Suffice it that he did raise them and stole one hundred thousand +dollars. When the notes were presented for payment, the matter was +laid before you. You must have promised Dr. Lawrie to make up the +loss, for he paid the notes and entered the payment in his books. Then +the time came when the books must be presented for audit. Lawrie wrote +that last appeal to you to put off the settlement no longer. But +before the letter was delivered you and Mrs. Branower had hurried off +to Elgin to see this Harrison, who was hurt. You got back Sunday +evening and read Dr. Lawrie’s note. You went to him; and, unable to +make payment, there in his office you struck him dead—” + +But Branower was upon him with a harsh cry. + +“You devil! You—devil! But you lie! I did not kill him!” + +“With a blow? Oh, no! You raised no hand against him. But his heart +was weak. At your refusal to carry out your promise, which meant his +ruin, he collapsed before you—dead. Do you wish to continue the +statement now yourself?” + +The wife gathered herself. “It is not so! No!” she forbade, “no!” But +Branower turned on President Joslyn a haggard face. + +“Is this true?” the president demanded sternly. Branower buried his +face in his hands. + +“I will tell you all,” he said thickly. “Harrison, as this fellow +found out somehow, is my wife’s brother. He has always been reckless, +wild; but she—Cora, do not stop me now—loved him and clung to him +as—as a sister sometimes clings to such a brother. They were alone in +the world, Joslyn. She married me only on condition that I save and +protect him. He demanded a position here. I hesitated. His life had +been one long scandal; but never before had he been dishonest with +money. Finally I made it a condition to keep his relationship secret, +and sent for him. I myself first discovered he had raised the notes, +weeks before you came to me with the evidence you had discovered that +something was wrong in the treasurer’s office. As soon as I found it +out, I went to Lawrie. He agreed to keep Harrison about the office +until I could remove him quietly. He paid the notes from the +university reserve, just raised, upon my promise to make it up. David +had lost all speculating in stocks. I could not pay this tremendous +amount in cash at once; but the books were to be audited. Lawrie, who +had expected immediate repayment from me, would not even once present +a false statement. In our argument his heart gave out—I did not know +it was weak—and he collapsed in his chair—dead.” + +Dr. Reiland groaned, wringing his hands. + +“Oh, Professor Reiland!” Mrs. Branower cried now. “He has not told +everything. I—I had followed him!” + +“You followed him?” Trant cried. “Ah, of course!” + +“I thought—I told him,” the wife burst on, “this had happened by +Providence to save David!” + +“Then it was you who suggested to him to leave the stiletto letter +opener in Lawrie’s hand as an evidence of suicide!” + +Branower and his wife both stared at Trant in fresh terror. + +“But you, Mr. Branower,” Trant went on, “not being a woman with a +precious brother to save, could not think of making a wound. You +thought of the gas. Of course! But it was inexcusable in me not to +test for Mrs. Branower’s presence. It was her odd mental association +of a perpetrator with the news of the suspected suicide that first +aroused my suspicions.” + +He turned as though the matter were finished; but met Dr. Joslyn’s +perplexed eyes. The end attained was plain; but to the president of +the university the road by which they had come was dark as ever. +Branower had taken his wife into another room. He returned. + +“Dr. Joslyn,” said Trant, “it is scientifically impossible—as any +psychologist will tell you—for a person who associates the first +suggested idea in two and one-half seconds, like Margaret, to +substitute another without almost doubling the time interval. + +“Observe Margaret’s replies. ‘Iron’ followed ‘steal’ as quickly as +‘cat’ followed ‘dog.’ ‘Silver,’ the thing a woman first thinks of in +connection with burglary, was the first association she had with +‘thief.’ No possible guilty thought there. No guilty secret connected +with her father prevented her from associating, in her regular time, +some girl’s secret with Alice Seaton next door. I saw her innocence at +once and continued questioning her merely to avoid a more formal +examination of the others. I rasped my chair over the floor to disturb +her nerves, therefore, and got you into the test. + +“The first two tests of you, Dr. Joslyn, showed that you had no +association with the notes. The date half of them came due meant +nothing to you. ‘October’ suggested only recitations and ‘fourteenth’ +permitted you to associate simply the succeeding day in an entirely +unsuspicious time. I substituted Mr. Branower. I had explained this +system as getting results from persons with poor mental resistance. I +had not mentioned it as even surer of results when the person tested +is in full control of his faculties, even suspicious and trying to +prevent betraying himself. Mr. Branower clearly thought he could guard +himself from giving me anything. Now notice his replies. + +“The twenty-fifth, the day most of the notes were due, meant so much +that it took double the time, before he could drive out his first +suspicious association, merely to say ‘twenty-sixth.’ I told you I +suspected his wife was at least cognizant of something wrong. It took +him twice the necessary time to say ‘Cora’ after ‘wife’ was mentioned. +He gave the first association, but the chronoscope registered +mercilessly that he had to think it over. ‘Wound’ then brought the +remarkable association ‘no’ at the end of four and six-tenths seconds. +There was no wound; but something had made it so that he had to think +it over to see if it was suspicious. When I first saw that dagger +letter opener on Dr. Lawrie’s desk, I thought that if a man were +trying to make it seem suicide, he must at least have thought of using +the dagger before the gas. Now note the next test, ‘Harrison.’ Any +innocent man, not overdoing it, would have answered at once the name +of the Harrison immediately in all our minds. Mr. Branower thought of +him first, of course, and could have answered in two seconds. To drive +out that and think of President Harrison so as to give a seemingly +‘innocent’ association, ‘Cleveland,’ took him over five seconds. I +then went for the hold of this Harrison, probably, upon Mrs. Branower. +I tried for it twice. The second trial, ‘brother,’ made him think +again for five seconds, practically, before he could decide that +sister was not a guilty word to give. As the first words ‘blow’ only +brought ‘wind’ in two seconds and ‘strike’ suggested ‘labor’ at once, +I knew he could not have struck Dr. Lawrie a blow; and my last words +showed, indeed, that Lawrie probably collapsed before him. And I was +done.” + +Dr. Joslyn was pacing the room with rapid steps. “It is plain. +Branower, you offer nothing in your defense?” + +“There is nothing.” + +“There is much. The university owes a great debt to your father. The +autopsy will show conclusively that Dr. Lawrie died of heart failure. +The other facts are private with ourselves. You can restore this +money. Its absence I will reveal only to the trustees. I shall present +to them at the same time your resignation from the board.” + +He turned to Trant. “But this secrecy, young man, will deprive you of +the reputation you might have gained through the really remarkable +method you used through this investigation.” + +“It makes no difference,” Trant answered, “if you will give me a short +leave from the university. As I mentioned to Dr. Reiland yesterday, +the prosecuting attorney of Chicago was murdered two weeks ago. +Sixteen men—one of them surely guilty—are held; but the criminal +cannot be picked among them. I wish to try the scientific psychology +again. If I succeed, I shall resign and keep after crime—in the new +way!” + + + +CHAPTER II + +The Fast Watch + +Police Captain Crowley—red-headed, alert, brave—stamped into the North +Side police station an hour later than usual and in a very bad temper. +He glared defiantly at the row of patrolmen, reporters, and +busybodies, elbowed aside his desk sergeant without a word, and +slammed into his private office. The customary pile of morning papers, +flaying him in stinging front-page columns, covered his desk. He +glanced them over, grunting; then swept them to the floor and let +himself drop heavily into his chair. + +“He’s _got_ to be guilty!” The big fist struck the table top +desperately. “It’s got to be,” the hoarse voice iterated +determinedly—“_him!_” He had checked the last word as the door swung +open, only to utter it more forcibly as he recognized the desk +sergeant. + +“Kanlan, eh, Ed?” the desk sergeant ventured. “You have him at +Harrison Street station again the boys tell me.” + +“Yes, we have him.” + +“You got nothing out of him yet?” + +“No, nothing—yet!” + +“But you think it’s him?” + +“Who said anything about thinking?” Crowley glanced to see that the +door was shut. “I said it’s _got_ to be him! And—it’s got to, whether +or no, ain’t it?” + +A month before, Randolph Bronson—the city prosecuting attorney for +whose unpunished murder Crowley was under fire—had dared to try to +break up and send to the penitentiary the sixteen men who formed the +most notorious and dangerous gambling “ring” in the city. It grew +certain that some of the sixteen would stick at nothing to put the +prosecutor out of the way. The chief of police particularly charged +Crowley, therefore, to see to Bronson’s safety in the North Side +precinct, where the young attorney boarded. But Crowley had failed; +for within twelve days of the warning, early one morning, Bronson had +been found dead a block from his boarding house—murdered. Crowley had +been unable to fix a clew upon a single one of the sixteen. He had +confidently arrested them all at once, but after his stiffest “third +degree” had to release them. Now, in desperation, he had rearrested +Kanlan. + +“Sure,” said the desk sergeant, “Kanlan or some one’s got to be guilty +soon—whether or no. But if you ain’t got the goods on Kanlan yet, +maybe you’d want to talk to a lad that’s waiting in front.” + +“Who is he? What does he know?” + +“Trant’s his name—from the university, he says. And he says he can +pick our man.” + +“What is he—student?” + +“He says some sort of perfesser.” + +“Professor!” Crowley half turned away. + +“Not that kind, Ed.” The desk sergeant bent one arm and tapped his +biceps. “He’s got plenty of this; and he’s got hair, too”—the sergeant +glanced at Crowley’s red head—“as red as any, Cap.” + +“Send him in.” + +Crowley looked up quickly at Trant when he entered. He saw a young man +with hair indeed as thick and red as his own; and with a figure, for +his more medium height, quite as muscular as any police officer’s. He +saw that the young man’s blue-gray eyes were not exact mates—that the +right was quite noticeably more blue than the other, and under it was +a small, pink scar which reddened conspicuously with the slightest +flush of the face. + +“Luther Trant, Captain Crowley,” Trant introduced himself. “For two +years I have been conducting experiments in the psychological +laboratory of the university—” + +“Psycho—Lord! Another clairvoyant!” + +“If the man who killed Bronson is one of the sixteen men you suspect, +and you will let me examine them, properly, I can pick the murderer at +once.” + +“Examine them properly! Saints in Heaven, son! Say! that gang needed a +stiff drink all round when we were through examining them; and never a +word or a move gave a man away!” + +“Those men—of course not!” Trant returned hotly. “For they can hold +their tongues and their faces, and you looked at nothing else! But +while you were examining them, if I, or any other trained +psychologist, had had a galvanometer contact against the palms of +their hands, or—” + +“A palmist, Lord preserve us!” Crowley cried. “Say! don’t ever think +we needed you. We got our man yesterday—Kanlan—and we’ll have a +confession out of him by night. Sergeant!” he called, as the door +opened to admit a man, “do you know what you let in—a palmist!” But it +was not the sergeant who entered. “A-ah! Inspector Walker!” + +“Morning, Crowley,” Trant heard the quiet response behind him as he +turned. A giant in the uniform of an inspector of police almost filled +the doorway. + +“Come with me, young man,” he said. “Miss Allison was passing with me +outside here and we heard some of what you’ve been saying. We’d like +to hear more.” + +Trant looked up at the intelligent face and followed. A young woman +was waiting outside the door. As the inspector pointed Trant toward a +quiet room in the rear of the building, she followed. Inspector Walker +fastened the door behind them. The girl had seated herself beside the +table in the center, and as she turned to Trant she raised her veil +above her brown, curling hair, and pinned it over her hat. He +recognized her at once as the girl to whom Bronson had become engaged +barely a week before he had been killed. On her had fallen all the +horrors as well as the grief of Bronson’s murder, and Trant did not +wonder that the shadow of that event was visible in her sweet face. +But he read there also another look—a look of apprehension and +defiance. + +“I was coming in with Inspector Walker to see Captain Crowley,” the +girl explained to Trant, “when I overheard you telling him that you +think this—Kanlan—couldn’t have killed Mr. Bronson. I hope this is +so.” + +Trant looked to Walker. “Miss Allison’s father was Judge Allison, the +truest man who ever sat on the bench in this city,” Walker responded. +“His daughter knows she must not try to prevent us from punishing a +man who murders; but neither of us wants to believe Kanlan is the +man—for good reasons. Now, what was that you were telling Crowley?” + +“I was trying to tell Captain Crowley of a simple test which must +prove Kanlan’s guilt or innocence at once, and, if necessary, then +find the guilty man. I have been conducting experiments to register +and measure the effects and reactions of emotions. A person under the +influence of fear or the stress of guilt must always betray signs. A +hardened man can control all the signs for which the police ordinarily +look; he can control his features, prevent his face flushing +noticeably. But no man, however hardened or trained to control +himself, can prevent many minute changes which by scientific means are +measurable and betray him hopelessly. No man, however on his guard—to +take the simplest test—can control the sweat glands in the palms of +his hands, which always moisten under emotion.” + +“A scared man sweats; that’s so,” Walker assented. + +“So psychologists have devised a simple way of registering the +emotions shown through the glands in the palms of the hand,” Trant +continued, “by means of the galvanometer. I have one in the box I left +with the desk sergeant. It is merely a device for measuring the +varying strength of an ordinary electric current. The man tested holds +in each hand a contact metal wired to the battery. When he grasps them +a weak and imperceptible current passes through his body or—if his +hands are very dry—perhaps no current at all. He is then examined and +confronted with circumstances or objects connected with the crime. If +he is innocent, the objects have no significance in his mind, and +cause no emotion. His face betrays none; neither can his hands. But if +he is guilty, though he still manages to control his face, he cannot +prevent the moisture from flowing from the glands in his palms. +Understand me; I do not mean an amount of moisture noticeable to the +eye, but it is _enough to make an electric contact through the metals +which he holds—enough to register very plainly upon the galvanometer, +whose moving needle, traveling in the scale, betrays him pitilessly_!” + +The inspector shook his head skeptically. + +“I recognize that this is new to you,” said Trant. “But I am telling +you no theory. Using the galvanometer properly, we can this morning +determine—scientifically and irrefutably—whether or not Kanlan killed +Mr. Bronson, and later, if it is not he, which of the others is the +assassin. May I try it?” + +Miss Allison, more white than before, had risen, and laid her hand +upon Trant’s sleeve. + +“Oh, try it, Mr. Trant!” she cried. “Try—try anything which can stop +them from showing through this gambler, Kanlan, and Mrs. Hawtin that +Mr. Bronson—” She broke off, and turned to the inspector. Walker was +looking Trant over again. The psychologist faced the police officer +eagerly. “I can’t believe it’s Kanlan,” said Walker. + + [Illustration: A gentleman, a man in a police uniform, and a + gentlewoman are speaking at a table. The woman is dressed in black, + with an elaborate hat and veil, and is standing up from her chair, + placing one hand on the arm of the police officer as she speaks.] + + Caption: “Oh, try it, Mr. Trant!” she cried. “Try—try anything” + +Until now Trant had been impressed chiefly by the huge bulk of the +inspector, but as Walker spoke of the gambler whom Crowley, to save +his own face, was trying to “railroad” to execution, Trant saw in the +inspector something approaching sentimentality. For he was that common +anomaly of the police department, an officer born and bred among the +criminals he is set to watch. + +“I’ll take you to Kanlan,” the inspector granted at last. “As things +are going with him, you can’t hurt, and maybe you can help. Everyone +knows Kanlan would have put out Bronson; but not—I am certain—that +way. I was born in the basement opposite Kanlan’s. If Mr. Bronson had +been attacked in broad day, with a detective on each side of him and +all of them had been beaten up or killed, I’d have been the first to +step over to Kanlan and say, ‘Jake, you’re wanted.’ But Bronson was +not caught that way. The man that killed him waited till the house was +quiet, until Crowley’s guards were asleep, and then somehow or +other—how is a bigger mystery than the murder itself—got him out alone +in the street at two o’clock in the morning, and struck him dead from +a dark doorway. + +“But I’m not taking you to Kanlan only to help save him from Crowley.” +Walker straightened suddenly as his eyes met the girl’s. “It’s to help +Miss Allison, too. For the only clew Crowley or anyone else has to the +man who murdered Bronson is in connection with the means of getting +Bronson out of the house that way. Crowley has discovered that a Mrs. +Hawtin, whom Kanlan can control through her gambling debts to him, is +living a few doors beyond the place where Bronson’s body was found. +Crowley claims he can show Mrs. Hawtin was a friend of Bronson’s, +and—” The inspector hesitated, glancing at the girl. + +“Captain Crowley’s case,” said Miss Allison, finishing, “is based on +the charge that after Randolph—Mr. Bronson—had returned to his rooms +from seeing me that evening, he went out again two hours later to +answer a summons from this—this Mrs. Hawtin. So long as Captain +Crowley can convict some one for this crime, they seem to care nothing +how they slander and blacken the name of the man who is killed—as +little as they care for those left who—love him.” + +“I see,” said Trant. His eyes rested a moment upon the inspector, then +again upon the girl. It surprised him to feel, as his eyes met hers +that short moment, how suddenly this problem, which he had set himself +to solve, had changed from a scientific examination and selection of a +guilty man to the saving—though through the same science—of the +reputation of a man no longer able to defend himself, and the honor of +a woman devoted to that man’s memory. + +“But before I can examine Kanlan, or help you in any other way, Miss +Allison,” he explained gently, “I must be sure of my facts. It is not +too much to ask you to go over them with me? No, Inspector Walker,” he +anticipated the big police officer’s objection as Walker started to +speak, “if I am to help Miss Allison, I cannot spare her now.” + +“Please do not, Mr. Trant,” the girl begged bravely. + +“Thank you. Mr. Bronson, I believe, was still boarding on Superior +Street at a bachelor’s boarding house?” + +“Yes,” the girl replied. “It is kept by Mrs. Mitchell, a very +respectable widow with a little boy. Randolph had boarded with her for +six years. She had once been in great trouble and he was kind to her. +He often spoke of how she gave him motherly care.” + +“Motherly?” Trant asked. “How old is she?” + +“Twenty-seven or eight, I should think.” + +“Thank you. How long had you known Mr. Bronson, Miss Allison?” + +“A little over two years.” + +“Yes; and intimately, how long?” + +“Almost from the first.” + +“But you were not engaged to him until just the week before his +death?” + +“Yes; our engagement was not made known till just two days before +his—death.” + +“Inspector Walker, how long before Mr. Bronson was killed was any of +the ‘ring’ likely to put him out of their way?” + +“For two weeks at least.” + +“It fits Crowley’s case, of course, as well as—any other,” said Trant, +thoughtfully, “that two days after the announcement of his engagement +was the first time anyone could actually catch him alone. But it is +worth noting, inspector. Mr. Bronson called upon you that evening, +Miss Allison? Everything was as usual between you?” + +“Entirely, Mr. Trant. Of course we both recognized the constant danger +he was in. I knew how and why he had to be guarded. His regular man, +from the city detail, had been with him all day downtown; and Captain +Crowley’s man came with him to our house. Mr. Bronson went back to his +boarding house with him precisely at half past ten.” + +“He reached the boarding house,” Inspector Walker took up the account, +“a little before eleven and went at once to his room. At twelve-thirty +the last boarder came in. Crowley’s man immediately chained the front +door and made all fast. He went to the kitchen to get something to +eat, he says, and may have fallen asleep, though he denies it. +However, until after Bronson’s body was found, we have made certain, +there was no alarm inside or out.” + +“There is no doubt that Mr. Bronson was in the house when it was +locked up?” + +“None. The last boarder, as he went to his room, saw Bronson sitting +at his table going over some papers. He was still dressed but said he +was going to bed immediately. An hour and a half later—with no clew as +to how he went out, with no discoverable reason for his going out +except that given by Crowley—a patrolman found Bronson’s body on the +sidewalk a block east of his boarding house. He had been struck in the +forehead and killed instantly by a man who must have waited for him in +the vestibule of a little electro-plating shop.” + +“_Must_ have, inspector?” Trant questioned. + +“Yes; he chose this shop doorway because it was the darkest place in +the block.” + +“At what time was that—exactly?” Trant interrupted. “The papers say +the attack was made ten minutes after two o’clock—that the watch in +his pocket was broken and stopped by his fall at exactly ten minutes +after two. Is that correct?” + +“Yes,” the inspector replied. “The watch stopped at 2.10; but, in +spite of that, the exact time of the murder must have been nearer two +than ten minutes later, for Mr. Bronson’s watch was fast.” + +“What?” Trant cried. “You say his watch was fast? I had not heard of +that!” + +“It was noticed two days ago,” the inspector explained, “that the +record shows that the patrolman who found Bronson’s body rang up from +the nearest patrol box at five minutes after two. If the attack was +made just before, the watch must have been at least ten minutes fast, +so we have the time, after all, only approximately.” + +“I see.” Trant turned to the girl. “It is strange, Miss Allison, that +a man like Mr. Bronson carried an incorrect watch.” + +“He did not. It was always right.” + +“Was it right that evening?” + +“Why, yes. I remember that he compared his time with our clock before +leaving.” + +Trant leaped up, excitedly. “What? What? But still,” he calmed +himself, “whether at two or ten minutes after two, the main question +is the same. You, too, Miss Allison, can you give no possible reason +why Mr. Bronson might have gone out?” + +“I have tried a thousand times in these terrible two weeks to think of +some reason, but I cannot. Our house is in a different direction than +that he took. The car line to the city is another way. He knew no one +in that direction—except Mrs. Hawtin.” + +“You knew that he knew her?” + +“Of course, Mr. Trant! He had convicted her once for shoplifting, but, +like everyone whom his place had made him punish, he watched her +afterwards, and, when she tried to be honest, he helped her as he had +helped a hundred like her—men and women—though his enemies tried to +discredit and disgrace him by accusing him of untrue motives. Oh, Mr. +Trant, you do not know—you cannot understand—what shadows and pitfalls +surround a man in the position Mr. Bronson held. That is why, though +for two years we had known and loved each other, he waited so long +before asking me to marry him. I am thankful that he spoke in time to +give me the right to defend him now before the world! They took his +life; they shall not take his good name! No! No! They shall not! Help +me, Mr. Trant, if you can—help me!” + +“Inspector Walker!” said Trant tensely, “I understand that all of the +sixteen men of the ring claimed alibis. Was Kanlan’s one of the best +or the worst?” + +The inspector hesitated. “One of the worst,” he replied, unwillingly. +“I am sorry to say, the very worst.” + +To his surprise, Trant’s eyes blazed triumphantly. “Miss Allison,” +said he, quietly and decidedly, “I had not expected till I had tested +Kanlan to be able to assure you that he is not guilty. But now I think +I am safe in promising it—provided you are sure that Mr. Bronson’s +watch was right when he left you that night. And, Inspector Walker, if +you are also certain that the murderer waited in the vestibule of that +electro-plating shop, it will be soon, indeed, that we can give +Crowley a better—or rather a worse—man to send to trial in Kanlan’s +place.” + +Again Trant was conscious that the giant inspector was estimating not +the incomprehensible statement he had made, but Trant himself. And +again Walker seemed satisfied. + +“When can I go with you to Harrison Street to prove this, inspector?” + +“I shall see Miss Allison home, and meet you at Harrison Street in an +hour.” + +“You will let me know the result of the test at once, Mr. Trant?” + +“At once, Miss Allison.” Trant took his hat and dashed from the +station. + + +Harrison Street police station, Chicago, is headquarters of the first +police division in the third city of the world. But neither London nor +New York, the two larger cities, nor Paris, whose population of two +million and a half Chicago is now passing, possesses a police division +more complex, diverse, and puzzling in the cosmopolitan diversity of +the persons arrested than this first of Chicago. + +But from all the dozen diversities brought to the Harrison Street +station daily, for two weeks none had challenged in interest the case +against Jake Kanlan, the racing man and gambler, rearrested and held +for the murder of Bronson. Trant appreciated this as, with his +galvanometer and batteries in a suit case, he pushed his way among +patrolmen, detectives, reporters, and the curious into the station. +But at once he caught sight of the giant inspector, Walker. + +“You’re late.” Walker led him into a side room. “I’ve been putting in +the time telling Sweeny here,” Walker introduced him to one of the two +men within, “and Captain Crowley, how you mean to work your scheme. +We’ve been waiting for you an hour!” + +“I’m sorry,” Trant apologized. “I have been going over the files of +the papers just before and after the murder. And I must admit, Captain +Crowley,” Trant conceded, “that Kanlan had as strong a reason as any +for wanting Bronson out of the way. But I found one remarkably +significant thing. You have seen it?” He pulled a folded newspaper +from his pocket and handed it to them. “I mean this paragraph at the +bottom of the front page.” + +The captain read it eagerly, then leaned back and laughed. “Sure, I +saw it,” he derided. “It’s that old Johanson fake, Sweeny—and he +thought it was a clew!” The inspector took the paper. + +“Threatener of Bronson Breaks Jail” was the heading, and under it was +this short paragraph: + + James Johanson, the notorious Stockyards murderer, whom City + Attorney Bronson sent up for life three years ago, escaped from the + penitentiary early this morning and is thought by the officials to + be making his way to this city. His trial will be remembered for the + dramatic and spectacular denunciation of the Prosecuting Attorney by + the convicted man upon his condemnation, and his threat to free + himself and “do for” Bronson. + +“You see the date of the paper?” said Trant. “It is the five o’clock +edition of the evening before Bronson was murdered! Johanson is +reported escaped and at once Bronson is killed.” + +Crowley snickered patronizingly. “So you thought, before your +palmistry, you could string us with that?” he jeered. “You might +better have kept us waiting a little longer, young man, and you’d have +found out that Johanson couldn’t have done it, for he never escaped. +It was a slip of a sneak thief, Johnson, that escaped, and he was on +his way back to Joliet before night. The _News_ got the name wrong, +that’s all, son.” + +“I was quite able to find that out, too, before coming here, Captain +Crowley,” Trant said quietly, “both that Johanson never escaped and +that all evening papers except the _News_ had the name correctly. Even +the _News_ corrected its account in its later edition. And I did not +say that Johanson himself had anything to do with it. But either you +must claim it a strange coincidence that, within eight hours after a +report was current in the city that Johanson had broken out and was +coming to murder Bronson, Bronson was actually murdered, or else you +must admit the practical certainty that the man waiting to murder +Bronson saw this account, and, not knowing it was incorrect, chose +that night to kill the attorney, so as to lay it to Johanson.” He +picked up his suit case. “But come, let us test Kanlan.” + +“I haven’t told Jake what you’re going to do to him,” Walker +volunteered, as he led the three to the cells below. Sweeny, at +Crowley’s nod, had brought with him a satchel from the upper office. + +Trant had trained himself to avoid definite expectation; yet as he +faced the man within he felt a momentary surprise. For at first he +could see in Kanlan only a portly, quiet man, carelessly dressed in +clothes a knowing tailor had cut. But as his eyes saw clearer he +perceived that the portliness was not of flesh but of huge muscles, +thinly coated with fat, that the plump, olive-skinned cheeks concealed +a square, fighting jaw, and that his quiet was the loll of the +successful, city-bred animal, bound by no laws but his own—but an +animal powerful enough to prefer to fight fair. His heavy lids lifted +to watch listlessly as Trant opened his suit case and took out the +instruments for the test. + +The galvanometer consisted merely of a little dial with a needle +arranged to register on a scale an electric current down to hundredths +of a milliampère. Trant attached two wires to the binding posts of the +instrument, the circuit including a single cell battery. Each wire +connected with a simple steel cylinder electrode. With one held in +each hand, and the palms of the hands slightly dampened to perfect the +contact, a light current passed through the body and swung the +delicate needle over the scale to register the change in the current. +Walker, and even Captain Crowley, saw more clearly now how, if it was +a fact that moisture must come from the glands in the palm of the hand +under emotion, the changes in the amount of the current passing +through the person holding the electrodes must register upon the dial, +and the subject be unable to conceal his emotional change when +confronted with guilty objects. Kanlan, comprehending nothing, but +assured by Walker’s nod that the test was fair, put out his hands for +the electrodes. + +“You’re wrong, friend,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know your game. But +I ain’t afraid, if it’s on the square. Of course, I ain’t sorry he’s +dead, but—I didn’t do it!” + +Trant glanced quickly at the dial. A current, so very slight that he +knew it must be entirely imperceptible to Kanlan, registered upon the +scale; and having registered it, the needle remained steady. + +“Watch it!” he commanded; then checked himself. “No; wait.” He felt in +his pocket. Removing the newspaper which he had there, still folded at +the account of the escape of the convict Johanson, he looked about for +some place to put it, and then laid it upon Kanlan’s knee. He took a +little phial from his pocket, uncorked it as if to oil the mechanism +about the galvanometer, but spilled it on the floor. The stifling, +sickening odor of banana oil pervaded the cell; and as Kanlan smiled +at his clumsiness, Trant took his watch from his pocket and—with the +gamester still watching him curiously—slowly set it forward an hour. +The needle of the galvanometer dial, in plain view of all, waited +steady in its place. The young psychologist glanced at it satisfiedly. + +“Well, what’s the matter with the show?” Crowley jeered, impatiently. +“Commence.” + +“Commence, Captain Crowley?” Trant raised himself triumphantly. “I +have finished it.” They stared at him as though distrusting his +sanity. “You have seen for yourself the needle stand steady in place,” +Trant continued. “Inspector Walker”—he turned to the friendly superior +officer as he recognized the hopelessness of explaining to Crowley—“I +understood, of course, when I asked you to bring me here that, even if +my test should prove conclusive to me, yet I could scarcely hope to +have the police yet accept it. I shall let Miss Allison know that +Kanlan can have had no possible connection with the crime against Mr. +Bronson; but I understand that I can clear Kanlan in the eyes of the +police only by giving Captain Crowley,” Trant bowed to that astounded +officer, “the real murderer in his place.” + +“You say you have made the test, Trant?” Walker challenged, in +stupefaction. But before Trant could answer, Crowley pushed him aside, +roughly, and stooped to the satchel which Sweeny had brought. + +“Of course he hasn’t, Walker!” he answered, disgustedly. “He don’t +dare to, and is throwing a bluff. But I’ll show him, with his own +machine, too, if there’s anything to it at all!” The captain stooped +and, pulling from the opened valise a photograph of the spot where the +murder was committed, he dashed it before Kanlan’s face. Instantly, as +both the captain and inspector turned to Trant’s galvanometer needle, +the little instrument showed a reaction. Up it crept, higher and +higher, over the scale of the dial, as the sweat, surprised by the +guilty picture from the gambler’s hands, made the contact with the +electrodes in his palms and the current flowed through his body. + +“See! So it wasn’t all a lie!” Crowley pointed triumphantly to the +instrument. He stooped again to the satchel and put a photograph of +the body of the murdered attorney before the suspect’s eyes. The +stolid Kanlan still held the muscles of his face firm and no flush +betrayed him; but again, as Crowley, Sweeny, and Walker excitedly +stared at the galvanometer needle it jumped and registered the +stronger current. Crowley, with a victorious grunt, lifted the +blood-stained coat of the murdered attorney and rubbed the sleeve +against Kanlan’s cheek. At this, and again and again with each +presentation of objects connected with the crime, the merciless little +galvanometer showed an ever-increasing reaction. Trant shrugged his +shoulders. + +“Jake, we got the goods on you now!” Crowley took the gambler’s chin +roughly between his tough fists and pushed back his head until the +uneasy eyes met his own. “You’d best confess. You killed him!” + +“I did not!” Kanlan choked. + +“You’re a liar! You killed him. I knew it, anyway. If you were a +nigger you’d have been lynched before this!” + +For the first time since Crowley took the test into his own hands, +Trant, watching the galvanometer needle, started in surprise. He gazed +suddenly at Kanlan’s olive face, surmounted by his curly black hair, +and smiled. The needle had jumped up higher again, completing +Crowley’s triumph. They filed out of the cell, and back to the little +office. + +“So I proved him on your own machine,” Crowley rejoiced openly, “you +four-flushing patent palmist!” + +“You’ve proved, Captain Crowley,” Trant returned quietly, “what I +already knew, that in your previous examinations with Kanlan, and +probably with the rest also, you have ruined the value of those things +you have there for any proper test, by exhibiting them with threats +again and again. That was why I had to make the test I did. I tell you +once more that Kanlan is not the murderer of Bronson. And I am glad to +be able to tell Miss Allison the same thing, as I promised her, at the +very earliest moment.” He picked up the telephone receiver and gave +the Allisons’ number. But suddenly the receiver was wrenched from his +hand. + +“Not yet,” Inspector Walker commanded. “You’ll tell Miss Allison +nothing until we know more about this case.” + +“I don’t ask you to release Kanlan yet, inspector,” Trant said +quietly. Crowley laughed offensively. “That is, not until I have +proved for you the proper man in his place.” He drew a paper from his +pocket. “I cannot surely name him yet; but picking the most likely of +them from what I read, I advise you to rearrest Caylis.” + +Crowley, throwing himself into a chair, burst into loud laughter. “He +chose Caylis, Sweeny, did you hear that?” Crowley gasped. “That’s in +the same class as the rest of your performance, young fellow. Say, I’m +sorry not to be able to oblige you,” he went on, derisively, “but, you +see, Caylis was the only one of the whole sixteen who _couldn’t_ have +killed Bronson; for he was with me—talking to me—in the station, from +half past one that morning, half an hour before the murder, till half +past two, a half hour after!” + +Trant sprang to his feet excitedly. “He was?” he cried. “Why didn’t +you tell me that before? Inspector Walker, I said a moment ago that I +could not be sure which of the other fifteen killed Bronson; but now I +say arrest Caylis—Caylis is the murderer!” + +Captain Crowley and Sweeny stared at him again, as if believing him +demented. + +“I would try to explain, Inspector Walker,” said Trant, “but believe +me, I mean no offense when I say that I think it would be absolutely +useless now. But—” he hesitated, as the inspector turned coldly away. +“Inspector Walker, you said this morning you knew Kanlan from his +birth. How much negro blood is there in him?” + +“How did you know that?” cried Walker, staring at Trant in amazement. +“He’s always passed for white. He’s one eighth nigger. But not three +people know it. Who told you?” + +“The galvanometer,” Trant replied, quietly, “the same way it told me +that he was innocent and Crowley’s test useless. Now, will you +rearrest Caylis at once and hold him till I can get the galvanometer +on him?” + +“I will, young fellow!” Walker promised, still staring at him. “If +only for that nigger blood.” + +But Crowley had one more shot to make. “Say, you,” he interrupted, +“you threw a bluff about an hour back that the man who killed Bronson +got the idea from the _News_. Sweeny, here, has been having these +fellows shadowed since weeks before the murder. Sweeny knows what +papers they read.” He turned to the detective. “Sweeny, what paper did +Kanlan always read?” + +“The _News_.” + +“And Caylis—what did he _never_ read?” + +“The _News_,” the detective answered. + +“Well, what have you for that now, son?” Crowley swung back. + +“Only thanks, Captain Crowley, for that additional help. Inspector +Walker, I am willing to rest my case against Caylis upon the fact that +he was with Crowley at two o’clock. That alone is enough to hang him, +and not as an accessory, but as the principal who himself struck the +blow. But as there obviously was an accessory—and what Crowley has +just said makes it more certain—perhaps I had better make as sure of +that accessory, and also get a better answer for the real mystery, +which is why and how Bronson left his house and went in that direction +at that time in the morning, before I give Miss Allison the news for +which she is waiting.” + +He took his hat and left them staring after him. + + +An hour later Trant jumped from a North Side car and hurried down +Superior Street. Two blocks east of the car line he recognized from +the familiar pictures in the newspapers the frescoed and once +fashionable front of the Mitchell boarding house, where Bronson had +lived. He was seeing it for the first time, but with barely more than +a curious glance, he went on toward the place, a block east, where the +attorney’s body had been found. He noted carefully the character of +the buildings on both sides of the street. + +There was a grocery, between two old mansions; beyond the next house a +cigar store; then another boarding house, and the electroplater’s shop +before which the body was found. The little shop, smelling strongly of +the oils and acids used in the electroplater’s trade, was of one +story. Trant noted the convenient vestibule flush with the walk, and +the position of the street lamp which would throw its light on anyone +approaching, while concealing with a dark shadow one waiting in the +vestibule. + +The physical arrangement was all as he had seen it a score of times in +the newspapers; but as he stared about, the true key to the mystery of +Bronson’s death came to him magnified a hundred times in its +intensity. Who waited there in that vestibule and struck the blow +which slew Bronson, he had felt from the first would be at once +answerable under scientific investigation. But the other question, how +could the murderer wait so confidently there, knowing that Bronson +would come out of his house alone at that time of the night and pass +that way, was less simple of solution. + +He glanced beyond the shop to the house where, Inspector Walker had +told him, the questionable Mrs. Hawtin lived. Beyond that he saw a +sign—that of a Dr. O’Connor. He swung about and returned to the house +where Bronson had boarded. + +“Tell Mrs. Mitchell that Mr. Trant, who is working with Inspector +Walker, wishes to speak with her,” he said to the maid, and he had a +moment to estimate the parlor before the mistress of the house +entered. + +A white-faced, brown-eyed little boy of seven, with pallid cheeks and +golden hair, had fled between the portières as Trant entered. The room +was not at all typical of the boarding house. Its ornament and its +arrangement showed the imprint of a decided, if not cultivated, +feminine personality. The walls lacked the usual faded family +portraits, and there was an entire absence of ancient knickknacks to +give evidence of a past gentility. So he was not surprised when the +mistress of this house entered, pretty after a spectacular fashion, +impressing him with a quiet reserve of passion and power. + +“I am always ready to see anyone who comes to help poor Mr. Bronson,” +she said. + +The little boy, who had fled at Trant’s approach, ran to her. But even +as she sat with her arms about the child, Trant tried in vain to cloak +her with that atmosphere of motherliness of which Miss Allison had +spoken. + +“I heard so, Mrs. Mitchell,” said Trant. “But as you have had to tell +the painful details so many times to the police and the reporters, I +shall not ask you for them again.” + +“Do you mean,” she looked up quickly, “that you bring me news instead +of coming to ask it?” + +“No, I want your help, but only in one particular. You must have known +Mr. Bronson’s habits and needs more intimately than any other person. +Recently you may have thought of some possible reason for his going +out in that manner and at that time, other than that held by the +police.” + +“Oh, I wish I could, Mr. Trant!” the woman cried. “But I cannot!” + +“I saw the sign of a doctor—Doctor O’Connor—just beyond the place +where he was killed. Do you think it possible that he was going to +Doctor O’Connor’s, or have you never thought of that?” + +“I thought of that, Mr. Trant,” the woman returned, a little +defiantly. “I tried to hope, at first, that that might be the reason +for his going out. But, as I had to tell the detectives who asked me +of that some time ago, I know that Mr. Bronson so intensely disliked +Doctor O’Connor that he could not have been going to him, no matter +how urgent the need. Besides, Doctor Carmeachal, who always attended +him, lives around this corner, the other way.” She indicated the +direction of the car line. + +“I see,” Trant acknowledged, thoughtfully. “Yet, if Mr. Bronson +disliked Doctor O’Connor, he must have met him. Was it here?” He +leaned over and took the hand of the pallid little boy. “Perhaps +Doctor O’Connor comes to see your son?” + +“Oh, yes, Mr. Trant!” the child put in eagerly. “Doctor O’Connor +always comes to see me. I like Doctor O’Connor.” + +“Still, I agree with you, Mrs. Mitchell,” Trant raised his eyes calmly +to meet the woman’s suddenly agitated ones, “that Mr. Bronson could +scarcely have been going to consult Doctor O’Connor for himself in +such a fashion and at—half past one.” + +“At two, Mr. Trant,” the woman corrected. + +“Ten minutes after, to be exact, if you mean when the watch was +stopped!” The woman arose suddenly, with a motion sinuous as that of a +startled tiger. It was as though in the quiet parlor a note of passion +and alarm had been struck. Trant bowed quietly as she rang for the +maid to show him out. But when he was alone with the maid in the hall +his eyes flashed suddenly. + +“Tell me,” he demanded, swiftly, “the night Mr. Bronson was killed, +was there anything the matter with the telephone?” + +The girl hesitated and stared at him queerly. “Why, yes, sir,” she +said. “A man had to come next day to fix it.” + +“The break was on the inside—I mean, the man worked in the house?” + +“Why—yes, sir.” The maid had opened the door. Trant stopped with a +smothered exclamation and picked up a newspaper just delivered. He +spread it open and saw that it was the five o’clock edition of the +_News_. + +“This is Mrs. Mitchell’s paper,” he demanded, “the one she always +reads?” + +“Why, yes, sir,” the girl answered again. + +Trant paused to consider. “Tell Mrs. Mitchell everything I asked you,” +he decided finally, and hurried down the steps and back to the police +station. + +In the room where the desk sergeant told him Inspector Walker was +awaiting him Trant found both Crowley and Sweeny with the big officer, +and a fourth man, a stranger to him. The stranger was slight and dark. +He had a weak, vain face, but one of startling beauty, with great, +lazy brown eyes, filled with childlike innocence. He twisted his +mustache and measured Trant curiously, as the blunt, red-headed young +man entered. + +“So this is the fellow,” he asked Crowley, derisively, “that made you +think I sent a double to talk with you while I went out to do +Bronson?” + +“Will you have Caylis taken out of the room for a few moments, +inspector?” Trant requested, in reply. The inspector motioned to +Sweeny, who led out the prisoner. + +“Where’s your accessory?” asked Crowley, grinning. + +“I’ll tell you presently,” Trant put him off. “I want to test Caylis +without his knowing anything unusual is being tried. Captain Crowley, +can we have the brass-knobbed chair from your office?” + +“What for?” Crowley demanded. + +“I will show you when I have it.” + +At Walker’s nod Crowley brought in the chair. It was a deep, +high-backed, wooden chair, with high arms; and on each arm was a brass +knob, so placed that a person sitting in the chair would almost +inevitably place his palms over them. As the captain brought in the +chair, Trant opened his suit case and took out his galvanometer, +batteries and wires. Cutting off the cylinder electrodes which Kanlan +had held in his hands during the test of that morning, Trant ran the +wires under each arm of the chair and made a contact with each brass +knob. He connected them with the battery, which he hid under the +chair, and with the galvanometer dial, which he placed behind the +chair upon a table, concealing it behind his hat. + +He seated himself in the chair and grasped the knobs in his palms. +With his hands dry no perceptible current passed through his body from +knob to knob to register upon the dial. + +“Scare me!” he suddenly commanded the inspector. + +“What?” Walker bent his brows. + +“Scare me, and watch the needle.” + +Walker, half comprehending, fumbled in the drawer of a desk, +straightened suddenly, a cocked revolver in his hand, and snapped it +at Trant’s head. At once the needle of the galvanometer leaped across +the scale, and Crowley and Walker both stared. + +“Thank you, inspector,” said Trant as he rose from the chair. “It +works very well; you see, my palms couldn’t help sweating when you +snapped the gun at me before I appreciated that it wasn’t loaded. Now, +we’ll test Caylis as we did Kanlan.” + +The inspector went to the door, took Caylis from Sweeny, and led him +to the chair. + +“Sit down,” he said. “Mr. Trant wants to talk to you.” + +The childlike, brown eyes, covertly alert and watchful, followed +Trant, and Caylis nervously grasped the two inviting knobs on the arms +of his chair. Walker and Crowley, standing where they could watch both +Trant and the galvanometer dial, saw that the needle stood where it +had stood for Trant before Walker put the revolver to his head. + +Trant quietly took from his pocket the newspaper containing the false +account of Johanson’s escape, and, looking about as though for a place +to put it—as he had done in his trial of Kanlan—laid it, with the +Johanson paragraph uppermost, in Caylis’s lap. Walker smothered an +exclamation; Crowley looked up startled. The needle—which had remained +so still when the paper was laid upon Kanlan’s knee—had jumped across +the scale. + +Caylis gave no sign; his hands still grasped the brass knobs +nervously; his face was quiet and calm. Trant took from his pocket the +little phial refilled with banana oil and emptied its contents on the +floor as he had done that morning. Again Walker and Crowley, with +startled eyes, watched the needle move. Trant took his watch from his +pocket, and, as in the morning, before Caylis’s face he set it an hour +ahead. + +“What are all these tricks?” said Caylis, contemptuously. + +But Walker and Crowley, with flushed faces bent above the moving +needle, paid no heed. Trant posted himself between Caylis and the +door. + +“You see now,” Trant cried, triumphantly, to the police officers, “the +difference between showing the false account of the escape of Johanson +to an innocent man, and showing it to the man whom it sent out to do +murder. You see the difference between loosing the stench of banana +oil before a man who associates nothing with it, and before the +criminal who waited in the vestibule of the electro-plater’s shop and +can never in his life smell banana oil again without its bringing upon +him the fear of the murderer. You see the difference, too, Captain +Crowley, between setting a watch forward in front of a man to whom it +can suggest nothing criminal, and setting it an hour ahead in front of +the man who, after he had murdered Bronson—not at two, but a little +after one—stooped to the body and set the watch at least an hour fast, +then rushed in to talk coolly with you, in order to establish an +incontestable alibi for the time he had so fixed for the murder!” + +Police Captain Crowley, livid with the first flash of fear that the +murderer had made of him a tool, swung threateningly toward Caylis. +For a moment, as though stiffened by the strain of following the +accusation, Caylis had sat apparently paralyzed. Now in the sudden +change from his absolute security to complete despair, he faced +Crowley, white as paper; then, as his heart began to pound again, his +skin turned to purple. His handsome, vain face changed to the face of +a demon; his childlike eyes flared; he sprang toward Trant. But when +he had drawn the two police officers together to stop his rush, he +turned and leaped for a window. Before he could dash it open, Walker’s +powerful hand clutched him back. + +“This, I think,” Trant gasped, and controlled himself, as he surveyed +the now weak and nerveless prisoner, “should convince even Captain +Crowley. But it was not needed, Caylis. From the time Mrs. Mitchell +showed you the report of Johanson’s escape in the _News_ and you +thought you could kill Bronson safely, and you got her to send him out +to you, until you had struck him down, set his watch forward and +rushed to Crowley for your alibi, my case was complete.” + +“She—she”—Caylis’s hands clenched—“peached on me—but you—got her?” he +shouted vengefully. + +Walker and Crowley turned to Trant in amazement. + +“Mrs. Mitchell?” they demanded. + +“Yes—your wife, Caylis?” Trant pressed. + +“Yes, my wife, and _mine_,” the man hissed defiantly, “eight years ago +back in St. Louis till, till this cursed Bronson broke up the gang and +sent me over the road for three years, and she got to thinking he must +be stuck on her and might marry her, because he helped her, +until—until she found out!” + +“Ah; I thought she had been your wife when I saw you, after the boy; +but, of course—” Trant checked himself as he heard a knock on the +door. + +“Miss Allison is in her carriage outside sir,” the officer who had +knocked saluted Inspector Walker. “She has come to see you, sir. She +says you sent no word.” Walker looked from the cringing Caylis to +Trant. + +“We do not need Caylis any longer, inspector,” said Trant. “I can tell +Miss Allison all the facts now, if you wish to have her hear them.” + +The door, which shut behind Crowley and his prisoner, reopened almost +immediately to admit the inspector, and Miss Allison. With her fair, +sweet face flushed with the hope which had taken the place of the +white fear and defiance of the morning, Trant barely knew her. + +“The inspector tells me, Mr. Trant,” she stretched out both her hands +to him, “that you have good news for me—that Kanlan was not guilty—and +so Randolph was not going out as—as they said he was when they killed +him.” + +“No; he was not!” Trant returned, triumphantly. “He was going instead +on an errand of mercy, Miss Allison, to summon a doctor for a little +child whom he had been told was suddenly and dangerously ill. The +telephone in the house had been broken, so at the sudden summons he +dashed out, without remembering his danger. I am glad to be able to +tell you of that fine, brave thing when I must tell you, also, the +terrible truth that the woman whom he had helped and protected was the +one who, in a fit of jealousy, when she found he had merely meant to +be kind to her, sent him out to his death.” + +“Mrs. Mitchell?” the girl cried in horror. “Oh, not Mrs. Mitchell!” + +“Yes, Mrs. Mitchell, for whom he had done so much and whose past he +protected, in the noblest way, even from you. But as she was the wife +of the criminal we have just caught, I am glad to believe this man +played upon her old passions, so that for a while he held his old sway +over her and she did his bidding without counting the consequences. + +“I told you this morning, Inspector Walker, that I could not explain +to you my conclusions in the test of Kanlan. But I owe you now a full +explanation. You will recall that I commented upon the fact that the +crime which was puzzling you was committed within so short a time +after the knowledge of Mr. Bronson’s engagement became known, that I +divined a possible connection. But that, at best, was only indirect. +The first direct thing which struck me was the circumstance that the +man waited in the vestibule of the electro-plater’s shop. I was +certain that the very pungent fruit-ether odor of banana oil—the +thinning material used by electro-platers in preparing their +lacquers—must be forever intimately connected with the crime in the +mind of the man who waited in that vestibule. To no one else could +that odor connect itself with crime. So I knew that if I could test +all sixteen men it would be child’s play to pick the murderer. But +such a test was cumbersome. And the next circumstance you gave me made +it unnecessary. I mean the fact of the ‘fast watch’ which, Miss +Allison was able to tell me, could not have been fast at all. I saw +that the watch must therefore have been set forward at least ten +minutes, probably much longer. Who, between half past ten and two, +could have done this, and for what reason? The one convincing +possibility was that the assassin had set it forward, trusting it +would not be found till morning, and his only object could have been +to establish for himself an alibi—for two o’clock. + +“I surprised you, therefore, by assuring you, even before I saw +Kanlan, that he was innocent, because Kanlan had no alibi whatever. I +proved his innocence to my own satisfaction by exhibiting before him +without exciting any emotional reaction at all, the report in the +_News_ which, I felt fairly sure, must have had something to do with +the crime; by loosing the smell of banana oil, and setting forward a +watch in his presence. The objects which Crowley used had been so +thoroughly connected with the crime in Kanlan’s mind that—though he is +innocent—they caused reactions to which I paid no attention, except +the one reaction which, at Crowley’s threat, told me of Kanlan’s negro +blood. As for the rest, they merely scared Kanlan as your pistol +scared me, and as they would have scared any innocent man under the +same conditions. My own tests could cause reactions only in the guilty +man. + +“That man, I think you understand now,” Trant continued rapidly, “I +was practically sure of when Crowley told me of Caylis’s alibi. You +have just seen the effect upon him of the same tests I tried on +Kanlan, and the conclusive evidence the galvanometer gave. The fact +that Caylis himself never read the _News_ only contributed to my +certainty that another person was concerned, a person who could have +either decoyed or sent Mr. Bronson out. So I went to the place, found +the doctor’s sign just beyond, discovered that that doctor treated, +not Bronson, but the little Mitchell boy, that the telephone had been +broken inside the house that evening to furnish an excuse for sending +Bronson out, and that Mrs. Mitchell reads the _News_.” + +“The Mitchell woman sent him out, of course,” Walker checked him +almost irritably. “Six blocks away—Crowley ought to have her by now.” + +Miss Allison gathered herself together and arose. She clutched the +inspector’s sleeve. “Inspector Walker, must you—” she faltered. + +“None of us is called upon to say how she shall be punished, Miss +Allison,” Trant said, compassionately. “We must trust all to the +twelve men who shall try these two.” But to her eyes, searching his, +Trant seemed to be awaiting something. Suddenly the telephone rang. +Walker took up the receiver. “It’s Crowley,” he cried. “He says Mrs. +Mitchell skipped—cleared. You could have taken her,” he accused Trant, +“but you let her go!” + +Trant stood watching the face of Miss Allison, unmoved. The desk +sergeant burst in upon them. + +“Mrs. Mitchell’s outside, inspector! She said she’s come to give +herself up!” + +“You counted upon that, I suppose,” Walker turned again upon Trant. +“But don’t do it again,” he warned, “for the sake of what’s before +you!” + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Red Dress + +“Another morning; and nothing! Three days gone and no word, no sign +from her; or any mark of weakening!” + +The powerful man at the window clenched his hands. Then he swung about +to face his confidential secretary and stared at her uncertainly. It +was the tenth time that morning, and the fiftieth time in the three +days just gone, that Walter Eldredge, the young president of the great +Chicago drygoods house of Eldredge and Company, had paused, incapable +of continuing business. + +“Never mind that letter, Miss Webster,” he commanded. “But tell me +again—are you sure that no one has come to see me, and there has been +no message, about my wife—I mean about Edward—about Edward?” + +“No; no one, I am sure, Mr. Eldredge!” + +“Send Mr. Murray to me!” he said. + +“Raymond, something more effective must be done!” he cried, as his +brother-in-law appeared in the doorway. “It is impossible for matters +to remain longer in this condition!” His face grew gray. “I am going +to put it into the hands of the police!” + +“The police!” cried Murray. “After the way the papers treated you and +Isabel when you married? You and Isabel in the papers again, and the +police making it a public scandal! Surely there’s still some private +way! Why not this fellow Trant. You must have followed in the papers +the way he got immediate action in the Bronson murder mystery, after +the police force was at fault for two weeks. He’s our man for this +sort of thing, Walter! Where can we get his address?” + +“Try the University Club,” said Eldredge. + +Murray lifted the desk phone. “He’s a member; he’s there. What shall I +tell him,” Eldredge himself took up the conversation. + +“Yes! Mr. Trant? Mr. Trant, this is Walter Eldredge, of Eldredge and +Company. Yes; there is a private matter—something has happened in my +family; I cannot tell you over the phone. If you could come to me +here. . . . Yes! It is criminal.” His voice broke. “For God’s sake +come and help me!” + +Ten minutes later a boy showed Trant into the young president’s +private room. If the psychologist had never seen Walter Eldredge’s +portrait in the papers he could have seen at a glance that he was a +man trained to concentrate his attention on large matters; and he as +quickly recognized that the pale, high-bred, but weak features of +Eldredge’s companion belonged to a dependent, subordinate to the +other. + +Eldredge had sprung nervously to his feet and Trant was conscious that +he was estimating him with the acuteness of one accustomed to judge +another quickly and to act upon his judgment. Yet it was Murray who +spoke first. + +“Mr. Eldredge wished to apply to the police this morning, Mr. Trant,” +he explained, patronizingly, “in a matter of the most delicate nature; +but I—I am Raymond Murray, Mr. Eldredge’s brother-in-law—persuaded him +to send for you. I did this, trusting quite as much to your delicacy +in guarding Mr. Eldredge from public scandal as to your ability to +help us directly. We understand that you are not a regular private +detective.” + +“I am a psychologist, Mr. Eldredge,” Trant replied to the older man, +stifling his irritation at Murray’s manner. “I have merely made some +practical applications of simple psychological experiments, which +should have been put into police procedure years ago. Whether I am +able to assist you or not, you may be sure that I will keep your +confidence.” + +“Then this is the case, Trant.” Murray came to the point quickly. “My +nephew, Edward Eldredge, Walter’s older son, was kidnaped three days +ago.” + +“What?” Trant turned from one to the other in evident astonishment. + +“Since the Whitman case in Ohio,” continued Murray, “and the Bradley +kidnaping in St. Louis last week—where they got the description of the +woman but have caught no one yet—the papers predicted an epidemic of +child stealing. And it has begun in Chicago with the stealing of +Walter’s son!” + +“That didn’t surprise me—that the boy may be missing,” Trant rejoined. +“But it surprised me, Mr. Eldredge, that no one has heard of it! Why +did you not at once give it the greatest publicity? Why have you not +called in the police? What made you wait three days before calling in +even me?” + +“Because the family,” Murray replied, “have known from the first that +it was Mrs. Eldredge who had the child abducted.” + +“_Mrs. Eldredge?_” Trant cried incredulously. “Your wife, sir?” he +appealed to the older man. + +“Yes, Mr. Trant,” Eldredge answered, miserably. + +“Then why have you sent for me at all?” + +“Because in three days we have gained nothing from her,” the +brother-in-law replied before Eldredge could answer. “And, from the +accounts of your ability, we thought you could, in some way, learn +from her where the child is concealed.” + +The young president of Eldredge and Company was twisting under the +torture of these preliminaries. But Trant turned curiously to Murray. +“Mrs. Eldredge is not your sister?” + +“No; not the present Mrs. Eldredge. My sister, Walter’s first wife, +died six years ago, when Edward was born. She gave her life for the +boy whom the second Mrs. Eldredge—” he remembered himself as Eldredge +moved quickly. + +“Isabel, my second wife, Mr. Trant,” Eldredge burst out in the +bitterness of having to explain to a stranger his most intimate +emotion, “as I thought all the world knew, was my private secretary—my +stenographer—in this office. We were married a little over two years +ago. If you remember the way the papers treated her then, you will +understand what it would mean if this matter became public! The boy—” +he hesitated. “I suppose I must make the circumstances plain to you. +Seven years ago I married Edith Murray, Raymond’s sister. A year later +she died. About the same time my father died, and I had to take up the +business. Mrs. Murray, who was in the house at the time of Edith’s +death, was good enough to stay and take charge of my child and my +household.” + +“And Mr. Murray? He stayed too?” + +“Raymond was in college. Afterwards he came to my house, naturally. +Two years ago I married my second wife. At Mrs. Eldredge’s wish, as +much as my own, the Murrays remained with us. My wife appreciated even +better than I that her training had scarcely fitted her to take up at +once her social duties: the newspapers had prejudiced society against +her, so Mrs. Murray remained to introduce her socially.” + +“I see—for over two years. But meanwhile Mrs. Eldredge had taken +charge of the child?” + +“My wife was—not at ease with the boy.” Eldredge winced at the direct +question. “Edward liked her, but—I found her a hundred times crying +over her incompetence with children, and she was contented to let Mrs. +Murray continue to look after him. But after her own son was born—” + +“Ah!” said Trant, expectantly. + +“I shall conceal nothing. After her own son was born, I am obliged to +admit that Mrs. Eldredge’s attitude changed. She became insistent to +have charge of Edward, and his grandmother, Mrs. Murray, still +hesitated to trust Isabel. But finally I agreed to give my wife charge +of everything and complete control over Edward. If all went well, Mrs. +Murray was to reopen her old home and leave us, when—it was Tuesday +afternoon, three days ago, Mr. Trant—my wife took Edward, with her +maid, out in the motor. It was the boy’s sixth birthday. It was almost +the first time in his life he had left the house to go any distance +without his grandmother. My wife did not bring him back. + +“Why she never brought him back—what happened to the boy, Mr. Trant,” +Eldredge stooped to a private drawer for papers, “I wish you to +determine for yourself from the evidence here. As soon as I saw how +personal a matter it was, I had my secretary, Miss Webster, take down +the evidence of the four people who saw the child taken away: my +chauffeur, Mrs. Eldredge’s maid, Miss Hendricks and Mrs. Eldredge. The +chauffeur, Morris, has been in my employ for five years. I am +confident that he is truthful. Moreover, he distinctly prefers Mrs. +Eldredge over everyone else. The maid, Lucy Carew, has been also +singularly devoted to my wife. She, too, is truthful. + +“The testimony of the third person—Miss Hendricks—is far the most +damaging against my wife. Miss Hendricks makes a direct and inevasive +charge; it is practical proof. For I must tell you truthfully, Mr. +Trant, that Miss Hendricks is far the best educated and capable +witness of all. She saw the whole affair much nearer than any of the +others. She is a person of irreproachable character, a rich old maid, +living with her married sister on the street corner where the +kidnaping occurred. Moreover, her testimony, though more elaborate, is +substantiated in every important particular by both Morris and Lucy +Carew.” + +Eldredge handed over the first pages. + +“Against these, Mr. Trant, is this statement of—my wife’s. My home +faces the park, and is the second house from the street corner. There +is, however, no driveway entrance into the park at this intersecting +street. There are entrances a long block and a half away in one +direction and more than two blocks in the other. But the winding drive +inside the park approaches the front of the house within four hundred +feet, and is separated from it by the park greensward.” + +“I understand.” Trant took the pages of evidence eagerly. Eldredge +went to the window and stood knotting the curtain cord in suspense. +But Murray crossed his legs, and, lighting a cigarette, watched Trant +attentively. Trant read the testimony of the chauffeur, which was +dated by Eldredge as taken Tuesday afternoon at five o’clock. It read +thus: + + Mrs. Eldredge herself called to me about one o’clock to have the + motor ready at half-past two. Mrs. Eldredge and her maid and Master + Edward came down and got in. We went through the park, then down the + Lake Shore Drive almost to the river and turned back. Mrs. Eldredge + told me to return more slowly; we were almost forty minutes + returning where we had been less than twenty coming down. Reaching + the park, she wanted to go slower yet. She was very nervous and + undecided. She stopped the machine three or four times while she + pointed out things to Master Edward. She kept me winding in and out + the different roads. Suddenly she asked me the time, and I told her + it was just four; and she told me to go home at once. But on the + curved park road in front of the house and about four hundred feet + away from it, I “killed” my engine. I was some minutes starting it. + Mrs. Eldredge kept asking how soon we could go on; but I could not + tell her. After she had asked me three or four times, she opened the + door and let Master Edward down. I thought he was coming around to + watch me—a number of other boys had been standing about me just + before. But she sent him across the park lawn toward the house. I + was busy with my engine. Half a minute later the maid screamed. She + jumped down and grabbed me. A woman was making off with Master + Edward, running with him up the cross street toward the car line. + Master Edward was crying and fighting. Just then my engines started. + The maid and I jumped into the machine and went around by the park + driveway as fast as we could to the place where the woman had picked + up Master Edward. This did not take more than two minutes, but the + woman and Master Edward had disappeared. Mrs. Eldredge pointed out a + boy to me who was running up the street, but when we got to him it + was not Master Edward. We went all over the neighborhood at high + speed, but we did not find him. I think we might have found him if + Mrs. Eldredge had not first sent us after the other boy. I did not + see the woman who carried off Master Edward very plainly. She was + small. + +Eldredge swung about and fixed on the young psychologist a look of +anxious inquiry. But without comment, Trant picked up the testimony of +the maid. It read: + + Mrs. Eldredge told me after luncheon that we were going out in the + automobile with Master Edward. Master Edward did not want to go, + because it was his birthday and he had received presents from his + grandmother with which he wanted to play. Mrs. Eldredge—who was + excited—made him come. We went through the park and down the Lake + Shore Drive and came back again. It seemed to me that Mrs. Eldredge + was getting more excited, but I thought that it was because this was + the first time she had been out with Master Edward. But when we had + got back almost to the house the automobile broke down, and she + became more excited still. Finally she said to Master Edward that he + would better get out and run home, and she helped him out of the car + and he started. We could see him all the way, and could see right up + to the front steps of the house. But before he got there a woman + came running around the corner and started to run away with him. He + screamed, and I screamed, too, and took hold of Mrs. Eldredge’s arm + and pointed. But Mrs. Eldredge just sat still and watched. Then I + jumped up, and Mrs. Eldredge, who was shaking all over, put out her + hand. But I got past her and jumped out of the automobile. I + screamed again, and grabbed the chauffeur, and pointed. Just then + the engine started. We both got back into the automobile and went + around by the driveway in the park. All this happened as fast as you + can think, but we did not see either Master Edward or the woman. + Mrs. Eldredge did not cry or take on at all. I am sure she did not + scream when the woman picked up Master Edward, but she kept on being + very much excited. I saw the woman who carried Master Edward off + very plainly. She was a small blond, and wore a hat with + violet-colored flowers in it and a violet-colored tailor-made dress. + She looked like a lady. + +Trant laid the maid’s testimony aside and looked up quickly. + +“There is one extremely important thing, Mr. Eldredge,” he said. “Were +the witnesses examined separately?—that is, none of them heard the +testimony given by any other?” + +“None of them, Mr. Trant.” + +Then Trant picked up the testimony of Miss Hendricks, which read as +follows: + + It so happened that I was looking out of the library window—though I + do not often look out at the window for fear people will think I am + watching them—when I saw the automobile containing Mrs. Eldredge, + Edward, the maid, and the chauffeur stop at the edge of the park + driveway opposite the Eldredge home. The chauffeur descended and + began doing something to the front of the car. But Mrs. Eldredge + looked eagerly around in all directions, and finally toward the + street corner on which our house stands; and almost immediately I + noticed a woman hurrying down the cross street toward the corner. + She had evidently just descended from a street car, for she came + from the direction of the car line; _and her haste made me + understand at once that she was late for some appointment_. As soon + as Mrs. Eldredge caught sight of the woman she lifted Edward from + the automobile to the ground, and pushed him in the woman’s + direction. She sent him across the grass toward her. At first, + however, the woman did not catch sight of Edward. Then she saw the + automobile, raised her hand and made a signal. _The signal was + returned by Mrs. Eldredge_, who pointed to the child. Immediately + the woman ran forward, pulled Edward along in spite of his + struggles, and ran toward the car line. It all happened very + quickly. I am confident the kidnaping was prearranged between Mrs. + Eldredge and the woman. I saw the woman plainly. She was small and + dark. Her face was marked by smallpox and she looked like an + Italian. She wore a flat hat with white feathers, a gray coat, and a + black skirt. + +“You say you can have no doubt of Miss Hendricks’ veracity?” asked +Trant. + +Eldredge shook his head, miserably. “I have known Miss Hendricks for a +number of years, and I should as soon accuse myself of falsehood. She +came running over to the house as soon as this had happened, and it +was from her account that I first learned, through Mrs. Murray, that +something had occurred.” + +Trant’s glance fell to the remaining sheets in his hand, the testimony +of Mrs. Eldredge; and the psychologist’s slightly mismated eyes—blue +and gray—flashed suddenly as he read the following: + + I had gone with Edward for a ride in the park to celebrate his + birthday. It was the first time we had been out together. We stopped + to look at the flowers and the animals. My husband had not told me + that he expected to be home from the store early, but Edward + reminded me that on his birthday his father always came home in the + middle of the afternoon and brought him presents. The time passed + quickly, and I was surprised when I learned that it was already four + o’clock. I was greatly troubled to think that Edward’s father might + be awaiting him, and we hurried back as rapidly as possible. We had + almost reached the house when the engine of the automobile stopped. + It took a very long time to fix it, and Edward was all the time + growing more excited and impatient to see his father. It was only a + short distance across the park to the house, which we could see + plainly. Finally I lifted Edward out of the machine and told him to + run across the grass to the house. He did so, but he went very + slowly. I motioned to him to hurry. Then suddenly I saw the woman + coming toward Edward, and the minute I saw her I was frightened. She + came toward him slowly, stopped, and talked with him for quite a + long time. She spoke loudly—I could hear her voice but I could not + make out what she said. Then she took his hand—it must have been ten + minutes after she had first spoken to him. He struggled with her, + but she pulled him after her. She went rather slowly. But it took a + very long time, perhaps fifteen minutes, for the motor to go around + by the drive; and when we got to the spot Edward and the woman had + disappeared. We looked everywhere, but could not find any trace of + them, and she would have had time to go a considerable distance— + +Trant looked up suddenly at Eldredge who had left his position by the +window and over Trant’s shoulder was reading the testimony. His face +was gray. + +“I asked Mrs. Eldredge,” the husband said, pitifully, “why, if she +suspected the woman from the first, and so much time elapsed, she did +not try to prevent the kidnaping, and—she would not answer me!” + +Trant nodded, and read the final paragraph of Mrs. Eldredge’s +testimony: + + The woman who took Edward was unusually large—a very big woman, not + stout, but tall and big. She was very dark, with black hair, and she + wore a red dress and a hat with red flowers in it. + +The psychologist laid down the papers and looked from one to the other +of his companions reflectively. “What had happened that afternoon +before Mrs. Eldredge and the boy went motoring?” he asked abruptly. + +“Nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Trant,” said Eldredge. “Why do you +ask that?” + +Trant’s fingertip followed on the table the last words of the +evidence. “And what woman does Mrs. Eldredge know that answers that +description—‘unusually large, not stout, but tall and big, very dark, +with black hair?’” + +“No one,” said Eldredge. + +“No one except,” young Murray laughed frankly, “my mother. Trant,” he +said, contemptuously, “don’t start any false leads of that sort! My +mother was with Walter at the time the kidnaping took place!” + +“Mrs. Murray was with me,” Eldredge assented, “from four till five +o’clock that afternoon. She has nothing to do with the matter. But, +Trant, if you see in this mass of accusation one ray of hope that Mrs. +Eldredge is not guilty, for God’s sake give it to me, for I need it!” + +The psychologist ran his fingers through his red hair and arose, +strongly affected by the appeal of the white-lipped man who faced him. +“I can give you more than a ray of hope, Mr. Eldredge,” he said. “I am +almost certain that Mrs. Eldredge not only did not cause your son’s +disappearance, but that she knows absolutely nothing about the matter. +And I am nearly, though not quite, so sure that this is not a case of +kidnaping at all!” + +“What, Trant? Man, you can’t tell me that from that evidence?” + +“I do, Mr. Eldredge!” Trant returned a little defiantly. “Just from +this evidence!” + +“But, Trant,” the husband cried, trying to grasp the hope this +stranger gave him against all his better reason, “if you can think +that, why did she describe everything—the time, the circumstance, the +size and appearance of the woman and even the color of her dress—so +differently from all the rest? Why did she _lie_ when she told me +this, Mr. Trant?” + +“I do not think she lied, Mr. Eldredge.” + +“Then the rest lied and it _is_ a conspiracy of the witnesses against +her?” + +“No; no one lied, I think. And there was no conspiracy. That is my +inference from the testimony and the one other fact we have—that there +had been no demand for ransom.” + +Eldredge stared at him almost wildly. His brother-in-law moved up +beside him. + +“Then where is my son, and who has taken him?” + +“I cannot say yet,” Trant answered. There was a knock on the door. + +“You asked to have everything personal brought to you at once, Mr. +Eldredge,” said Miss Webster, holding out a note. “This just came in +the ten o’clock delivery.” Eldredge snatched it from her—a soiled, +creased envelope bearing a postmark of the Lake View substation just +west of his home. It was addressed in a scrawling, illiterate hand, +and conspicuously marked personal. He tore it open, caught the import +of it almost at a glance; then with a smothered cry threw it on the +desk in front of Murray, who read it aloud. + + Yure son E. is safe, and we have him where he is not in dangir. Your + wife has not payed us the money she promised us for taking him away, + and we do not consider we are bound any longer by our bargain with + her. If you will put the money she promised (one hund. dollars) on + the seat behind Lincoln’s statue in the Park tonight at ten thurty + (be exact) you will get yure son E. back. Look out for trubble to + the boy if you notify the police. + + N. B.—If you try to make any investigation about this case our above + promiss will not be kept. + +“Well, Trant, what do you say now?” asked Murray. + +“That it was the only thing needed,” Trant answered, triumphantly, “to +complete my case. Now, I am sure I need only go to your house to make +a short examination of Mrs. Eldredge and the case against her!” + +He swung about suddenly at a stifled exclamation behind him, and found +himself looking into the white face of the private secretary; but she +turned at once and left the office. Trant swung back to Murray. “No, +thank you,” he said, refusing the proffer of the paper. “I read from +the marks made upon minds by a crime, not from scrawls and thumbprints +upon paper. And my means of reading those marks are fortunately in my +possession this morning. No, I do not mean that I have other evidence +upon this case than that you have just given me, Mr. Eldredge,” Trant +explained. “I refer to my psychological apparatus which, the express +company notified me, arrived from New York this morning. If you will +let me have my appliance delivered direct to your house it will save +much time.” + +“I will order it myself!” Eldredge took up the telephone and quickly +arranged the delivery. + +“Thank you,” Trant acknowledged. “And if you will also see that I have +a photograph, a souvenir postal, or some sort of a picture of every +possible locality within a few blocks of your house you will probably +help in my examination greatly. Also,” he checked himself and stood +thoughtfully a moment, “will you have these words”—he wrote “Armenia, +invitation, inviolate, sedate” and “pioseer” upon a paper—“carefully +lettered for me and brought to your house?” + +“What?” Eldredge stared at the list in astonishment. He looked up at +Trant’s direct, intelligent features and checked himself. “Is there +not some mistake in that last word, Mr. Trant? ‘Pioseer’ is not a word +at all.” + +“I don’t wish it to be,” Trant replied. His glance fell suddenly on a +gaudily lithographed card—an advertisement showing the interior of a +room. He took it from the desk. + +“This will be very helpful, Mr. Eldredge,” he said. “If you will have +this brought with the other cards I think that will be all. At three +o’clock, then, at your house?” + +He left them, looking at each other in perplexity. He stopped a moment +at a newspaper office, and then returned to the University Club +thoughtfully. By the authority of all precedent procedure of the +world, he recognized how hopelessly the case stood against the +stepmother of the missing child. But by the authority of the new +science—the new knowledge of humanity—which he was laboring to +establish, he felt certain he could save her. + +Yet he fully appreciated that he could accomplish nothing until his +experimental instruments were delivered. He must be content to wait +until he could test his belief in Mrs. Eldredge’s innocence for +himself, and at the same time convince Eldredge conclusively. So he +played billiards, and lunched, and was waiting for the hour he had set +with Eldredge, when he was summoned to the telephone. A man who said +he was Mrs. Eldredge’s chauffeur, informed him that Mrs. Eldredge was +in the motor before the club and she wished to speak with him at once. + +Trant immediately went down to the motor. + +The single woman in the curtained limousine had drawn back into the +farthest corner to avoid the glances of passersby. But as Trant came +toward the car she leaned forward and searched his face anxiously. + +She was a wonderfully beautiful woman, though her frail face bore +evidences of long continued anxiety and of present excitement. Her +hair was unusually rich in color; the dilated, defiant eyes were deep +and flawless; the pale cheeks were clear and soft, and the trembling +lips were curved and perfect. Trant, before a word had been exchanged +between them, recognized the ineffable appeal of her personality. + +“I must speak with you, Mr. Trant,” she said, as the chauffeur at her +nod, opened the door of the car. “I cannot leave the motor. You must +get in.” + +Trant stepped quietly into the limousine, filled with the soft perfume +of her presence. The chauffeur closed the door behind him, and at once +started the car. + +“My husband has consulted you, Mr. Trant, regarding the—the trouble +that has come upon us, the—the disappearance of his son, Edward,” she +asked. + +“Why do you not say at once, Mrs. Eldredge, that you know he has +consulted me and asked me to come and examine you this afternoon? You +must have learned it through his secretary.” + +The woman hesitated. “It is true,” she said nervously. “Miss Webster +telephoned me. I see that you have not forgotten that I was once my +husband’s stenographer, and—I still have friends in his office.” + +“Then there is something you want to tell me that you cannot tell in +the presence of the others?” + +The woman turned, her large eyes meeting his with an almost frightened +expression, but she recovered herself immediately. “No, Mr. Trant; it +is because I know that he—my husband—that no one is making any search, +or trying to recover Edward—except through watching me.” + +“That is true, Mrs. Eldredge,” the psychologist helped her. + +“You must not do that too, Mr. Trant!” she leaned toward him +appealingly. “You must search for the boy—my husband’s boy! You must +not waste time in questioning me, or in trying me with your new +methods! That is why I came to see you—to tell you, on my word of +honor, that I know nothing of it!” + +“I should feel more certain if you would be frank with me,” Trant +returned, “and tell me what happened on that afternoon before the +child disappeared.” + +“We went motoring,” the woman replied. + +“Before you went motoring, Mrs. Eldredge,” the psychologist pressed, +“what happened?” + +She shrank suddenly, and turned upon him eyes filled with +unconquerable terror. He waited, but she did not answer. + +“Did not some one tell you,” the psychologist took a shot half in the +dark, “or accuse you that you were taking the child out in order to +get rid of him?” + +The woman fell back upon the cushions, chalk-white and shuddering. + +“You have answered me,” Trant said quietly. He glanced at her +pityingly, and as she shrank from him, he tingled with an unbidden +sympathy for this beautiful woman. “But in spite of the fact that you +never brought the boy back,” Trant cried impetuously, “and in spite +of—or rather because of all that is so dark against you, believe me +that I expect to clear you before them all!” He glanced at his watch. +“I am glad that you have been taking me toward your home, for it is +almost time for my appointment with your husband.” + +The car was running on the street bounding the park on the west. It +stopped suddenly before a great stone house, the second from the +intersecting street. + +Eldredge was running down the steps, and in a moment young Murray came +after him. The husband opened the door of the limousine and helped his +wife tenderly up the steps. Murray and Trant followed him together. +Eldredge’s second wife—though she could comprehend nothing of what lay +behind Trant’s assurance of help for her—met her husband’s look with +eyes that had suddenly grown bright. Murray stared from the woman to +Trant with disapproval. He nodded to the psychologist to follow him +into Eldredge’s study on one side; but there he waited for his +brother-in-law to return to voice his reproach. + +“What have you been saying to her, Trant?” Eldredge demanded sternly +as he entered and shut the door. + +“Only what I told you this morning,” the psychologist answered—“that I +believe her innocent. And after seeing what relief it brought her, I +can not be sorry!” + +“You can’t?” Eldredge rebuked. “I can! When I called you in you had +the right to tell me whatever you thought, however wild and without +ground it was. It could not hurt me much. But now you have encouraged +my wife still to hold out against us—still to defy us and to deny that +she knows anything when—when, since we saw you, the case has become +only more conclusive against her. We have just discovered a most +startling confirmation of Miss Hendrick’s evidence. Raymond, show +him!” he gestured in sorry triumph. + +Young Murray opened the library desk and pulled out a piece of +newspaper, which he put in Trant’s hand. He pointed to the heading. +“You see, Trant, it is the account of the kidnaping in St. Louis which +occurred just before Edward was stolen.” + + All witnesses describe the kidnaper as a short, dark woman, marked + with smallpox. She wore a gray coat and black skirt, a hat with + white feathers, and appeared to be an Italian. + +“I knew that. It exactly corresponds with the woman described by Miss +Hendricks,” Trant rejoined. “I was aware of it this morning. But I can +only repeat that the case has turned more and more conclusively in +favor of Mrs. Eldredge.” + +“Why, even before we recognized the woman described by Miss Hendricks +the evidence was conclusive against Isabel!” Murray shot back. +“Listen! She was nervously excited all that day; when the woman +snatched Edward, Isabel did nothing. She denies she signaled the +woman, but Miss Hendricks saw the signal. Isabel says the automobile +took fifteen minutes making the circuit in the park, which is +ridiculous! But she wants to give an idea in every case exactly +contrary to what really occurred, and the other witnesses are agreed +that the run was very quick. And most of all, she tried to throw us +off in her description of the woman. The other three are agreed that +she was short and slight. Isabel declares she was large and tall. The +testimony of the chauffeur and the maid agrees with Miss Hendricks’ in +every particular—except that the maid says the woman was dressed in +violet. In that one particular she is probably mistaken, for Miss +Hendricks’ description is most minute. Certainly the woman was not, as +Isabel has again and again repeated in her efforts to throw us off the +track, and in the face of all other evidence, clothed in a red dress!” + +“Very well summarized!” said Trant. “Analyzed and summarized just as +evidence has been ten million times in a hundred thousand law courts +since the taking of evidence began. You could convict Mrs. Eldredge on +that evidence. Juries have convicted thousands of other innocent +people on evidence less trustworthy. The numerous convictions of +innocent persons are as black a shame to-day as burnings and +torturings were in the Middle Ages; as tests by fire and water, or as +executions for witchcraft. Courts take evidence to-day exactly as it +was taken when Joseph was a prisoner in Egypt. They hang and imprison +on grounds of ‘precedent’ and ‘common sense.’ They accept the word of +a witness where its truth seems likely, and refuse it where it seems +otherwise. And, having determined the preponderance of evidence, they +sometimes say, as you have just said of Lucy Carew, ‘though correct in +everything else, in this one particular fact our truthful witness is +mistaken.’ There is no room for mistakes, Mr. Eldredge, in scientific +psychology. Instead of analyzing evidence by the haphazard methods of +the courts, we can analyze it scientifically, exactly, +incontrovertibly—we can select infallibly the true from the false. And +that is what I mean to do now,” he added, “if my apparatus, for which +you telephoned this morning, has come.” + +“The boxes are in the rear hall,” Eldredge replied. “I have obtained +over a hundred views of the locality, and the cards you requested me +to secure are here too.” + +“Good! Then you will get together the witnesses? The maid and the +chauffeur I need to see only for a moment. I will question them while +you are sending for Miss Hendricks.” + +Eldredge rang for the butler. “Bring in those boxes which have just +come for Mr. Trant,” he commanded. “Send this note to Miss +Hendricks”—he wrote a few lines swiftly—“and tell Lucy and Morris to +come here at once.” + +He watched Trant curiously while he bent to his boxes and began taking +out his apparatus. Trant first unpacked a varnished wooden box with a +small drop window in one end. Opposite the window was a rack upon +which cards or pictures could be placed. They could then be seen only +through the drop-window. This window worked like the shutter of a +camera, and was so controlled that it could be set to remain open for +a fixed time, in seconds or parts of a second, after which it closed +automatically. As Trant set this up and tested the shutter, the maid +and chauffeur came to the door of the library. Trant admitted the girl +and shut the door. + +“On Tuesday afternoon,” he said to her, kindly, “was Mrs. Eldredge +excited—very much excited—_before_ you came to the place where the +machine broke down, and before she saw the woman who took Edward +away?” + +“Yes, sir,” the girl answered. “She was more excited than I’d seen her +ever before, all the afternoon, from the time we started.” + +The young psychologist then admitted the chauffeur, and repeated his +question. + +“She was most nervous, yes, sir; and excited, sir, from the very +first,” the chauffeur answered. + +“That is all,” said Trant, suddenly dismissing both, then turning +without expression to Eldredge. “If Miss Hendricks is here I will +examine her at once.” + +Eldredge went out, and returned with the little old maid. Miss +Hendricks had a high-bred, refined and delicate face; and a sweet, +though rather loquacious, manner. She acknowledged the introduction to +Trant with old-fashioned formality. + +“Please sit down, Miss Hendricks,” said Trant, motioning her to a +chair facing the drop-window of the exposure box. “This little window +will open and stand open an instant. I want you to look in and read +the word that you will see.” He dropped a card quickly into the rack. + +“Do not be surprised,” he begged, as she looked at the drop-window +curiously, “if this examination seems puerile to you. It is not really +so; but only unfamiliar in this country, yet. The Germans have carried +psychological work further than any one in this nation, though the +United States is now awakening to its importance.” While speaking, he +had lifted the shutter and kept it raised a moment. + +“It must be very interesting,” Miss Hendricks commented. “That word +was ‘America,’ Mr. Trant.” + +Trant changed the card quickly. “And I’m glad to say, Miss Hendricks,” +he continued, while the maiden lady watched for the next word, +interested, “that Americans are taking it up intelligently, not +servilely copying the Germans!” + +“That word was ‘imitation,’ Mr. Trant!” said Miss Hendricks. + +“So now much is being done,” Trant continued, again shifting the card, +“in the fifty psychological laboratories of this country through +painstaking experiments and researches.” + +“And that word was ‘investigate!’” said Miss Hendricks, as the shutter +lifted and dropped again. + +“That was quite satisfactory, Miss Hendricks,” Trant acknowledged. +“Now look at this please.” Trant swiftly substituted the lithograph he +had picked up at Eldredge’s office. “What was that, Miss Hendricks?” + +“It was a colored picture of a room with several people in it.” + +“Did you see the boy in the picture, Miss Hendricks?” + +“Why—yes, of course, Mr. Trant,” the woman answered, after a little +hesitation. + +“Good. Did you also see his book?” + +“Yes; I saw that he was reading.” + +“Can you describe him?” + +“Yes; he was about fifteen years old, in a dark suit with a brown tie, +black-haired, slender, and he sat in a corner with a book on his +knee.” + +“That was indeed most satisfactory! Thank you, Miss Hendricks.” Trant +congratulated and dismissed her. “Now your wife, if you please, Mr. +Eldredge.” + +Eldredge was curiously turning over the cards which Trant had been +exhibiting, and stared at the young psychologist in bewilderment. But +at Trant’s words he went for his wife. She came down at once with Mrs. +Murray. Though she had been described to him, it was the first time +Trant had seen the grandmother of the missing boy; and, as she +entered, a movement of admiration escaped him. She was taller even +than her son—who was the tallest man in the room—and she had retained +surprisingly much of the grace and beauty of youth. She was a majestic +and commanding figure. After settling her charge in a chair, she +turned solicitously to Trant. + +“Mr. Eldredge tells me that you consider it necessary to question poor +Isabel again,” she said. “But, Mr. Trant, you must be careful not to +subject her to any greater strain than is necessary. We all have told +her that if she would be entirely frank with us we would make +allowance for one whose girlhood has been passed in poverty which +obliged her to work for a living.” + +Mrs. Eldredge shrank nervously and Trant turned to Murray. “Mr. +Murray,” he said, “I want as little distraction as possible during my +examination of Mrs. Eldredge, so if you will be good enough to bring +in to me from the study the automatograph—the other apparatus which I +took from the box—and then wait outside till I have completed the +test, it will assist me greatly. Mrs. Murray, you can help me if you +remain.” + +Young Murray glanced at his mother and complied. The automatograph, +which Trant set upon another table, was that designed by Prof. +Jastrow, of the University of Wisconsin, for the study of involuntary +movements. It consisted of a plate of glass in a light frame mounted +on adjustable brass legs, so that it could be set exactly level. Three +polished glass balls, three-quarters of an inch in diameter, rested on +this plate; and on these again there rested a very light plate of +glass. To the upper plate was connected a simple system of levers, +which carried a needle point at their end, so holding the needle as to +travel over a sheet of smoked paper. + +While Trant was setting up this instrument Mrs. Eldredge’s nervousness +had greatly increased. And the few words which she spoke to her +husband and Mrs. Murray—who alone remained in the room—showed that her +mind was filled with thoughts of the missing child. Trant, observing +her, seemed to change his plan suddenly and, instead of taking Mrs. +Eldredge to the new instrument, he seated her in the chair in front of +the drop-window. He explained gently to the trembling woman that he +wanted her to read to him the words he exposed; and, as in the case of +Miss Hendricks, he tried to put her at ease by speaking of the test +itself. + +“These word tests, Mrs. Eldredge, will probably seem rather pointless. +For that matter all proceedings with which one is not familiar must +seem pointless; even the proceedings of the national legislature in +Washington seem pointless to the spectators in the gallery.” At this +point the shutter lifted and exposed a word. “What was the word, +please, Mrs. Eldredge?” + +“‘Sedate,’” the woman faltered. + +“But though the tests seem pointless, Mrs. Eldredge, they are not +really so. To the trained investigator each test word is as full of +meaning as each mark upon the trail is to the backwoodsman on the edge +of civilization. Now what word was that?” he questioned quickly, as +the shutter raised and lowered again. + +The woman turned her dilated eyes on Trant. “That—that,” she +hesitated—“I could make it out only as ‘p-i-o-s-e-e-r,’” she spelled, +uneasily. “I do not know any such word.” + +“I shall not try you on words any longer, Mrs. Eldredge,” Trant +decided. He took his stop-watch in his hand. “But I shall ask you to +tell me how much time elapses between two taps with my lead pencil on +the table. Now!” + +“Two minutes,” the woman stammered. + +Eldredge, who, observing what Trant was doing, had taken his own watch +from his pocket and timed the brief interval, stared at Trant in +astonishment. But without giving the wife time to compose herself, +Trant went on quickly: + +“Look again at the little window, Mrs. Eldredge. I shall expose to you +a photograph; and if you are to help me recover your husband’s son, I +hope you can recognize it. Who was it?” the psychologist demanded as +the shutter dropped. + +“That was a photograph of Edward!” the woman cried. “But I never saw +that picture before!” She sat back, palpitating with uneasiness. + +Mrs. Murray quickly took up the picture which had just been recognized +as her grandson. “That is not Edward, Mr. Trant,” she said. + +Trant laid a finger on his lips to silence her. + +“Mrs. Murray,” he said in quick appeal, “I wished, as you probably +noted, to use this instrument, the automatograph, a moment ago: I will +try it now. Will you be good enough to test it for me? Merely rest +your fingers lightly—as lightly as you please—upon this upper glass +plate.” Mrs. Murray complied, willingly. “Now please hold your hand +there while I lay out these about you.” He swiftly distributed the +photographic views of the surrounding blocks which Eldredge had +collected for him. + +Mrs. Murray watched him curiously as he placed about a dozen in a +circle upon the table; and, almost as swiftly, swept them away and +distributed others in their place. Again, after glancing at her hand +to see that it was held in position, he set out a third lot, his eyes +fixed, as before, on the smoked paper under the needle at the end of +the levers. Suddenly he halted, looked keenly at the third set of +cards and, without a word, left the room. In an instant he returned +and after a quick, sympathetic glance at Mrs. Eldredge, turned to her +husband. + + [Illustration: A table with four people around it. A younger woman + sits and watches the others. A gentleman stands slightly behind the + others. An older woman stands with one hand resting on a flat + instrument, and gazes at the cards which a younger man is placing + about her on the table.] + + Caption: After glancing at her hand to see that it was held in + position, he set out a third lot + +“I need not examine Mrs. Eldredge further,” he said. “You had better +take her to her room. But before you go,” he grasped the woman’s cold +hand encouragingly, “I want to tell you, Mrs. Eldredge, that I have +every assurance of having the boy back within a very few minutes, and +I have proof of your complete innocence. No, Mrs. Murray,” he forbade, +as the older woman started to follow the others. “Remain here.” He +closed the door after the other and faced her. “I have just sent your +son to get Edward Eldredge from the place on Clark Street just south +of Webster Avenue where you have been keeping him these three days.” + +“Are you a madman?” the powerful woman cried, as she tried to push by +him, staring at him stonily. + +“Really it is no use, madam.” Trant prevented her. “Your son has been +a most unworthy confederate from the first; and when I had excluded +him from the room for a few moments and spoke to him of the place +which you pointed out to me so definitely, it frightened him into +acquiescence. I expect him back with the boy within a few minutes: and +meanwhile—” + +“What is that?” Eldredge had stepped inside the door. + +“I was just telling Mrs. Murray,” said Trant, “that I had sent Raymond +Murray after your son in the place where she has had him concealed.” + +“What—what?” the father cried, incredulously, staring into the woman’s +cold face. + +“Oh, she has most enviable control of herself,” Trant commented. “She +will not believe that her son has gone for Edward until he brings him +back. And I might say that Mrs. Murray probably did not make away with +the boy, but merely had him kept away, after he had been taken.” + +Mrs. Murray had reseated herself, after her short struggle with Trant; +and her face was absolutely devoid of expression. “He is a madman!” +she said, calmly. + +“Perhaps it will hasten matters,” suggested Trant, “if I explain to +you the road by which I reached this conclusion. As a number of +startling cases of kidnaping have occurred recently, the very +prevalent fear they have aroused has made it likely that kidnaping +will be the first theory in any case even remotely resembling it. In +view of this I could accept your statement of kidnaping only if the +circumstances made it conclusive, which they did not. With the absence +of any demand for a real ransom they made it impossible even for you +to hold the idea of kidnaping, except by presuming it a plot of Mrs. +Eldredge’s. + +“But when I began considering whether this could be her plan, as +charged, I noted a singular inconsistency in the attitude of Raymond +Murray. He showed obvious eagerness to disgrace Mrs. Eldredge, but for +some reason—not on the surface—was most actively opposed to police +interference and the publicity which would most thoroughly carry out +his object. So I felt from the first that he, and perhaps his +mother—who was established over Mrs. Eldredge in her own home, but, by +your statement, was to leave if Mrs. Eldredge came into charge of +things—knew something which they were concealing. This much I saw +before I read a word of the evidence. + +“The evidence of the maid and the chauffeur told only two things—that +a small woman rushed into the park and ran off with your son; and that +your wife was in an extremely agitated condition. The maid said that +the woman was blond and dressed in violet; and I knew, when I had read +the evidence of other witnesses, that that was undoubtedly the truth.” + +Eldredge, pacing the rug, stopped short and opened his lips; but +checked himself. + +“Without Miss Hendricks’ testimony there was positively nothing +against your wife in the evidence of the chauffeur and the maid. I +then took up Miss Hendricks’ evidence and had not read two lines +before I saw that—as an accusation against your wife, Mr. Eldredge—it +was worthless. Miss Hendricks is one of those most dangerous persons, +absolutely truthful, and—absolutely unable to tell the truth! She +showed a common, but hopeless, state of suggestibility. Her first +sentence, in which she said she did not often look out of the window +for fear people would think she was watching them, showed her habit of +confusing what she saw with ideas that existed only in her own mind. +Her testimony was a mass of unwarranted inferences. She saw a woman +coming from the direction of the car line, so to Miss Hendricks ‘it +was evident that she had just descended from a car.’ The woman was +hurrying, so ‘she was late for an appointment.’ ‘As soon as she caught +sight of the woman’ Mrs. Eldredge lifted Edward to the ground. And so +on through a dozen things which showed the highest susceptibility to +suggestion. You told me that before telling her story to you she had +told it to Mrs. Murray. Miss Hendricks had rushed to her at once; the +bias and suggestions which made her testimony apparently so damning +against your wife could only have come from Mrs. Murray.” + +Eldredge’s glance shot to his mother-in-law. But Trant ran on rapidly. +“I took up your wife’s evidence; and though apparently entirely at +variance with the others, I saw at once that it really corroborated +the testimony of the nurse and the chauffeur.” + +“Her evidence confirmed?” Eldredge demanded, brusquely. + +“Yes,” Trant replied; “to the psychologist, who understood Mrs. +Eldredge’s mental condition, her evidence was the same as theirs. I +had already seen for myself, by the aid of what you had told me, Mrs. +Eldredge’s position in this household, after leaving your office to +become your wife. On entering your house, she was brought face to face +with a woman already in control here—a strong and dominant woman, who +had immense influence over you. Everything told of a struggle between +these women—slights, obstructions, merciless criticisms, of which your +wife could not complain, which had brought her close to nervous +prostration. You remember that immediately after reading her statement +I asked you what particular thing had occurred just before she went +motoring to throw her into that noticeably excitable condition +described by the maid and the chauffeur. You said nothing had +happened. But I was certain even then that there had been something—I +know now that Mrs. Murray had put a climax to her persecution of your +wife by charging that Mrs. Eldredge was taking the boy out to get rid +of him—and my knowledge of psychology told me that, allowing for Mrs. +Eldredge’s hysterical condition, she had stated in her evidence the +same things that the maid and the chauffeur had stated. It is a fact +that in her condition of hyperæsthesia—a condition readily brought on +not only in weak women, but sometimes in strong men, by excitement and +excessive nervous strain—her senses would be highly overstimulated. +Barely hearing the sound of the woman’s voice, she would honestly +describe her as speaking in a loud tone. + +“All time intervals would also be greatly prolonged. It truly seemed +to her that the child took a long time to cross the grass and that the +woman talked with him several minutes, instead of seconds. The +sensation of a similarly long time elapsing after the woman took the +boy’s hand gave her the impression of a long struggle. She would +honestly believe that it took the automobile fifteen minutes to make +the circuit of the park. When you asked your wife why, if so much time +elapsed, she tried to do nothing, she was unable to answer; for no +time was wasted at all. + +“But most vital of all, I recognized her description of the woman as +wearing a red dress as most conclusive confirmation of the maid’s +testimony and a final proof, not that Mrs. Eldredge was trying to +mislead you, but that she was telling the truth as well as she could. +For it is a common psychological fact that in a hysterical condition +red is the color most commonly seen subjectively; the sensation of red +not only persists in hysteria, when other color sensations disappear, +but it is common to have it take the place of another color, +especially violet. It was discovered and recorded over thirty years +ago that, in excessive excitability known psychologically as +hyperæsthesia, all colors are lifted in the spectrum scale and, to the +overexcited retina, the shorter waves of violet may give the sensation +of the longer ones producing red. So what to you seemed an intentional +contradiction was to me the most positive and complete assurance of +your wife’s honesty. + +“And finally, to be consistent with this condition, I knew that if her +state was due to expectation of harm to herself or the child from any +unusually large, dark woman, she would see the woman in her +excitement, as large and dark. For it is one of the commonest facts +known to the psychologist that our senses in excitement can be so +influenced by our expectation of any event that we actually see +things, not as they are, but as we expect them to be. So when you told +me that Mrs. Murray answered the description given by Mrs. Eldredge, +all threads of the skein had led to Mrs. Murray. + +“Now, as it was clear to me that Mrs. Murray herself had used Miss +Hendricks’ easy suggestibility to prejudice her evidence against Mrs. +Eldredge, Mrs. Murray could not herself have believed that Mrs. +Eldredge had taken the boy away. So, since the Murrays were making no +search, they must have soon found out where the boy was and were +satisfied that he was safe and that they could produce him, after they +had finished ruining Mrs. Eldredge. + +“Therefore I was in a position to appreciate Mrs. Murray’s ridiculous +letter when it came, with its painfully misspelled demand for an +absurdly small ransom that would not be refused for a moment, as the +object of the letter was only to make the final move in the case +against Mrs. Eldredge and enable them to return the boy. So far, it is +clear?” Trant checked his rapid explanation. + +Still Eldredge stared at the set, defiant features of his +mother-in-law; and made no reply. + +“I appreciated thoroughly that I must prove all this,” Trant then shot +on rapidly. “You, Mr. Eldredge, discovered that Miss Hendricks’ +description of the woman tallied precisely with the published +description of the St. Louis kidnaper, without appreciating that the +description was in her mind. With her high suggestibility she +substituted it for the woman she actually saw as unconsciously—and as +honestly—as she substituted Mrs. Murray’s suggestions for her own +observations. + +“But perhaps you can appreciate it now. You saw how I showed her the +word ‘Armenia’ and spoke of the United States to lead her mind to +substitute ‘America’ to prove how easily her mind substituted acts, +motions and everything at Mrs. Murray’s suggestion. I had only to +speak of ‘servilely copying’ to have her change ‘invitation’ into +‘imitation.’ A mere mention of researches made her think she saw +‘investigate,’ when the word was ‘inviolate.’ Finally, after showing +her a picture in which there were two women and a man, but no boy, she +stated, at my slight suggestion, that she saw a boy, and even +described him for me and told me what he was doing. I had proved +beyond cavil the utter worthlessness of evidence given by this woman, +and dismissed her.” + +“I followed that!” Eldredge granted. + +Trant continued: “So I tested your wife to show that she had not +suggestibility, like Miss Hendricks—that is, she could not be made to +say that she saw ‘senate’ instead of ‘sedate’ by a mere mention of the +national legislature at the time the word was shown; nor would she +make over ‘pioseer’ into ‘pioneer,’ under the suggestion of +backwoodsman. But by getting her into an excitable condition with her +mind emotionally set to expect a picture of the missing boy, her +excited mind at the moment of perception altered the picture of the +totally different six-year-old boy I showed her into the picture of +Edward, as readily as her highly excited senses—fearing for herself +and for the boy through Mrs. Murray—altered the woman she saw taking +Edward into an emotional semblance of Mrs. Murray. + +“I had understood it as essential to clear your wife as to find the +boy—whom I appreciated could be in no danger. So I made the next test +with Mrs. Murray. This, I admit, depended largely upon chance. I knew, +of course, that she must know where the boy was and that probably her +son did too. The place was also probably in the vicinity. The +automatograph is a device to register the slightest and most +involuntary motions. It is a basic psychological fact that there is an +inevitable muscular impulse toward any object which arouses emotion. +If one spreads a score of playing cards about a table and the subject +has a special one in mind, his hand on the automatograph will quickly +show a faint impulse toward the card, although the subject is entirely +unaware of it. So I knew that if the place where the boy was kept was +shown in any of the pictures, I would get a reaction from Mrs. Murray; +which I did—with the result, Mr. Eldredge,” Trant went to the window +and watched the street, expectantly, “that Mr. Raymond Murray is now +bringing your son around the corner and—” + +But the father had burst from the room and toward the door. Trant +heard a cry of joy and the stumble of an almost hysterical woman as +Mrs. Eldredge rushed down the stairs after her husband. He turned as +Mrs. Murray, taking advantage of the excitement, endeavored to push +past him. + +“You are leaving the house?” he asked. “But tell me first,” he +demanded, “how did the boy come to be taken out of the park? Had the +boys whom the chauffeur said stopped around his car anything to do +with it?” + +“They were a class which a kindergarten teacher—a new teacher—had +taken to see the animals,” the woman answered, coldly. + +“Ah! So one of them was left behind—the one whom they saw running and +mistook for Edward—and the teacher, running back, took Edward by +mistake. But she must have discovered her mistake when she rejoined +the others.” + +“Only after she got on the car. There one of my former servants +recognized him and took him to her home.” + +“And when the servant came to tell you, and you understood how Miss +Hendricks’ suggestibility had played into your hands, the temptation +was too much for you, and you made this last desperate attempt to +discredit Mrs. Eldredge. I see!” He stood back and let her by. + +Raymond Murray, after bringing back the boy, had disappeared. In the +hall Eldredge and his wife bent over the boy, the woman completely +hysterical in the joy of the recovery, laughing and crying +alternately. She caught the boy to her frantically as she stared +wildly at a woman ascending the steps. + +“The woman in red—the woman in red!” she cried suddenly. + +Trant stepped to her side quickly. “But she doesn’t look big and dark +to you now, does she?” he asked. “And see, now,” he said, trying to +calm her, “the dress is violet again. Yes, Mr. Eldredge, this, I +believe, is the woman in violet—the small blond woman who took your +boy from the park by mistake—as I will explain to you. She is coming, +undoubtedly, in response to an advertisement that I put in _The +Journal_ this noon. But we do not require her help now, for Mrs. +Murray has told me all.” + +The maid, Lucy Carew, ran suddenly up the hall. + +“Mrs. Murray and Mr. Murray are leaving the house, Mr. Eldredge!” she +cried, bewilderedly. + +“Are they?” the master of the house returned. He put his arm about its +mistress and together they took the boy to his room. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The Private Bank Puzzle + +“Planning to rob us?” + +“I am sure of it!” + +“But I don’t understand, Gordon! Who? How? What are they planning to +rob?” the young acting-president of the bank demanded, sharply. + +“The safe, Mr. Howell—the safe!” the old cashier repeated. “Some one +inside the bank is planning to rob it!” + +“How do you know?” + +“I feel it; I know it. I am as certain of it as though I had overheard +the plot being made! But I cannot tell you how I know. Put an extra +man on guard here to-night,” the old man appealed, anxiously, “for I +am certain that some one in this office means to enter the safe!” + +The acting-president swung his chair away from the anxious little man +before him, and glanced quickly through the glass door of his private +office at the dozen clerks and tellers busy in the big room who +sufficed to carry on the affairs of the little bank. + +It was just before noon on the last Wednesday in November, in the +old-established private banking house of Henry Howell & Son, on La +Salle Street; and it was the beginning of the sixth week that young +Howell had been running the bank by himself. For the first two or +three weeks, since his father’s rheumatism suddenly sent him to +Carlsbad, the business of the bank had seemed to go on as smoothly as +usual. But for the last month, as young Howell himself could not deny, +there had been a difference. + +“A premonition, Gordon?” Howell’s brown eyes scrutinized the cashier +curiously. “I did not know your nerve had been so shaken!” + +“Call it premonition if you wish,” the old cashier answered, almost +wildly. “But I have warned you! If anything happens now you cannot +hold me to blame for it. I know the safe is going to be entered! Why +else should they search my waste-basket? Why was my coat taken? Who +took my pocketbook? Who just to-day tried to break into my old +typewriter desk?” + +“Gordon! Gordon!” The young man jumped to his feet with an expression +of relief. “You need a vacation! I know better than anybody how much +has happened in the last two months to shake and disturb you; but if +you attach any meaning to those insignificant incidents you must be +going crazy!” + +The cashier tore himself from the other’s grasp and left the office. +Young Howell stood looking after him in perplexity an instant, then +glanced at his watch and, taking up his overcoat, hastened out. He had +a firm, well-built figure, a trifle stout; his expression, step, and +all his bearing was usually quick, decisive, cheerful. But now as he +passed into the street his step slowed and his head bent before the +puzzle which his old cashier had just presented to him. + +After walking a block his pace quickened, however, and he turned +abruptly into a great office building towering sixteen stories from +the street. Halting for an instant before the building directory, he +took the express elevator to the twelfth floor and, at the end of the +hall, halted again before an office door upon which was stenciled in +clear letters: + + “Luther Trant, Practical Psychologist.” + +At the call to come in, he opened the door and found himself facing a +red-haired, broad-shouldered young man with blue-gray eyes, who had +looked up from a delicate instrument which he was adjusting upon his +desk. The young banker noted, half unconsciously, the apparatus of +various kinds—dials, measuring machines and clocks, electrical +batteries with strange meters wired to them, and the dozen delicate +machines that stood on two sides of the room, for his conscious +interest was centered in the quiet but alert young man that rose to +meet him. + +“Mr. Luther Trant?” he questioned. + +“Yes.” + +“I am Harry Howell, the ‘son’ of Howell & Son,” the banker introduced +himself. “I heard of you, Mr. Trant, in connection with the Bronson +murder; but more recently Walter Eldredge told me something of the +remarkable way in which you apply scientific psychology, which has so +far been recognized only in the universities, to practical problems. +He made no secret to me that you saved him from wrecking the whole +happiness of his home. I have come to ask you to do, perhaps, as much +for me.” + +The psychologist nodded. + +“I do not mean, Mr. Trant,” said the banker, dropping into the chair +toward which Trant directed him, “that our home is in danger, as +Eldredge’s was. But our cashier—” The banker broke off. “Two months +ago, Mr. Trant, our bank suffered its first default, under +circumstances which affected the cashier very strongly. A few weeks +later father had to go to Europe for his health, leaving me with old +Gordon, the cashier, in charge of things. Almost immediately a series +of disorders commenced, little annoyances and persecutions against the +cashier. They have continued almost daily. They are so senseless, +contemptible, and trivial that I have disregarded them, but they have +shaken Gordon’s nerve. Twenty minutes ago he came to me, trembling +with anxiety, to tell me that they mean that one of the men in the +office is trying to rob the safe. I feel confident that it is only +Gordon’s nervousness; but in the absence of my father I feel that I +cannot let the matter go longer unexplained.” + +“What are these apparently trivial things which have been going on for +the last month, Mr. Howell?” Trant asked. + +“They are so insignificant that I am almost ashamed to tell you. The +papers in Gordon’s waste-basket have been disturbed. Some one takes +his pads and blotters. His coat, which hangs on a hook in his office, +disappeared and was brought back again. An old pocketbook that he +keeps in his desk, which never contains anything of importance, has +been taken away and brought back in the same manner. Everything +disturbed has been completely valueless, the sole object being +apparently to plague the man. But it has shaken Gordon amazingly, +incomprehensibly. And this morning, when he found some one had been +trying to break into an old typewriter desk in his office—though it +was entirely empty, even the typewriter having been taken out of it +two days ago—he went absolutely to pieces, and made the statement +about robbing the safe which I have just repeated to you.” + +“That is very strange,” said Trant, thoughtfully. “So these apparently +senseless tricks terrorize your cashier! He was not keeping anything +in the typewriter desk, was he?” + +“He told me not,” Howell answered. “Gordon might conceal something +from me; but he would not lie.” + +“Tell me,” Trant demanded, suddenly, “what was the defalcation in the +bank, which, as you just mentioned, so greatly affected your cashier +just before your father left for Europe?” + +“Ten thousand dollars was taken; in plain words stolen outright by +young Robert Gordon, the cashier’s—William Gordon’s—son.” + +“The cashier’s son!” Trant replied with interest. + +“His only son,” Howell confirmed. “A boy about twenty. Gordon has a +daughter older. The boy seemed a clean, straightforward fellow like +his father, who has been with us forty years, twenty years our +cashier; but something was different in him underneath, for the first +time he had the chance he stole from the bank.” + +“And the particulars?” Trant requested quickly. + +“There are no especial particulars; it was a perfectly clear case +against Robert,” the banker replied, reluctantly. “Our bank has a +South Side branch on Cottage Grove Avenue, near Fifty-first Street, +for the use of storekeepers and merchants in the neighborhood. On the +29th of September they telephoned us that there was a sudden demand +for currency resembling a run on the bank. Our regular messenger, with +the officer who accompanies him, was out; so Gordon called his son to +carry the money alone. It never occurred to either father or myself, +or, of course, to Gordon, not to trust to the boy. Gordon himself got +the money from the safe—twenty-four thousand dollars, fourteen +thousand in small bills and ten thousand in two small packets of ten +five-hundred-dollar bills apiece. He himself counted it into the bag, +locked it, and sealed it in. We all told the boy that we were sending +him on an emergency call and to rush above all things. Now, it takes +about thirty-five minutes to reach our branch on the car; but in spite +of being told to hurry, young Gordon was over an hour getting there; +and when the officers of the branch opened his bag they found that +both packets of five-hundred-dollar bills—ten thousand dollars—had +been taken out—stolen! He had fixed up the lock, the seal of the bag, +somehow, after taking the money.” + +“What explanation did the boy make?” Trant pressed, quickly. + +“None. He evidently depended entirely upon the way he fixed up the +lock and seal.” + +“The delay?” + +“The cars, he said.” + +“You said a moment ago that it was impossible that your cashier would +lie to you. Is it absolutely out of the question that he held back the +missing bills?” + +“And ruined his own son, Mr. Trant? Impossible! But you do not have to +take my opinion for that. The older Gordon returned the money—all of +it—though he had to mortgage his home, which was all he had, to make +up the amount. Out of regard for the father, who was heartbroken, we +did not prosecute the boy. It was kept secret, even from the employees +of the bank, why he was dismissed, and only the officers yet know that +the money was stolen. But you can see how deeply all this must have +affected Gordon, and it may be enough to account fully for his +nervousness under the petty annoyances which have been going on ever +since.” + +“Annoyances,” cried Trant, “which began almost immediately after this +first defalcation in forty years! That may, or may not, be +coincidence. But, if it is convenient, I would like to go with you to +the bank, Mr. Howell, at once!” The young psychologist leaped to his +feet; the banker rose more slowly. + +It was not quite one o’clock when the two young men entered the old +building where Howell & Son had had their offices for thirty-six +years. Trant hurried on directly up to the big banking room on the +second floor. Inside the offices the psychologist’s quick eyes, before +they sought individuals, seemed to take stock of the furnishings and +equipment of the place. The arrangement of all was staid, solid, +old-fashioned. Many of the desks and chairs, and most of the other +equipment, seemed to date back as far as the founding of the bank by +the senior Howell three years after the great Chicago fire. The +clerks’ and tellers’ cages were of the heavy, overelaborate brass +scroll work of the generation before; the counters of thick, almost +ponderous, mahogany, now deeply scored, but not discolored. And the +massive safe, set into a rear wall, especially attracted Trant’s +attention. He paused before its open door and curiously inspected the +complicated mechanism of revolving dials, lettered on their rims, +which required to be set to a certain combination of letters in order +to open it. + +“This is still good enough under ordinary conditions, I dare say,” he +commented, as he turned the barrels experimentally; “but it is rather +old, is it not?” + +“It is as old as the bank and the building,” Howell answered. “It is +one of the Rittenhouse six-letter combination locks; and was built in, +as you see, in ’74 when they put up this building for us. Just about +that time, I believe, the Sargent time lock was invented; but this was +still new, and besides, father has always been very conservative. He +lets things go on until a real need arises to change them; and in +thirty-six years, as I told you at your office, nothing has happened +to worry him particularly about this safe.” + +“I see. The combination, I suppose, is a word?” + +“Yes; a word of six letters, changed every Monday.” + +“And given to—” + +“Only to the cashier.” + +“Gordon, that is,” Trant acknowledged, as he turned away and appeared +to take his first interest in any of the employees of the bank, “the +man alone in the cashier’s room over there?” The psychologist pointed +through the open door of the room at his right to the thin, strained +figure bent far over his desk. He was the only one of all the men +about the bank who seemed not to have noticed the stranger whom the +acting-president had brought with him to inspect the safe. + +“Yes; that is Gordon!” the president answered, caught forward quickly +by something in the manner, or the posture, of the cashier. “But what +is he doing? What is the matter with him now?” He hurried toward the +old man through the open door. + +Trant followed him, and they could see over the cashier’s shoulder, +before he was conscious of their presence, that he was arranging and +fitting together small scraps of paper. Then he jerked himself up in +his chair, trembling, arose, and faced them with bloodless lips and +cheeks, one tremulous hand pressed guiltily upon the papers, hiding +them. + +“What is the matter? What are you doing, Gordon?” Howell said in +surprise. + +Trant reached forward swiftly, seized the cashier’s thin wrist and +lifted his hand forcibly from the desk. The scraps were five in number +and upon them, as Gordon had arranged them, were printed in pencil +merely meaningless equations. The first, which was written on two of +the scraps, read: + + 43$=80. + +The second, torn into three pieces, was even more enigmatical, +reading: + + 35=8?$ + +But the pieces appeared to be properly put together; and Trant noted +that, besides the two and three pieces fitting, all the scraps +evidently belonged together, and had originally formed a part of a +large sheet of paper which had been torn and thrown away. + +“They are nothing—nothing, Mr. Howell!” The old man tried to wrench +his hand away, staring in terror at the banker. “They are only scraps +of paper which I found. Oh, Mr. Howell, I warned you this morning that +the bank is in danger. I know that now better than ever! But these,” +he grew still whiter, “are nothing!” + +Trant had to catch the cashier’s hand again, as he tried to snatch up +the scraps. “Who is this man, Mr. Howell?” Gordon turned indignantly +to the young banker. + +“My name is Trant. Mr. Howell came to me this morning to advise him as +to the things which have been terrifying you here in this office. And, +Mr. Gordon,” said Trant, sternly, “it is perfectly useless for you to +tell us that these bits of paper have no meaning, or that their +meaning is unknown to you. But since you will not explain the mystery +to us, I must go about the matter in some other way.” + +“You do not imagine, Mr. Trant,” the cashier fell back into his chair +as though the psychologist had struck him, “that I have any connection +with the plot against the bank of which I warned Mr. Howell!” + +“I am quite certain,” Trant answered, firmly, “that if a plot exists, +you have some connection with it. Whether your connection is innocent +or guilty I can determine at once by a short test, if you will submit +to it.” + +Gordon’s eyes met those of the acting-president in startled terror, +but he gathered himself together and arose. + +“Mr. Howell knows,” he said, hollowly, “how mad an accusation you are +making. But I will submit to your test, of course.” + +Trant took up a blank sheet of paper from the desk and drew on it two +rows of geometric figures in rapid succession, like these: + + [Illustration: A set of six arbitrary shapes, each comprised of + three straight and diagonal lines.] + +He handed the sheet to the cashier, who stared at it in wondering +astonishment. + +“Look at these carefully, Mr. Gordon,” Trant took out his watch, “and +study them till I tell you to stop. Stop now!” he commanded, “and draw +upon the pad on your desk as many of the figures as you can.” + +The cashier and the acting-president stared into Trant’s face with +increasing amazement; then the cashier asked to see Trant’s sheets +again and drew from memory, after a few seconds, two figures, thus: + + [Illustration: Two shapes. Although similar in style, neither one + matches any of the six shapes from the original set.] + +“Thank you,” said Trant, tearing the sheet from the pad without giving +either time to question him. He closed the office door carefully and +returned with his watch in his hand. + +“You can hear this tick?” He held it about eighteen inches from +Gordon’s ear. + +“Of course,” the cashier answered. + +“Then move your finger, please, as long as you hear it.” + +The cashier began moving his finger. Trant put the watch on the desk +and stepped away. For a moment the finger stopped; but when Trant +spoke again the cashier nodded and moved his finger at the ticks. +Almost immediately it stopped again, however; and Trant returned and +took up his watch. + +“I want to ask you one thing more,” he said to the weary old man. “I +want you to take a pencil and write upon this pad a series of numbers +from one up as fast as you care to, no matter how much more rapidly I +count. You are ready? Then one, two, three—” Trant counted rapidly in +a clear voice up to thirty. + +“1-2-3-4-10-11-12-19-20-27-28—” the cashier wrote, and handed the pad +to Trant. + +“Thank you. This will be all I need, except these pieces,” said Trant, +as he swept up the scraps which the cashier had been piecing together. + +Gordon started, but said nothing. His gray, anxious eyes followed +them, as the banker preceded Trant from the cashier’s room into his +private office. + +“What is the meaning of all this, Mr. Trant?” Howell closed the door +and swung round, excitedly. “If Gordon is connected with a plot +against the bank, and that in itself is unbelievable, why did he warn +me the bank was in danger?” + +“Mr. Gordon’s connection with what is going on is perfectly innocent,” +Trant answered. “I have just made certain of that!” He had seated +himself before Howell’s desk and was spreading out the scraps of paper +which he had taken from Gordon. “But tell me. Was not Gordon once a +stenographer, or did he not use a typewriter at least?” + +“Well, yes,” Howell replied, impatiently. “Gordon was private +secretary to my father twenty years ago; and, of course, used a +typewriter. It was his old machine, which he always kept and still +used occasionally, that was in his desk which, as I told you, was +broken into this morning.” + +“But the desk was empty—even the machine had been taken from it!” + +“Gordon took it home only a day or so ago. His daughter is taking up +typewriting and wanted it to practice upon.” + +“In spite of the fact that it must be entirely out of date?” Trant +pressed. “Probably it was the last of that pattern in this office?” + +“Of course,” Howell rejoined, still more impatiently. “The others were +changed long ago. But what in the world has all this to do with the +question whether some one is planning to rob us?” + +“It has everything to do, Mr. Howell!” Trant leaped to his feet, his +eyes flashing with sudden comprehension. “For what you have just told +me makes it certain that, as Gordon warned you, one of your clerks is +planning to enter your safe at the first opportunity! Gordon knows as +little as you or I, at this moment, which of your men it is; but he is +as sure of the fact itself as I am, and he has every reason to know +that there is no time to lose in detecting the plotter.” + +“What is that? What is that? Gordon is right?” The banker stared at +Trant in confusion, then asserted, skeptically: “You cannot tell that +from those papers, Mr. Trant!” + +“I feel very certain of it indeed, and—just from these papers. And +more than that, Mr. Howell, though I shall ask to postpone explaining +this until later, I may say from this second paper here,” Trant held +up the series of numbers which the cashier had written, “that this +indicates to me that it is entirely possible, if not actually +probable, that Gordon’s son did not steal the money for the loss of +which he was disgraced!” + +The banker strode up and down the room, excitedly. “Robert Gordon not +guilty! I understood, Trant, that your methods were surprising. They +are more than that; they are incomprehensible. I cannot imagine how +you reach these conclusions. But,” he looked into the psychologist’s +eyes, “I see no alternative but to put the matter completely in your +hands, and for the present to do whatever you say.” + +“There is nothing more to be done here now,” said Trant, gathering up +the papers, “except to give me Gordon’s home address.” + +“Five hundred and thirty-seven Leavenworth Street, on the South Side.” + +“I will come back to-morrow after banking hours. Meanwhile, as Gordon +warned you, put an extra guard over the bank to-night. I hope to be +able to tell you all that underlies this case when I have been to +Gordon’s home this evening, and seen his son, and”—Trant turned +away—“that old typewriting machine of his.” + +He went out, the banker staring after him, perplexed. + + +Trant knew already that forty years of service for the little bank of +Howell & Son had left Gordon still a poor man; and he was not +surprised when, at seven o’clock that night, he turned into +Leavenworth Street, to find Number 537 a typical “small, comfortable +home,” put up twenty years before in what had then been a new real +estate subdivision and probably purchased by Gordon upon the +instalment plan. Gordon’s daughter, who opened the door, was a +black-haired, gray-eyed girl of slender figure. She had the air of the +housekeeper, careful and economical in the administration of her +father’s moderate and unincreasing means. But a look of more direct +responsibility upon her face made Trant recollect, as he gave his name +and stepped inside, that since her brother’s default and her father’s +sacrifice to make it up, this girl herself was going out to help +regain the ownership of the little home. + +“Father is upstairs lying down,” she explained, solicitously, as she +showed Trant into the living room. “But I can call him,” she offered, +reluctantly, “if it is on business of the bank.” + +“It is on business of the bank,” Trant replied. “But there is no need +to disturb your father. It was your brother I came to see.” + +The girl’s face went crimson. “My brother is no longer connected with +the bank,” she managed to answer, miserably. “I do not think he would +be willing—I think I could not prevail upon him to talk to anyone sent +by the bank.” + +“That is unfortunate,” said Trant, frankly, “for in that case my +journey out here goes half for nothing. I was very anxious to see him. +By the way, Miss Gordon, what luck are you having with your +typewriting?” + +The girl drew back surprised. + +“Mr. Howell told me about you,” Trant explained, “when he mentioned +that your father had taken his old typewriter home for you to practice +upon.” + +“Oh, yes; dear father!” exclaimed the girl. “He brought it home with +him one night this week. But it is quite out of date—quite useless. +Besides, I had hired a modern one last week.” + +“Mr. Howell interested me in that old machine. You have no objection +to my seeing it?” + +“Of course not.” The girl looked at the young psychologist with +growing astonishment. “It is right here.” She led the way through the +hall, and opened the door to a rear room. Through the doorway Trant +could see in the little room two typewriting machines, one new and +shiny, the other, under a cover, old and battered. + +“Say! what do you want?” A challenging voice brought Trant around +swiftly to face a scowling boy clattering down stairs. + +“He wants to look at the typewriter, Robert,” the girl explained. + +Trant looked the boy over quietly. He was a clean-looking chap, +quietly dressed and resembling his father, but was of more powerful +physique. His face was marred by sullen brooding, and in his eyes +there was a settled flame of defiance. The psychologist turned away, +as though determined to finish first his inspection of the typewriter, +and entered the room. The boy and the girl followed. + +“Here, you!” said Robert Gordon, harshly, as Trant laid his hand on +the cover of the old machine, “that’s not the typewriter you want to +look at. This is the one.” And he pointed to the newer of the two. + +“It’s the old one I want to see,” answered Trant. + +The boy paled suddenly, leaped forward and seized Trant by the wrist. +“Say! Who are you, anyway? What do you want to see that machine for?” +he demanded, hotly. “You shall not see it, if I can help it!” + + [Illustration: Two young men are in a small room, standing before + two typewriters, one uncovered. The young man on the right angrily + grabs the other’s arm to pull him away. Behind them a young woman + watches nervously. An older man is at the door, leaning on the door + frame and looking upset.] + + Caption: “What do you want to see that machine for? You shall not + see it, if I can help it!” + +“What!” Trant faced him in obvious astonishment. “You! You in that! +That alters matters!” + +William Gordon had appeared suddenly in the doorway, his face as white +as his son’s. Robert’s hand fell from Trant’s wrist. The dazed old man +stood watching Trant, who slowly uncovered and studied the keyboard of +the old writing machine. + +“What does this mean, Mr. Trant?” Gordon faltered, holding to the door +frame for support. + +“It means, Mr. Gordon”—Trant straightened, his eyes flashing in full +comprehension and triumph—“that you must keep your son in to-night, at +whatever cost, Mr. Gordon! And bring him with you to-morrow morning +when you come to the bank. Do not misunderstand me.” He caught the old +man as he tottered. “We are in time to prevent the robbery you feared +at the bank. And I hope—I still hope—to be able to prove that your son +had nothing to do with the loss of the money for which he was +dismissed.” With that he left the house. + + +Half an hour before the bank of Howell & Son opened the next morning, +Trant and the acting-president stepped from the president’s private +office into the main banking room. + +“You have not asked me,” said Howell, “whether there was any attempt +on the bank last night. I had a special man on watch, as you advised, +but no attempt was made.” + +“After seeing young Gordon last night,” Trant answered, “I expected +none.” + +The banker looked perplexed; then he glanced quickly about and saw his +dozen clerks and tellers in their places, dispatching preliminary +business and preparing their accounts. The cashier alone had not yet +arrived. The acting-president called them all to places at the desks. + +“This gentleman,” he explained, “is Mr. Trant, a psychologist. He has +just asked me, and I am going to ask you, to cooperate with him in +carrying out a very interesting psychological test which he wants to +make on you as men working in the bank.” + +“As you all probably have seen in newspapers and magazine articles,” +Trant himself took up the explanation, as the banker hesitated, +“psychologists, and many other investigators, are much interested just +now in following the influences which employments, or business of +various kinds, have upon mental characteristics. I want to test this +morning the normal ‘first things’ which you think of as a class +constantly associated with money and banking operations during most of +your conscious hours. To establish your way of thinking as a class, I +have asked Mr. Howell’s permission to read you a short list of words; +and I ask you to write down, on hearing each of these words, the first +thing that connects itself with that word in your minds. Each of you +please take a piece of paper, sign it, and number it along one edge to +correspond with the numbers of the words on my list.” + +There was a rustling of paper as the men, nodding, prepared for the +test. Trant took his list from his pocket. + +“I am interested chiefly, of course,” he continued, “in following +psychologically the influence of your constant association with money. +For you work surrounded by money. Every click of the _Remington +typewriters_ about you refers to money, and their _shift keys_ are +pushed most often to make the _dollar mark_. The bundles of money +around you are not marked in _secret writing or symbols_, but plainly +with the amount, _five hundred dollars_ or _ten thousand dollars_ +written on the wrapper. Behind the _combination_ of the _safe_ lies a +fortune always. Yet money must of necessity become to +you—psychologically—a mere commodity; and the majority of the acts +which its transfer and safekeeping demand must grow to be almost +mechanical with you; for the mechanical serves you in two ways: First, +in the routine of your business, as, for instance, with a _promissory +note_, which to you means a definite interval—perhaps _sixty days_—so +that you know automatically without looking at your calendars that +such a _note_ drawn on _September 29th_ would be due to-day. And +second, by enabling you to run through these piles of bills with no +more emotion than if you were looking for _scraps_ in a +_waste-basket_, it protects you from temptation, and is the reason why +an institution such as this can run for forty years without ever +finding it necessary to _arrest a thief_. I need not tell you that +both these mental attitudes are of keen interest to psychologists. +Now, if you will write—” + +Watch in hand, Trant read slowly, at regular intervals, the words on +his list: + + 1—reship + 2—ethics + 3—Remington + +A stifled exclamation made him lift his eyes, and he saw Howell, who +before had appeared merely curious about the test, looking at him in +astonishment. Trant smiled, and continued: + + 4—shift key + 5—secret writing + 6—combination + 7—waste-basket + 8—ten thousand + 9—five hundred + 10—September 29th + 11—promissory note + 12—arrest + +“That finishes it! Thank you all!” Trant looked at Howell, who nodded +to one of the clerks to take up the papers. The banker swiftly +preceded Trant back to his private office, and when the door was +closed turned on him abruptly. + +“Who told you the combination of the safe?” he demanded. “You had our +word for this week and the word for the week before. That couldn’t be +chance. Did Gordon tell you last night?” + +“You mean the words ‘reship’ and ‘ethics’?” Trant replied. “No; he +didn’t tell me. And it was not chance, Mr. Howell.” He sat down and +spread out rapidly his dozen papers. “What—‘rifles’!” he exclaimed at +the third word in one of the first papers he picked up. “And way off +on ‘waste-basket’ and ‘shift key,’ too!” He glanced over all the list +rapidly and laid it aside. “What’s this?” Something caught him quickly +again after he had sifted the next half dozen sheets. “‘Waste-basket’ +gave _him_ trouble, too?” Trant stared, thoughtfully. “And think of +ten thousand ‘windows’ and five hundred ‘doors’!” He put that paper +aside also, glanced through the rest and arose. + +“I asked Mr. Gordon to bring his son to the bank with him this +morning, Mr. Howell,” he said to his client, seriously. “If he is +there now please have him come in. And, also, please send for,” he +glanced again at the name on the first paper he had put aside, “Byron +Ford!” + +Gordon had not yet come; but the door opened a moment later and a +young man of about twenty-five, dapper and prematurely slightly bald, +stood on the threshold. “Ah, Ford!” said Howell, “Mr. Trant asked to +see you.” + +“Shut the door, please, Mr. Ford,” Trant commanded, “and then come +here; for I want to ask you,” he continued without warning as Ford +complied, “how you came to be preparing to enter Mr. Howell’s safe?” + +“What does he mean, Mr. Howell?” the clerk appealed to his employer, +with admirable surprise. + +“For the past month, Ford,” Trant replied, directly, “you have been +trying to get the combination of the safe. Several times you probably +actually got it, but couldn’t make it out, till you got it again this +week and at last you guessed the key to the cipher and young Gordon +gave you the means of reading it! Why were you going to that trouble +to get the combination if you were not going to rob the bank?” + +“Rob the bank! I was not going to rob the bank!” the clerk cried, +hotly. + +“Isn’t young Gordon out there now, Mr. Howell?” Trant turned to the +wondering banker quickly. “Thank you! Gordon,” he said to the +cashier’s son who came in, reluctantly, “I have just been questioning +Ford, as perhaps you may guess, as to why you and he have gone to so +much trouble to learn the combination of the safe. He declares that it +was not with an intention to rob. However, I think, Mr. Howell,” Trant +swung away from the boy to the young banker, suggestively, “that if we +turn Ford over to the police—” + +“No, you shan’t!” the boy burst in. “He wasn’t going to rob the safe! +And you shan’t arrest him or disgrace him as you disgraced me! For he +was only—only—” + +“Only getting the combination for you?” Trant put in quickly, “so you +could rob the bank yourself!” + +“Rob the bank?” the boy shouted, less in control of himself than +before as he faced Howell with clenched fists and flushed face. “Rob +nothing! He was only helping me so I could take back from this — — +bank what it stole from my father—the ten thousand dollars it stole +from him, for the money I never lost. I was going to take ten thousand +dollars—not a cent more or less! And Ford knew it, and thought I was +right!” + +Trant interrupted, quietly: “I am sure you are telling the truth, +Gordon!” + +“You mean you are sure they meant only to take the ten thousand?” the +banker asked, dazed. + +“Yes; and also that young Gordon did not steal the ten thousand +dollars which was made up by his father,” Trant assured. + +“How can you be sure of that?” Howell charged. + +“Send for Carl Shaffer, please!” Trant requested, glancing quickly at +the second sheet he had put aside. + +“What! Shaffer?” Howell questioned, as he complied. + +“Yes; for he can tell us, I think—you can tell, can’t you, Shaffer,” +Trant corrected, as, at Howell’s order, a short, stout, and +overdressed clerk came in and the door shut behind him, “what really +happened to the twenty five-hundred-dollar bills which disappeared +from the bank on September 29th? You did not know, when you found them +in Gordon’s waste-basket, that they were missed or—if they were—that +they had brought anyone into trouble. You have never known, have you,” +Trant went on, mercilessly, watching the eyes which could no longer +meet his, “that old Gordon, the cashier, thought he had surely locked +them into the dispatch bag for his son, and that when the boy was +dismissed a little later he was in disgrace and charged as a thief for +stealing those bills? You have not known, have you, that a black, +bitter shadow has come over the old cashier since then from that +disgrace, and that he has had to mortgage his home and give all his +savings to make up those twenty little slips of green paper you +‘found’ in his room that morning! But you’ve counted the days, almost +the hours, since then, haven’t you? You’ve counted the days till you +could feel yourself safe and be sure that no one would call for them? +Well, we call for them now! Where are they, Shaffer? You haven’t spent +or lost them?” + +The clerk stood with eyes fixed on Trant, as if fascinated, and could +make no reply. Twice, and then again as Trant waited, he wet his lips +and opened them. + +“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he faltered at last. + +“Yes you do, Shaffer,” Trant rejoined quickly. “For I’m talking of +those twenty five-hundred-dollar bills which you ‘found’ in Gordon’s +waste-basket on September 29th—sixty days ago, Shaffer! And, through +me, Mr. Howell is giving you a chance to return the money and have the +bank present at your trial the extenuating circumstances,” he glanced +at Howell, who nodded, “or to refuse and have the bank prosecute you, +to the extent of its ability, as a thief!” + +“I am not a thief!” the clerk cried, bitterly. “I found the money! If +you saw me take it, if you have known all these sixty days that I had +it,” he swung in his desperation toward the banker, “you are worse +than I am! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you ask me for it?” + +“We are asking you for it now, Shaffer,” said Trant, catching the +clerk by the arm, “if you still have it.” + +The clerk looked at his employer, standing speechless before him, and +his head sank suddenly. + +“Of course I have it,” he said, sullenly. “You know I have it!” + +Howell stepped to the door and called in the bank’s special police +officer. + +“You will go with Mr. Shaffer,” he said to the burly man, “who will +bring back to me here ten thousand dollars in bills. You must be sure +that he does not get away from you, and—say nothing about it.” + +When the door had closed upon them he turned to the others. “As to +you, Ford—” + +“Ford has not yet told us,” Trant interrupted, “how he came to be in +the game with Gordon.” + +“I got him in!” young Gordon answered, boldly. “He—he comes to see—he +wants to marry my sister. I told him how they had taken our house from +us and were sending my sister to work and—and I got him to help me.” + +“But your sister knew nothing of this?” Trant asked. + +It brought a flush to both their cheeks. “No; of course not!” the boy +answered. + +Howell opened the door to the next office. “Go in there, and wait for +me,” he commanded. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the +perspiration from his hands as he faced Trant alone. “So that was what +happened to the money! And what Gordon knew, and was hiding from me, +was that his son meant to rob the bank!” + +“No, Howell,” Trant denied. “Gordon did not know that.” + +“Then what was he trying to hide? Is there another secret in this +amazing affair?” + +“Yes; William Gordon’s secret; the fact that your cashier is no longer +efficient; that he is getting old, and his memory has left him so that +he cannot remember during the week, even for a day, the single +combination word to open the safe.” + +“What do you mean?” Howell demanded. + +“I will tell you all. It seemed to me,” Trant explained, “when first +you told me of the case, that the cause of the troubles to the cashier +was the effort of some one to get at some secret personal paper which +the cashier carried, but the existence of which, for some reason, +Gordon could not confess to you. It was clear, of course, from the +consistent search made of the cashier’s coat, pocketbook, and private +papers that the person who was trying to get it believed that Gordon +carried it about with him. It was clear, too, from his taking the +blotters and pads, that the paper—probably a memorandum of some +sort—was often made out by Gordon at the office; for if Gordon wrote +in pencil upon a pad and tore off the first sheet, the other man could +hope to get an impression from the next in the pad, and if Gordon +wrote in ink, he might get an obverse from the blotters. But besides +this, from the fact that the waste-baskets were searched, it was clear +that the fellow believed that the paper would become valueless to +Gordon after a time and he would throw it away. + +“So much I could make out when you told me the outlines of the case at +my office. But I could make absolutely nothing, then, of the reason +for the attempt to get into the typewriter desk. You also told me then +of young Gordon’s trouble; and I commented at once upon the +coincidence of one trouble coming so soon after the other, though I +was obviously unable to even guess at the connection. But even then I +was not convinced at all that the mere fact that Gordon and you all +thought he had locked twenty-four thousand dollars into the bag he +gave his son made it certain—in view of the fact that the seal was +unbroken when it was opened with but fourteen thousand dollars in it +at the branch bank. When I asked you about that, you replied that old +Gordon was unquestionably honest and that he put all the money into +the satchel; that is, he _thought_ he did or _intended_ to, but you +never questioned at all whether he was _able_ to.” + +“Able to, Trant?” Howell repeated. + +“Yes; able to,” Trant reaffirmed. “I mean in the sense of whether his +condition made it a certainty that he did what _he_ was sure he was +doing. I saw, of course, that you, as a banker, could recognize but +two conditions in your employee; either he was honest and the money +was put in, or he was dishonest and the money was withheld. But, as a +psychologist, I could appreciate that a man might very well be honest +and yet not put in the money, though he was _sure_ he did. + +“I went to your office then, already fairly sure that Gordon was +making some sort of a memorandum there which he carried about for a +while and then threw away; that, for some reason, he could not tell +you of this; but that some one else was extremely anxious to possess +it. I also wished to investigate what I may call the psychological +possibility of Gordon’s not having put in the ten thousand dollars as +he thought he did; and with this was the typewriter-desk episode, of +which I could make nothing at all. + +“You told me that Gordon had warned you that trouble threatened the +safe; and when I saw that it was a simple combination safe with a +six-letter word combination intrusted to the cashier, it came to me +convincingly at once that Gordon’s memorandum might well be the +combination of the safe. If he had been carrying the weekly word in +his head for twenty years, and now, mentally weakened by the disgrace +of his son, found himself unable to remember it, I could appreciate +how, with his savings gone, his home mortgaged, untrained in any +business but banking, he would desperately conceal his condition from +you for fear of losing his position. + +“Obviously he would make a memorandum of the combination each week at +the office and throw away the old one. This explained clearly why some +one was after it; but why that one should be after the old memorandum, +and what the breaking open of the typewriter desk could have had to do +with it, I could not see at first, even after we surprised him with +his scraps of paper. But I made three short tests of him. The first, a +simple test of the psychologists for memory, made by exhibiting to him +a half dozen figures formed by different combinations of the same +three lines, proved to me, as he could not reproduce one of these +figures correctly, that he had need of a memorandum of the combination +of the safe. The other two tests—which are tests for attention—showed +that, besides having a failing memory, his condition as regards +attention was even worse. Gordon lost the watch ticks, which I asked +him to mark with his finger, twice within forty-five seconds. And, +whereas any person with normal ‘attention’ can write correctly from +one to thirty while counting aloud from one to fifty, Gordon was +incapable of keeping correctly to his set of figures under my very +slight distraction. + +“I assured myself thus that he was incapable of correctly counting +money under the distraction and excitement such as was about him the +morning of the ‘run’; and I felt it probable that the missing money +was never put into the bag, and must either have been lost in the bank +or taken by some one else. As I set myself, then, to puzzling out the +mystery of the scraps which I took from Gordon, I soon saw that the +writing ‘43$=80’ and ‘35=8?$,’ which seemed perfectly senseless +equations, might not be equations at all, but secret writing instead, +made up of six symbols each, the number of letters in your +combination. Besides the numbers, the other three symbols were common +ones in commercial correspondence. Then, the attack on old Gordon’s +typewriter desk. You told me he had been a stenographer; and—it +flashed to me. + +“He had not dared to write the combination in plain letters; so he had +hit on a very simple, but also very ingenious, cipher. He wrote the +word, not in letters, but in the figures and symbols which accompanied +each letter on the keyboard of his old typewriting machine. The cipher +explained why the other man was after the old combination in the +waste-basket, hoping to get enough words together so he could figure +them out, as he had been doing on the scraps of paper which Gordon +found. Till then Gordon might have been in doubt as to the meaning of +the annoyances; but, finding those scraps, after the breaking open of +his old desk, left him in no doubt, as he warned you.” + +“I see! I see!” Howell nodded, intently. + +“The symbols made no word upon the typewriters here in your office. +Before I could be sure, I had to see the cashier’s old machine, which +Gordon—beginning to fear his secret was discovered—had taken home. +When I saw that machine, ‘43$=80,’ by the mere change of the shift +key, gave me ‘reship,’ and ‘35=8?$’ gave me ‘ethics,’ two words of six +letters, as I had expected; but, to my surprise, I found that young +Gordon, as well as the fellow still in the bank, was concerning +himself strangely with his father’s cipher, and I had him here this +morning when I made my test to find out, first, who it was here in the +bank that was after the combination; and, second, who, if anyone, had +taken the missing bills on September 29th. + +“Modern psychology gave me an easy method of detecting these two +persons. Before coming here this morning I made up a list of words +which must necessarily connect themselves with their crimes in the +minds of the man who had plotted against the safe and the one who had +taken the bills. ‘Reship’ and ‘ethics’ were the combination words of +the safe for the last two weeks. ‘Remington’ suggested ‘typewriter’; +‘shift key,’ ‘combination,’ ‘secret writing,’ and ‘waste-basket’ all +were words which would directly connect themselves with the attempt +upon the safe. ‘Ten thousand,’ ‘five hundred,’ ‘September 29th’ +referred to the stealing of the bills. ‘Arrest,’ with its association +of ‘theft,’ would trouble both men. + +“You must have seen, I think, that the little speech I made before +giving the test was not merely what it pretended to be. That speech +was an excuse for me to couple together and lay particular emphasis +upon the natural associations of certain words. So I coupled and +emphasized the natural association of ‘safe’ with ‘combination,’ +‘scraps’ with ‘waste-basket,’ ‘dollars’ with ‘ten thousand,’ and so +on. In no case did I attempt by my speech to supplant in anyone’s mind +his normal association with any one of these words. Obviously, to all +your clerks the associations I suggested must be the most common, the +most impressive; and I took care thus to make them, finally, the most +recent. Then I could be sure that if any one of them refused those +normal associations upon any considerable number of the words, that +person must have ‘suspicious’ connection with the crime as the reason +for changing his associations. I did not care even whether he +suspected the purpose of my test. To refuse to write it would be a +confession of his guilt. And I was confident that if he did write it +he could not refrain from changing enough of these associations to +betray himself. + +“Now, the first thing which struck me with Ford’s paper was that he +had obviously erased his first words for ‘reship’ and ‘ethics’ and +substituted others. Everyone else treated them easily, not knowing +them to be the combination words. Ford, however, wrote something which +didn’t satisfy him as being ‘innocent’ enough, and wrote again. There +were no ‘normal’ associations for these words, and I had suggested +none. But note the next. + +“Typewriter was the common, the most insistent and recent association +for ‘Remington’ for all—except Ford. It was for him, too, but any +typewriter had gained a guilty association in his mind. He was afraid +to put it down, so wrote ‘rifles.’ ‘Shift key,’ the next word, of +course intensified his connection with the crime; so he refused to +write naturally, as the others did, either ‘typewriter’ or ‘dollar +mark,’ and wrote ‘trigger’ to give an unsuspicious appearance. ‘Secret +writing’ recalled at once the ‘symbols’ which I had suggested to him, +and which, of course, were in his mind anyway; but he wrote ‘cable +code’—not in itself entirely unnatural for one in a bank. The next +word, ‘combination,’ to everyone in a bank, at all times—particularly +if just emphasized—suggests its association, ‘safe’; and every single +one of the others, who had no guilty connection to conceal, so +associated it. Ford went out of his way to write ‘monopoly.’ And his +next association of ‘rifle,’ again, with ‘waste-basket’ is perhaps the +most interesting of all. As he had been searching the waste-basket for +‘scraps’ he thought it suspicious to put down that entirely natural +association; but scraps recalled to him those scraps bearing +‘typewriter’ symbols, and, avoiding the word typewriter, he +substituted for it his innocent association, ‘rifle.’ + +“The next words on my list were those put in to betray the man who had +taken the money—Shaffer. ‘Ten thousand,’ the amount he had taken, +suggested dollars to him, of course; but he was afraid to write +dollars. He wanted to appear entirely unconnected with any ‘ten +thousand dollars’; so he wrote ‘doors.’ At ‘five hundred’ Shaffer, +with twenty stolen five-hundred dollar bills in his possession, +preferred to appear to be thinking of five hundred ‘windows.’ +‘September 29th,’ the day of the theft, was burned into Shaffer’s +brain, so, avoiding it, he wrote ‘last year.’ ‘Promissory note’ in the +replies of most of your clerks brought out the natural connection of +‘sixty days’ suggested in my speech, but Shaffer—since it was just +sixty days since he stole—avoided it, precisely as both he and Ford, +fearing arrest as thieves, avoided—and were the only ones who +avoided—the line of least resistance in my last word. And the evidence +was complete against them!” + +Howell was staring at the lists, amazed. “I see! I see!” he cried, in +awe. “There is only one thing.” He raised his head. “It is clear here, +of course, now that you have explained it, how you knew Shaffer was +the one who took the money; but, was it a guess that he found it in +the waste-basket?” + +“No; rather a chance that I was able to determine it,” Trant replied. +“All his associations for the early words, except one, are as natural +and easy as anyone else’s, for these were the words put in to detect +Ford. But for some reason, ‘waste-basket’ troubled Shaffer, too. +Supposing the money was lost by old Gordon in putting it into the bag, +it seemed more than probable that Shaffer’s disturbance over this word +came from the fact that Gordon had tossed the missing bills into the +waste-basket.” + +There was a knock on the door. The special police officer of the bank +entered with Shaffer, who laid a package on the desk. + +“This is correct, Shaffer,” Howell acknowledged as he ran quickly +through the bills. He stepped to the door. “Send Mr. Gordon here,” he +commanded. + +“You were in time to save Gordon and Ford, Trant,” the banker +continued. “I shall merely dismiss Ford. Shaffer is a thief and must +be punished. Old Gordon—” + +He stopped and turned quickly as the old cashier entered without +knocking. + +“Gordon,” said the acting-president, pointing to the packet of money +on the desk, “I have sent for you to return to you this money—the ten +thousand dollars which you gave to the bank—and to tell you that your +son was not a thief, though this gentleman has just saved us, I am +afraid, from making him one. In saving the boy, Gordon, he had to +discover and reveal to me that you have worn yourself out in our +service. But, I shall see that you can retire when father returns, +with a proper pension.” + +The old cashier stared at his young employer dully for a moment; his +dim eyes dropped, uncomprehending, to the packet of money on the desk. +Then he came forward slowly, with bowed head, and took it. + + + +CHAPTER V + +The Man Higher Up + +The first real blizzard of the winter had burst upon New York from the +Atlantic. For seventy-two hours—as Rentland, file clerk in the +Broadway offices of the American Commodities Company, saw from the +record he was making for President Welter—no ship of any of the dozen +expected from foreign ports had been able to make the Company’s docks +in Brooklyn, or, indeed, had been reported at Sandy Hook. And for the +last five days, during which the weather bureau’s storm signals had +stayed steadily set, no steamer of the six which had finished +unloading at the docks the week before had dared to try for the open +sea except one, the _Elizabethan Age_, which had cleared the Narrows +on Monday night. + +On land the storm was scarcely less disastrous to the business of the +great importing company. Since Tuesday morning Rentland’s reports of +the car and train-load consignments which had left the warehouses +daily had been a monotonous page of trains stalled. But until that +Friday morning, Welter—the big, bull-necked, thick-lipped master of +men and money—had borne all the accumulated trouble of the week with +serenity, almost with contempt. Only when the file clerk added to his +report the minor item that the 3,000-ton steamer, _Elizabethan Age_, +which had cleared on Monday night, had been driven into Boston, +something suddenly seemed to “break” in the inner office. Rentland +heard the president’s secretary telephone to Brooklyn for Rowan, the +dock superintendent; he heard Welter’s heavy steps going to and fro in +the private office, his hoarse voice raised angrily; and soon +afterwards Rowan blustered in. Rentland could no longer overhear the +voices. He went back to his own private office and called the station +master at the Grand Central Station on the telephone. + +“The seven o’clock train from Chicago?” the clerk asked in a guarded +voice. “It came in at 10.30, as expected? Oh, at 10.10! Thank you.” He +hung up the receiver and opened the door to pass a word with Rowan as +he came out of the president’s office. + +“They’ve wired that the _Elizabethan Age_ couldn’t get beyond Boston, +Rowan,” he cried curiously. + +“The — — — hooker!” The dock superintendent had gone strangely white; +for the imperceptible fraction of an instant his eyes dimmed with +fear, as he stared into the wondering face of the clerk, but he +recovered himself quickly, spat offensively, and slammed the door as +he went out. Rentland stood with clenching hands for a moment; then he +glanced at the clock and hurried to the entrance of the outer office. +The elevator was just bringing up from the street a red-haired, +blue-gray-eyed young man of medium height, who, noting with a quick, +intelligent glance the arrangement of the offices, advanced directly +toward President Welter’s door. The chief clerk stepped forward +quickly. + +“You are Mr. Trant?” + +“Yes.” + +“I am Rentland. This way, please.” He led the psychologist to the +little room behind the files, where he had telephoned the moment +before. + +“Your wire to me in Chicago, which brought me here,” said Trant, +turning from the inscription “File Clerk” on the door to the dogged, +decisive features and wiry form of his client, “gave me to understand +that you wished to have me investigate the disappearance, or death, of +two of your dock scalecheckers. I suppose you were acting for +President Welter—of whom I have heard—in sending for me?” + +“No,” said Rentland, as he waved Trant to a seat. “President Welter is +certainly not troubling himself to that extent over an investigation.” + +“Then the company, or some other officer?” Trant questioned, with +increasing curiosity. + +“No; nor the company, nor any other officer in it, Mr. Trant.” +Rentland smiled. “Nor even am I, as file clerk of the American +Commodities Company, overtroubling myself about those checkers,” he +leaned nearer to Trant, confidentially, “but as a special agent for +the United States Treasury Department I am extremely interested in the +death of one of these men, and in the disappearance of the other. And +for that I called you to help me.” + +“As a secret agent for the Government?” Trant repeated, with rapidly +rising interest. + +“Yes; a spy, if you wish to call me, but as truly in the ranks of the +enemies to my country as any Nathan Hale, who has a statue in this +city. To-day the enemies are the big, corrupting, thieving +corporations like this company; and appreciating that, I am not +ashamed to be a spy in their ranks, commissioned by the Government to +catch and condemn President Welter, and any other officers involved +with him, for systematically stealing from the Government for the past +ten years, and for probable connivance in the murder of at least one +of those two checkers so that the company might continue to steal.” + +“To steal? How?” + +“Customs frauds, thefts, smuggling—anything you wish to call it. +Exactly what or how, I can’t tell; for that is part of what I sent for +you to find out. For a number of years the Customs Department has +suspected, upon circumstantial evidence, that the enormous profits of +this company upon the thousand and one things which it is importing +and distributing must come in part from goods they have got through +without paying the proper duty. So at my own suggestion I entered the +employ of the company a year ago to get track of the method. But after +a year here I was almost ready to give up the investigation in +despair, when Ed Landers, the company’s checker on the docks in scale +house No. 3, was killed—accidentally, the coroner’s jury said. To me +it looked suspiciously like murder. Within two weeks Morse, who was +appointed as checker in his place, suddenly disappeared. The company’s +officials showed no concern as to the fate of these two men; and my +suspicions that something crooked might be going on at scale house No. +3 were strengthened; and I sent for you to help me to get at the +bottom of things.” + +“Is it not best then to begin by giving me as fully as possible the +details of the employment of Morse and Landers, and also of their +disappearance?” the young psychologist suggested. + +“I have told you these things here, Trant, rather than take you to +some safer place,” the secret agent replied, “because I have been +waiting for some one who can tell you what you need to know better +than I can. Edith Rowan, the stepdaughter of the dock superintendent, +knew Landers well, for he boarded at Rowan’s house. She was—or is, if +he still lives—engaged to Morse. It is an unusual thing for Rowan +himself to come here to see President Welter, as he did just before +you came; but every morning since Morse disappeared his daughter has +come to see Welter personally. She is already waiting in the outer +office.” Opening the door, he indicated to Trant a light-haired, +overdressed, nervous girl twisting about uneasily on the seat outside +the president’s private office. + +“Welter thinks it policy, for some reason, to see her a moment every +morning. But she always comes out almost at once—crying.” + +“This is interesting,” Trant commented, as he watched the girl go into +the president’s office. After only a moment she came out, crying. +Rentland had already left his room, so it seemed by chance that he and +Trant met and supported her to the elevator, and over the slippery +pavement to the neat electric coupé which was standing at the curb. + +“It’s hers,” said Rentland, as Trant hesitated before helping the girl +into it. “It’s one of the things I wanted you to see. Broadway is very +slippery, Miss Rowan. You will let me see you home again this morning? +This gentleman is Mr. Trant, a private detective. I want him to come +along with us.” + +The girl acquiesced, and Trant crowded into the little automobile. +Rentland turned the coupé skillfully out into the swept path of the +street, ran swiftly down Fifth Avenue to Fourteenth Street, and +stopped three streets to the east before a house in the middle of the +block. The house was as narrow and cramped and as cheaply constructed +as its neighbors on both sides. It had lace curtains conspicuous in +every window, and impressive statuettes, vases, and gaudy bits of +bric-à-brac in the front rooms. + +“He told me again that Will must still be off drunk; and Will never +takes a drink,” she spoke to them for the first time, as they entered +the little sitting room. + +“‘He’ is Welter,” Rentland explained to Trant. “‘Will’ is Morse, the +missing man. Now, Miss Rowan, I have brought Mr. Trant with me because +I have asked him to help me find Morse for you, as I promised; and I +want you to tell him everything you can about how Landers was killed +and how Morse disappeared.” + +“And remember,” Trant interposed, “that I know very little about the +American Commodities Company.” + +“Why, Mr. Trant,” the girl gathered herself together, “you cannot +help knowing something about the company! It imports almost +everything—tobacco, sugar, coffee, wines, olives, and preserved +fruits, oils, and all sorts of table delicacies, from all over the +world, even from Borneo, Mr. Trant, and from Madagascar and New +Zealand. It has big warehouses at the docks with millions of dollars’ +worth of goods stored in them. My stepfather has been with the company +for years, and has charge of all that goes on at the docks.” + +“Including the weighing?” + +“Yes; everything on which there is a duty when it is taken off the +boats has to be weighed, and to do this there are big scales, and for +each one a scale house. When a scale is being used there are two men +in the scale house. One of these is the Government weigher, who sets +the scale to a balance and notes down the weight in a book. The other +man, who is an employee of the company, writes the weight also in a +book of his own; and he is called the company’s checker. But though +there are half a dozen scales, almost everything, when it is possible, +is unloaded in front of scale No. 3, for that is the best berth for +ships.” + +“And Landers?” + +“Landers was the company’s checker on scale No. 3. Well, about five +weeks ago I began to see that Mr. Landers was troubled about +something. Twice a queer, quiet little man with a scar on his cheek +came to see him, and each time they went up to Mr. Landers’s room and +talked a long while. Ed’s room was over the sitting room, and after +the man had gone I could hear him walking back and forth—walking and +walking until it seemed as though he would never stop. I told father +about this man who troubled Mr. Landers, and he asked him about it, +but Mr. Landers flew into a rage and said it was nothing of +importance. Then one night—it was a Wednesday—everybody stayed late at +the docks to finish unloading the steamer _Covallo_. About two o’clock +father got home, but Mr. Landers had not been ready to come with him. +He did not come all that night, and the next day he did not come home. + +“Now, Mr. Trant, they are very careful at the warehouses about who +goes in and out, because so many valuable things are stored there. On +one side the warehouses open onto the docks, and at each end they are +fenced off so that you cannot go along the docks and get away from +them that way; and on the other side they open onto the street through +great driveway doors, and at every door, as long as it is open, there +stands a watchman, who sees everybody that goes in and out. Only one +door was open that Wednesday night, and the watchman there had not +seen Mr. Landers go out. And the second night passed, and he did not +come home. But the next morning, Friday morning,” the girl caught her +breath hysterically, “Mr. Landers’s body was found in the engine room +back of scale house No. 3, with the face crushed in horribly!” + +“Was the engine room occupied?” said Trant, quickly. “It must have +been occupied in the daytime, and probably on the night when Landers +disappeared, as they were unloading the _Covallo_. But on the night +after which the body was found—was it occupied that night?” + +“I don’t know, Mr. Trant. I think it could not have been, for after +the verdict of the coroner’s jury, which was that Mr. Landers had been +killed by some part of the machinery, it was said that the accident +must have happened either the evening before, just before the engineer +shut off his engines, or the first thing that morning, just after he +had started them; for otherwise somebody in the engine room would have +seen it.” + +“But where had Landers been all day Thursday, Miss Rowan, from two +o’clock on the second night before, when your father last saw him, +until the accident in the engine room?” + +“It was supposed he had been drunk. When his body was found, his +clothes were covered with fibers from the coffee-sacking, and the jury +supposed he had been sleeping off his liquor in the coffee warehouse +during Thursday. But I had known Ed Landers for almost three years, +and in all that time I never knew him to take even one drink.” + +“Then it was a very unlikely supposition. You do not believe in that +accident, Miss Rowan?” Trant said, brusquely. + +The girl grew white as paper. “Oh, Mr. Trant, I don’t know! I did +believe in it. But since Will—Mr. Morse—has disappeared in exactly the +same way, under exactly the same circumstances, and everyone acts +about it exactly the same way—” + +“You say the circumstances of Morse’s disappearance were the same?” +Trant pressed quietly when she was able to proceed. + +“After Mr. Landers had been found dead,” said the girl, pulling +herself together again, “Mr. Morse, who had been checker in one of the +other scale houses, was made checker on scale No. 3. We were surprised +at that, for it was a sort of promotion, and father did not like Will; +he had been greatly displeased at our engagement. Will’s promotion +made us very happy, for it seemed as though father must be changing +his opinion. But after Will had been checker on scale No. 3 only a few +days, the same queer, quiet little man with the scar on his cheek who +had begun coming to see Mr. Landers before he was killed began coming +to see Will, too! And after he began coming, Will was troubled, +terribly troubled, I could see; but he would not tell me the reason. +And he expected, after that man began coming, that something would +happen to him. And I know, from the way he acted and spoke about Mr. +Landers, that he thought he had not been accidentally killed. One +evening, when I could see he had been more troubled than ever before, +he said that if anything happened to him I was to go at once to his +boarding house and take charge of everything in his room, and not to +let anyone into the room to search it until I had removed everything +in the bureau drawers; everything, no matter how useless anything +seemed. Then, the very next night, five days ago, just as while Mr. +Landers was checker, everybody stayed overtime at the docks to finish +unloading a vessel, the _Elizabethan Age_. And in the morning Will’s +landlady called me on the phone to tell me that he had not come home. +Five days ago, Mr. Trant! And since then no one has seen or heard from +him; and the watchman did not see him come out of the warehouse that +night just as he did not see Ed Landers.” + +“What did you find in Morse’s bureau?” asked Trant. + +“I found nothing.” + +“Nothing?” Trant repeated. “That is impossible, Miss Rowan! Think +again! Remember he warned you that what you found might seem trivial +and useless.” + +The girl, a little defiantly, studied for an instant Trant’s clear-cut +features. Suddenly she arose and ran from the room, but returned +quickly with a strange little implement in her hand. + +It was merely a bit of wire, straight for perhaps three inches, and +then bent in a half circle of five or six inches, the bent portion of +the wire being wound carefully with stout twine, thus: + + [Illustration: A sickle-shaped wire, with string wrapped around the + curved section.] + +“Except for his clothes and some blank writing paper and envelopes +that was absolutely the only thing in the bureau. It was the only +thing at all in the only locked drawer.” + +Trant and Rentland stared disappointedly at this strange implement, +which the girl handed to the psychologist. + +“You have shown this to your stepfather, Miss Rowan, for a possible +explanation of why a company checker should be so solicitous about +such a thing as this?” asked Trant. + +“No,” the girl hesitated. “Will had told me not to say anything; and I +told you father did not like Will. He had made up his mind that I was +to marry Ed Landers. In most ways father is kind and generous. He’s +kept the coupé we came here in for mother and me for two years; and +you see,” she gestured a little proudly about the bedecked and badly +furnished rooms, “you see how he gets everything for us. Mr. Landers +was most generous, too. He took me to the theaters two or three times +every week—always the best seats, too. I didn’t want to go, but father +made me. I preferred Will, though he wasn’t so generous.” + +Trant’s eyes returned, with more intelligent scrutiny, to the +mysterious implement in his hand. + +“What salary do checkers receive, Rentland?” he asked, in a low tone. + +“One hundred and twenty-five dollars a month.” + +“And her father, the dock superintendent—how much?” Trant’s expressive +glance now jumping about from one gaudy, extravagant trifle in the +room to another, caught a glimpse again of the electric coupé standing +in the street, then returned to the tiny bit of wire in his hand. + +“Three thousand a year,” Rentland replied. + +“Tell me, Miss Rowan,” said Trant, “this implement—have you by any +chance mentioned it to President Welter?” + +“Why, no, Mr. Trant.” + +“You are sure of that? Excellent! Excellent! Now the queer, quiet +little man with the scar on his cheek who came to see Morse; no one +could tell you anything about him?” + +“No one, Mr. Trant; but yesterday Will’s landlady told me that a man +has come to ask for Will every forenoon since he disappeared, and she +thinks this may be the man with the scar, though she can’t be sure, +for he kept the collar of his overcoat up about his face. She was to +telephone me if he came again.” + +“If he comes this morning,” Trant glanced quickly at his watch, “you +and I, Rentland, might much better be waiting for him over there.” + +The psychologist rose, putting the bent, twine-wound bit of wire +carefully into his pocket; and a minute later the two men crossed the +street to the house, already known to Rentland, where Morse had +boarded. The landlady not only allowed them to wait in her little +parlor, but waited with them until at the end of an hour she pointed +with an eager gesture to a short man in a big ulster who turned +sharply up the front steps. + +“That’s him—see!” she exclaimed. + +“That the man with the scar!” cried Rentland. “Well! I know him.” + +He made for the door, caught at the ulster and pulled the little man +into the house by main force. + +“Well, Dickey!” the secret agent challenged, as the man faced him in +startled recognition. “What are you doing in this case? Trant, this is +Inspector Dickey, of the Customs Office,” he introduced the officer. + +“I’m in the case on my own hook, if I know what case you’re talking +about,” piped Dickey. “Morse, eh? and the American Commodities +Company, eh?” + +“Exactly,” said Rentland, brusquely. “What were you calling to see +Landers for?” + +“You know about that?” The little man looked up sharply. “Well, six +weeks ago Landers came to me and told me he had something to sell; a +secret system for beating the customs. But before we got to terms, he +began losing his nerve a little; he got it back, however, and was +going to tell me when, all at once, he disappeared, and two days later +he was dead! That made it hotter for me; so I went after Morse. But +Morse denied he knew anything. Then Morse disappeared, too.” + +“So you got nothing at all out of them?” Rentland interposed. + +“Nothing I could use. Landers, one time when he was getting up his +nerve, showed me a piece of bent wire—with string around it—in his +room, and began telling me something when Rowan called him, and then +he shut up.” + +“A bent wire!” Trant cried, eagerly. “Like this?” He took from his +pocket the implement given him by Edith Rowan. “Morse had this in his +room, the only thing in a locked drawer.” + +“The same thing!” Dickey cried, seizing it. “So Morse had it, too, +after he became checker at scale No. 3, where the cheating is, if +anywhere. The very thing Landers started to explain to me, and how +they cheated the customs with it. I say, we must have it now, +Rentland! We need only go to the docks and watch them while they +weigh, and see how they use it, and arrest them and then we have them +at last, eh, old man?” he cried in triumph. “We have them at last!” + +“You mean,” Trant cut in upon the customs man, “that you can convict +and jail perhaps the checker, or a foreman, or maybe even a dock +superintendent—as usual. But the men higher up—the big men who are +really at the bottom of this business and the only ones worth +getting—will you catch them?” + +“We must take those we can get,” said Dickey sharply. + +Trant laid his hand on the little officer’s arm. + +“I am a stranger to you,” he said, “but if you have followed some of +the latest criminal cases in Illinois perhaps you know that, using the +methods of modern practical psychology, I have been able to get +results where old ways have failed. We are front to front now with +perhaps the greatest problem of modern criminal catching, to catch, in +cases involving a great corporation, not only the little men low down +who perform the criminal acts, but the men higher up, who conceive, or +connive at the criminal scheme. Rentland, I did not come here to +convict merely a dock foreman; but if we are going to reach anyone +higher than that, you must not let Inspector Dickey excite suspicion +by prying into matters at the docks this afternoon!” + +“But what else can we do?” said Rentland, doubtfully. + +“Modern practical psychology gives a dozen possible ways for proving +the knowledge of the man higher up in this corporation crime,” Trant +answered, “and I am considering which is the most practicable. Only +tell me,” he demanded suddenly; “Mr. Welter I have heard is one of the +rich men of New York who make it a fad to give largely to universities +and other institutions; can you tell me with what ones he may be most +closely interested?” + +“I have heard,” Rentland replied, “that he is one of the patrons of +the Stuyvesant School of Science. It is probably the most fashionably +patroned institution in New York; and Welter’s name, I know, figures +with it in the newspapers.” + +“Nothing could be better!” Trant exclaimed. “Kuno Schmalz has his +psychological laboratory there. I see my way now, Rentland; and you +will hear from me early in the afternoon. But keep away from the +docks!” He turned and left the astonished customs officers abruptly. +Half an hour later the young psychologist sent in his card to +Professor Schmalz in the laboratory of the Stuyvesant School of +Science. The German, broad-faced, spectacled, beaming, himself came to +the laboratory door. + +“Is it Mr. Trant—the young, apt pupil of my old friend, Dr. Reiland?” +he boomed, admiringly. “Ach! luck is good to Reiland! For twenty years +I, too, have shown them in the laboratory how fear, guilt, every +emotion causes in the body reactions which can be measured. But do +they apply it? Pouf! No! it remains to them all impractical, academic, +because I have only nincompoops in my classes!” + +“Professor Schmalz,” said Trant, following him into the laboratory, +and glancing from one to another of the delicate instruments with keen +interest, “tell me along what line you are now working.” + +“Ach! I have been for a year now experimenting with the plethysmograph +and the pneumograph. I make a taste, I make a smell, or I make a noise +to excite feeling in the subject; and I read by the plethysmograph +that the volume of blood in the hand decreases under the emotions and +that the pulse quickens; and by the pneumograph I read that the +breathing is easier or quicker, depending on whether the emotions are +pleasant or unpleasant. I have performed this year more than two +thousand of those experiments.” + +“Good! I have a problem in which you can be of the very greatest use +to me; and the plethysmograph and the pneumograph will serve my +purpose as well as any other instrument in the laboratory. For no +matter how hardened a man may be, no matter how impossible it may have +become to detect his feelings in his face or bearing, he cannot +prevent the volume of blood in his hand from decreasing, and his +breathing from becoming different, under the influence of emotions of +fear or guilt. By the way, professor, is Mr. Welter familiar with +these experiments of yours?” + +“What, he!” cried the stout German. “For why should I tell him about +them? He knows nothing. He has bought my time to instruct classes; he +has not bought, py chiminey! everything—even the soul Gott gave me!” + +“But he would be interested in them?” + +“To be sure, he would be interested in them! He would bring in his +automobile three or four other fat money-makers, and he would show me +off before them. He would make his trained bear—that is me—dance!” + +“Good!” cried Trant again, excitedly. “Professor Schmalz, would you be +willing to give a little exhibition of the plethysmograph and +pneumograph, this evening, if possible, and arrange for President +Welter to attend it?” + +The astute German cast on him a quick glance of interrogation. “Why +not?” he said. “It makes nothing to me what purpose you will be +carrying out; no, py chiminey! not if it costs me my position of +trained bear; because I have confidence in my psychology that it will +not make any innocent man suffer!” + +“And you will have two or three scientists present to watch the +experiments? And you will allow me to be there also and assist?” + +“With great pleasure.” + +“But, Professor Schmalz, you need not introduce me to Mr. Welter, who +will think I am one of your assistants.” + +“As you wish about that, pupil of my dear old friend.” + +“Excellent!” Trant leaped to his feet. “Provided it is possible to +arrange this with Mr. Welter, how soon can you let me know?” + +“Ach! it is as good as arranged, I tell you. His vanity will arrange +it if I assure the greatest publicity—” + +“The more publicity the better.” + +“Wait! It shall be fixed before you leave here.” + +The professor led the way into his private study, telephoned to the +president of the American Commodities Company, and made the +appointment without trouble. + + +A few minutes before eight o’clock that evening Trant again mounted +rapidly the stone steps to the professor’s laboratory. The professor +and two others, who were bending over a table in the center of the +room, turned at his entrance. President Welter had not yet arrived. +The young psychologist acknowledged with pleasure the introduction to +the two scientists with Schmalz. Both of them were known to him by +name, and he had been following with interest a series of experiments +which the elder, Dr. Annerly, had been reporting in a psychological +journal. Then he turned at once to the apparatus on the table. + +He was still examining the instruments when the noise of a motor +stopping at the door warned him of the arrival of President Welter’s +party. Then the laboratory door opened and the party appeared. They +also were three in number; stout men, rather obtrusively dressed, in +jovial spirits, with strong faces flushed now with the wine they had +taken at dinner. + +“Well, professor, what fireworks are you going to show us to-night?” +asked Welter, patronizingly. “Schmalz,” he explained to his +companions, “is the chief ring master of this circus.” + +The bearded face of the German grew purple under Welter’s jokingly +overbearing manner; but he turned to the instruments and began to +explain them. The Marey pneumograph, which the professor first took +up, consists of a very thin flexible brass plate suspended by a cord +around the neck of the person under examination, and fastened tightly +against the chest by a cord circling the body. On the outer surface of +this plate are two small, bent levers, connected at one end to the +cord around the body of the subject, and at the other end to the +surface of a small hollow drum fastened to the plate between the two. +As the chest rises and falls in breathing, the levers press more and +less upon the surface of the drum; and this varying pressure on the +air inside the drum is transmitted from the drum through an air-tight +tube to a little pencil which it drops and lifts. The pencil, as it +rises and falls, touching always a sheet of smoked paper traveling +over a cylinder on the recording device, traces a line whose rising +strokes represent accurately the drawing of air into the chest and +whose falling represents its expulsion. + +It was clear to Trant that the professor’s rapid explanation, though +plain enough to the psychologists already familiar with the device, +was only partly understood by the big men. It had not been explained +to them that changes in the breathing so slight as to be imperceptible +to the eye would be recorded unmistakably by the moving pencil. + +Professor Schmalz turned to the second instrument. This was a +plethysmograph, designed to measure the increase or decrease of the +size of one finger of a person under examination as the blood supply +to that finger becomes greater or less. It consists primarily of a +small cylinder so constructed that it can be fitted over the finger +and made air-tight. Increase or decrease of the size of the finger +then increases or decreases the air pressure inside the cylinder. +These changes in the air pressure are transmitted through an air-tight +tube to a delicate piston which moves a pencil and makes a line upon +the record sheet just under that made by the pneumograph. The upward +or downward trend of this line shows the increase or decrease of the +blood supply, while the smaller vibrations up and down record the +pulse beat in the finger. + +There was still a third pencil touching the record sheet above the +other two and wired electrically to a key like that of a telegraph +instrument fastened to the table. When this key was in its normal +position this pencil made simply a straight line upon the sheet; but +instantly when the key was pressed down, the line broke downward also. + +This third instrument was used merely to record on the sheet, by the +change in the line, the point at which the object that aroused +sensation or emotion was displayed to the person undergoing +examination. + +The instant’s silence which followed Schmalz’s rapid explanation was +broken by one of Welter’s companions with the query: + +“Well, what’s the use of all this stuff, anyway?” + +“Ach!” said Schmalz, bluntly, “it is interesting, curious! I will show +you.” + +“Will one of you gentlemen,” said Trant, quickly, “permit us to make +use of him in the demonstration?” + +“Try it, Jim,” Welter laughed, noisily. + +“Not I,” said the other. “This is your circus.” + +“Yes, indeed it’s mine. And I’m not afraid of it. Schmalz, do your +worst!” He dropped laughing into the chair the professor set for him, +and at Schmalz’s direction unbuttoned his vest. The professor hung the +pneumograph around his neck and fastened it tightly about the big +chest. He laid Welter’s forearm in a rest suspended from the ceiling, +and attached the cylinder to the second finger of the plump hand. In +the meantime Trant had quickly set the pencils to bear upon the record +sheet and had started the cylinder on which the sheet traveled under +them. + +“You see, I have prepared for you.” Schmalz lifted a napkin from a +tray holding several little dishes. He took from one of these a bit of +caviar and laid it upon Welter’s tongue. At the same instant Trant +pushed down the key. The pencils showed a slight commotion, and the +spectators stared at this record sheet: + + [Illustration: A polygraph record consisting of three lines. The top + line is straight except for a dip at the one-third point. The middle + line rises and falls a dozen times; at the one-third point its + curves become smaller for several wavelengths. The bottom line + consists of many small zigzags, and dips down at the one-third point + before slowly rising back to its original height.] + +“Ah!” exclaimed Schmalz, “you do not like caviar.” + +“How do you know that?” demanded Welter. + +“The instruments show that at the unpleasant taste you breathe less +freely—not so deep. Your finger, as under strong sensation or emotion, +grows smaller, and your pulse beats more rapidly.” + +“By the Lord! Welter, what do you think of that?” cried one of his +companions; “your finger gets smaller when you taste caviar!” + +It was a joke to them. Boisterously laughing, they tried Welter with +other food upon the tray; they lighted for him one of the black cigars +of which he was most fond, and watched the trembling pencils write the +record of his pleasure at the taste and smell. Through it all Trant +waited, alert, watchful, biding the time to carry out his plan. It +came when, having exhausted the articles at hand, they paused to find +some other means to carry on the amusement. The young psychologist +leaned forward suddenly. + +“It is no great ordeal after all, is it, Mr. Welter?” he said. “Modern +psychology does not put its subjects to torture like”—he halted, +meaningly—“_a prisoner in the Elizabethan Age_!” + +Dr. Annerly, bending over the record sheet, uttered a startled +exclamation. Trant, glancing keenly at him, straightened triumphantly. +But the young psychologist did not pause. He took quickly from his +pocket a photograph, showing merely a heap of empty coffee sacks piled +carelessly to a height of some two feet along the inner wall of a +shed, and laid it in front of the subject. Welter’s face did not +alter; but again the pencils shuddered over the moving paper, and the +watchers stared with astonishment. Rapidly removing the photograph, +Trant substituted for it the bent wire given him by Miss Rowan. Then +for the last time he swung to the instrument, and as his eyes caught +the wildly vibrating pencils, they flared with triumph. + + [Illustration: In a crowded laboratory, an older gentleman sits + alongside a table. His right hand rests on the table, and wires lead + from his fingers to an electrical machine. Atop the machine a roll + of dark paper scrolls past a moving needle that leaves a light + zigzag mark on the paper. Behind the gentleman a crowd of several + other men carefully watch the marks made on the scrolling paper.] + + Caption: Welter’s face did not alter; the watchers stared with + astonishment + +President Welter rose abruptly, but not too hurriedly. “That’s about +enough of this tomfoolery,” he said, with perfect self-possession. + +His jaw had imperceptibly squared to the watchful determination of the +prize fighter driven into his corner. His cheek still held the ruddy +glow of health; but the wine flush had disappeared from it, and he was +perfectly sober. + +Trant tore the strip of paper from the instrument, and numbered the +last three reactions 1, 2, 3. This is the way the records looked: + + [Illustration: Another polygraph record. It is very similar to the + previous example, except that the waves in the middle line shrink + more noticeably at the one-third point, and take longer to return to + their previous size. Likewise, the dip in the bottom line is deeper + and wider. Label: Record of the reaction when Trant said: “A + prisoner in the Elizabethan Age!”] + + [Illustration: Another polygraph record. In this one the rhythm in + the waves of the middle line are disrupted at the one-third point, + and do not entirely return to normal. Likewise, the dip in the + bottom line is deeper yet, and only just climbs back to its original + height. Label: Record made when Welter saw the photograph of a heap + of coffee sacks.] + + [Illustration: Another polygraph record. The waves of the middle + line contract severely at the one-third point, and remain + contracted. Likewise, the bottom line dips precipitously, and only + returns to half of its original height. Label: Record made when the + spring was shown to Welter.] + + Caption: In each of these diagrams the single break in the upper + line shows the point at which an object or words expected to arouse + emotion are presented. The wavy line just below it is the record of + the subject’s breathing. The irregular line at the bottom indicates + the alteration of the size of the subject’s finger as the blood + supply increases or decreases. + +“Amazing!” said Dr. Annerly. “Mr. Welter, I am curious to know what +associations you have with that photograph and bent wire, the sight of +which aroused in you such strong emotion.” + +By immense self-control, the president of the American Commodities +Company met his eyes fairly. “None,” he answered. + +“Impossible! No psychologist, knowing how this record was taken, could +look at it without feeling absolutely certain that the photograph and +spring caused in you such excessive emotion that I am tempted to give +it, without further words, the name of ‘intense fright!’ But if we +have inadvertently surprised a secret, we have no desire to pry into +it further. Is it not so, Mr. Trant?” + +At the name President Welter whirled suddenly. “Trant! Is your name +Trant?” he demanded. “Well, I’ve heard of you.” His eyes hardened. “A +man like you goes just so far, and then—somebody stops him!” + +“As they stopped Landers?” Trant inquired. + +“Come, we’ve seen enough, I guess,” said President Welter, including +for one instant in his now frankly menacing gaze both Trant and +Professor Schmalz; he turned to the door, closely followed by his +companions. And a moment later the quick explosions of his automobile +were heard. At the sound, Trant seized suddenly a large envelope, +dropped into it the photograph and wire he had just used, sealed, +signed, and dated it, signed and dated also the record from the +instruments, and hurriedly handed all to Dr. Annerly. + +“Doctor, I trust this to you,” he cried, excitedly. “It will be best +to have them attested by all three of you. If possible get the record +photograph to-night, and distribute the photographs in safe places. +Above all, do not let the record itself out of your hands until I come +for it. It is important—extremely important! As for me, I have not a +moment to lose!” + + +The young psychologist sped down the stone steps of the laboratory +three at a time, ran at top speed to the nearest street corner, turned +it and leaped into a waiting automobile. “The American Commodities +Company’s docks in Brooklyn,” he shouted, “and never mind the speed +limits!” + +Rentland and the chauffeur, awaiting him in the machine, galvanized at +his coming. + +“Hot work?” the customs’s agent asked. + +“It may be very hot; but we have the start of him,” Trant replied as +the car shot ahead. “Welter himself is coming to the docks to-night, I +think, by the look of him! He left just before me, but must drop his +friends first. He suspects, now, that we know; but he cannot be aware +that we know that they are unloading to-night. He probably counts on +our waiting to catch them at the cheating to-morrow morning. So he’s +going over to-night himself, if I size him up right, to order it +stopped and remove all traces before we can prove anything. Is Dickey +waiting?” + +“When you give the word he is to take us in and catch them at it. If +Welter himself comes, as you think, it will not change the plan?” +Rentland replied. + +“Not at all,” said Trant, “for I have him already. He will deny +everything, of course, but it’s too late now!” + +The big car, with unchecked speed, swung down Broadway, slowed after a +twenty-minutes’ run to cross the Brooklyn Bridge, and, turning to the +left, plunged once more at high speed into the narrower and less +well-kept thoroughfares of the Brooklyn water front. Two minutes later +it overtook a little electric coupé, bobbing excitedly down the +sloping street. As they passed it, Trant caught sight of the +illuminated number hanging at its rear, and shouted suddenly to the +chauffeur, who brought the big motor to a stop a hundred feet beyond. +The psychologist, leaping down, ran into the road before the little +car. + +“Miss Rowan,” he cried to its single occupant, as it came to a stop. +“Why are you coming over here at this time to-night?” + +“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Trant!” She opened the door, showing relief in the +recognition. “Oh, I’m so worried. I’m on my way to see father; for a +telegram just came to him from Boston; mother opened it, and told me +to take it to him at once, as it was most important. She wouldn’t tell +me what it was about, but it excited her a great deal. Oh, I’m so +afraid it must be about Will and that was why she wouldn’t tell me.” + +“From Boston?” Trant pressed quickly. Having her confidence, the girl +nervously read the telegram aloud by the light of the coupé’s side +lamps. It read: + + Police have taken your friend out of our hands; look out for + trouble. Wilson. + +“Who is Wilson?” Trant demanded. + +“I am not sure it is the man, but the captain of the _Elizabethan Age_ +is a friend of father’s named Wilson!” + +“I can’t help you then, after all,” said Trant, springing back to his +powerful car. He whispered a word to the chauffeur which sent it +driving ahead through the drifts at double its former speed, leaving +the little electric coupé far behind. Ten minutes later Rentland +stopped the motor a block short of a great lighted doorway which +suddenly showed in a length of dark, lowering buildings which lay +beside the American Commodities Company’s Brooklyn docks. + +“Now,” the secret agent volunteered, “it is up to me to find Dickey’s +ladder!” + +He guided Trant down a narrow, dark court which brought them face to +face with a blank wall; against this wall a light ladder had been +recently placed. Ascending it, they came into the dock inclosure. +Descending again by a dozen rickety, disused steps, they reached a +darker, covered teamway and hurried along it to the docks. Just short +of the end of the open dock houses, where a string of arc lamps threw +their white and flickering light upon the huge, black side of a moored +steamer, Rentland turned into a little shed, and the two came suddenly +upon Customs Officer Dickey. + +“This one next to us,” the little man whispered, eagerly, to Trant, as +he grasped his hand, “is the scale house where whatever is being done +is done—No. 3.” + +In and out of the yawning gangways of the steamer before them +struggling lines of sweating men were wheeling trucks loaded with +bales of tobacco. Trant looked first to the left, where the bales +disappeared into the tobacco warehouse; then to the right, where, +close at hand, each truck-load stopped momentarily on a scale platform +in front of the low shed which bore the number Dickey indicated in a +large white figure. + +“Who’s that?” asked Trant, as a small figure, hardly five feet tall, +cadaverous, beetle-browed, with cold, malignant, red-lidded eyes +passed directly under the arc light nearest them. + +“Rowan, the dock superintendent!” Dickey whispered. + +“I knew he was small,” Trant returned with surprise, “but I thought +surely he must have some fist to be the terror of these dock +laborers.” + +“Wait!” Rentland, behind them, motioned. + +A bloated, menacing figure had suddenly swung clear of the group of +dock laborers—a roustabout, goaded to desperation, with a fist raised +against his puny superior. But before the blow had fallen another +fist, huge and black, struck the man over Rowan’s shoulder with a +hammer. He fell, and the dock superintendent passed on without a +backward glance, the giant negro who had struck the blow following in +his footsteps like a dog. + +“The black,” Rentland explained, “is Rowan’s bodyguard. He needs him.” + +“I see,” Trant replied. “And for Miss Rowan’s sake I am glad it was +that way,” he added, enigmatically. + +Dickey had quietly opened a door on the opposite side of the shed; the +three slipped quickly through it and stepped unobserved around the +corner of the coffee warehouse to a long, dark, and narrow space. On +one side of them was the rear wall of scale house No. 3, and on the +other the engine room where Landers’s body had been found. The single +window in the rear of No. 3 scale house had been whitewashed to +prevent anyone from looking in from that side; but in spots the +whitewash had fallen off in flakes. Trant put his eye to one of these +clear spots in the glass and looked in. + +The scale table, supported on heavy posts, extended across almost the +whole front of the house, behind a low, wide window, which permitted +those seated at the table to see all that occurred on the docks. +Toward the right end of the table sat the Government weigher; toward +the left end, and separated from him by almost the whole length of the +table, sat the company checker. They were the only persons in the +scale house. Trant, after his first rapid survey of the scene, fixed +his eye upon the man who had taken the place which Landers had held +for three years, and Morse for a few days afterwards—the company +checker. A truck-load of tobacco bales was wheeled on to the scales in +front of the house. + +“Watch his left knee,” Trant whispered quickly into Dickey’s ear at +the pane beside him, as the balance was being made upon the beam +before them. As he spoke, the Government weigher adjusted the balance +and they saw the left leg of the company checker pressed hard against +the post which protected the scale rod at his end. Both men in the +scale house then read aloud the weight and each entered it in the book +on the table in front of him. A second truckful was wheeled on to the +scale; and again, just as the Government weigher fixed his balances, +the company checker, so inconspicuously as to make the act +undiscoverable by anyone not looking for that precise move, repeated +the operation. With the next truck they saw it again. The psychologist +turned to the others. Rentland, too, had been watching through the +pane and nodded his satisfaction. + +Immediately Trant dashed open the door of the scale house, and threw +himself bodily upon the checker. The man resisted; they struggled. +While the customs men protected him, Trant, wrenching something from +the post beside the checker’s left knee, rose with a cry of triumph. +Then the psychologist, warned by a cry from Rentland, leaped quickly +to one side to avoid a blow from the giant negro. His quickness saved +him; still the blow, glancing along his cheek, hurled him from his +feet. He rose immediately, blood flowing from a superficial cut upon +his forehead where it had struck the scale-house wall. He saw Rentland +covering the negro with a revolver, and the two other customs men +arresting, at pistol point, the malignant little dock superintendent, +the checker, and the others who had crowded into the scale house. + +“You see!” Trant exhibited to the customs officers a bit of bent wire, +wound with string, precisely like that the girl had given him that +morning and he had used in his test of Welter the hour before. “It was +almost exactly as we knew it must be! This spring was stuck through a +hole in the protecting post so that it prevented the balance beam from +rising properly when bales were put on the platform. A little pressure +just at that point takes many pounds from each bale weighed. The +checker had only to move his knee, in a way we would never have +noticed if we were not watching for it, to work the scheme by which +they have been cheating for ten years! But the rest of this affair,” +he glanced at the quickly collecting crowd, “can best be settled in +the office.” + +He led the way, the customs men taking their prisoners at pistol +point. As they entered the office, Rowan first, a girl’s cry and the +answering oath of her father told Trant that the dock superintendent’s +daughter had arrived. But she had been almost overtaken by another +powerful car; for before Trant could speak with her the outer door of +the office opened violently and President Welter, in an automobile +coat and cap, entered. + +“Ah! Mr. Welter, you got here quickly,” said Trant, meeting calmly his +outraged astonishment at the scene. “But a little too late.” + +“What is the matter here?” Welter governed his voice commandingly. +“And what has brought you here, from your phrenology?” he demanded, +contemptuously, of Trant. + +“The hope of catching red-handed, as we have just caught them, your +company checker and your dock superintendent defrauding the +Government,” Trant returned, “before you could get here to stop them +and remove evidences.” + +“What raving idiocy is this?” Welter replied, still with excellent +moderation. “I came here to sign some necessary papers for ships +clearing, and you—” + +“I say we have caught your men red-handed,” Trant repeated, “at the +methods used, with your certain knowledge and under your direction, +Mr. Welter, to steal systematically from the United States Government +for—probably the last ten years. We have uncovered the means by which +your company checker at scale No. 3, which, because of its position, +probably weighs more cargoes than all the other scales together, has +been lessening the apparent weights upon which you pay duties.” + +“Cheating here under my direction?” Welter now bellowed indignantly. +“What are you talking about? Rowan, what is he talking about?” he +demanded, boldly, of the dock superintendent; but the cadaverous +little man was unable to brazen it out with him. + +“You need not have looked at your dock superintendent just then, Mr. +Welter, to see if he would stand the racket when the trouble comes, +for which you have been paying him enough on the side to keep him in +electric motors and marble statuettes. And you cannot try now to +disown this crime with the regular president-of-corporation excuse, +Mr. Welter, that you never knew of it, that it was all done without +your knowledge by a subordinate to make a showing in his department; +and do not expect, either, to escape so easily your certain complicity +in the murder of Landers, to prevent him from exposing your scheme +and—since even the American Commodities Company scarcely dared to have +two ‘accidental deaths’ of checkers in the same month—the shanghaiing +of Morse later.” + +“My complicity in the death of Landers and the disappearance of +Morse?” Welter roared. + +“I said the murder of Landers,” Trant corrected. “For when Rentland +and Dickey tell to-morrow before the grand jury how Landers was about +to disclose to the Customs Department the secret of the cheating in +weights; how he was made afraid by Rowan, and later was about to tell +anyway and was prevented only by a most sudden death, I think murder +will be the word brought in the indictment. And I said shanghaiing of +Morse, Mr. Welter. When we remembered this morning that Morse had +disappeared the night the _Elizabethan Age_ left your docks and you +and Rowan were so intensely disgusted at its having had to put into +Boston this morning instead of going on straight to Sumatra, we did +not have to wait for the chance information this evening that Captain +Wilson is a friend of Rowan’s to deduce that the missing checker was +put aboard, as confirmed by the Boston harbor police this afternoon, +who searched the ship under our instructions.” Trant paused a moment; +again fixed the now trembling Welter with his eye, and continued: “I +charge your certain complicity in these crimes, along with your +certain part in the customs frauds,” the psychologist repeated. +“Undoubtedly, it was Rowan who put Morse out of the way upon the +_Elizabethan Age_. Nevertheless, you knew that he was a prisoner upon +that ship, a fact which was written down in indelible black and white +by my tests of you at the Stuyvesant Institute two hours ago, when I +merely mentioned to you ‘a prisoner in the _Elizabethan Age_.’ + +“I do not charge that you, personally, were the one who murdered +Landers; or even that Rowan himself did; whether his negro did, as I +suspect, is a matter now for the courts to decide upon. But that you +undoubtedly were aware that he was not killed accidentally in the +engine room, but was killed the Wednesday night before and his body +hidden under the coffee bags, as I guessed from the fibers of coffee +sacking on his clothes, was also registered as mercilessly by the +psychological machines when I showed you merely the picture of a pile +of coffee sacks. + +“And last, Mr. Welter, you deny knowledge of the cheating which has +been going on, and was at the bottom of the other crimes. Well, +Welter,” the psychologist took from his pocket the bent, twine-wound +wire, “here is the ‘innocent’ little thing which was the third means +of causing you to register upon the machines such extreme and +inexplicable emotion; or rather, Mr. Welter, it is the companion piece +to that, for this is not the one I showed you, the one given to Morse +to use, which, however, he refused to make use of; but it is the very +wire I took to-night from the hole in the post where it bore against +the balance beam to cheat the Government. When this is made public +to-morrow, and with it is made public, too, and attested by the +scientific men who witnessed them, the diagram and explanation of the +tests of you two hours ago, do you think that you can deny longer that +this was all with your knowledge and direction?” + +The big, bull neck of the president swelled, and his hands clenched +and reclenched as he stared with gleaming eyes into the face of the +young man who thus challenged him. + +“You are thinking now, I suppose, Mr. Welter,” Trant replied to his +glare, “that such evidence as that directly against you cannot be got +before a court. I am not so sure of that. But at least it can go +before the public to-morrow morning in the papers, attested by the +signatures of the scientific men who witnessed the test. It has been +photographed by this time, and the photographic copies are distributed +in safe places, to be produced with the original on the day when the +Government brings criminal proceedings against you. If I had it here I +would show you how complete, how merciless, is the evidence that you +knew what was being done. I would show you how at the point marked 1 +on the record your pulse and breathing quickened with alarm under my +suggestion; how at the point marked 2 your anxiety and fear increased; +and how at 3, when the spring by which this cheating had been carried +out was before your eyes, you betrayed yourself uncontrollably, +unmistakably. How the volume of blood in your second finger suddenly +diminished, as the current was thrown back upon your heart; how your +pulse throbbed with terror; how, though unmoved to outward appearance, +you caught your breath, and your laboring lungs struggled under the +dread that your wrongdoing was discovered and you would be branded—as +I trust you will now be branded, Mr. Welter, when the evidence in this +case and the testimony of those who witnessed my test are produced +before a jury—a deliberate and scheming thief!” + +“— — you!” The three words escaped from Welter’s puffed lips. He put +out his arm to push aside the customs officer standing between him and +the door. Dickey resisted. + +“Let him go if he wants to!” Trant called to the officer. “He can +neither escape nor hide. His money holds him under bond!” + +The officer stepped aside, and Welter, without another word, went into +the hall. But when his face was no longer visible to Trant, the +hanging pouches under his eyes grew leaden gray, his fat lips fell +apart loosely, his step shuffled; his mask had fallen! + +“Besides, we need all the men we have, I think,” said Trant, turning +back to the prisoners, “to get these to a safe place. Miss Rowan,” he +turned then and put out his hand to steady the terrified and weeping +girl, “I warned you that you had probably better not come here +to-night. But since you have come and have had pain because of your +stepfather’s wrong-doings, I am glad to be able to give you the +additional assurance, beyond the fact, which you have heard, that your +fiancé was not murdered, but merely put away on board the _Elizabethan +Age_; that he is safe and sound, except for a few bruises, and, +moreover, we expect him here any moment now. The police were bringing +him down from Boston on the train which arrives at ten.” + +He went to the window and watched an instant, as Dickey and Rentland, +having telephoned for a patrol, were waiting with their prisoners. +Before the patrol wagon appeared, he saw the bobbing lanterns of a +lurching cab that turned a corner a block away. As it stopped at the +entrance, a police officer in plain clothes leaped out and helped +after him a young man wrapped in an overcoat, with one arm in a sling, +pale, and with bandaged head. The girl uttered a cry, and sped through +the doorway. For a moment the psychologist stood watching the greeting +of the lovers. He turned back then to the sullen prisoners. + +“But it’s some advance, isn’t it, Rentland,” he asked, “not to have to +try such poor devils alone; but, at last, with the man who makes the +millions and pays them the pennies—the man higher up?” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The Chalchihuitl Stone + +Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp! For three nights and two days the +footsteps had echoed through the great house almost ceaselessly. + +The white-haired woman leaning on a cane, pausing again in the upper +hall to listen to them, started, impulsively, for the tenth time that +morning toward her son’s door; but, recognizing once more her utter +inability to counsel or to comfort, she wiped her tear-filled eyelids +and limped painfully back to her own room. The aged negress, again +passing the door, pressed convulsively together her bony hands, and +sobbed pityingly; she had been the childhood nurse of this man whose +footsteps had so echoed for hours as he paced bedroom, library, hall, +museum, study—most frequently of all the little study—in his grief and +turmoil of spirit. + +Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp! + +She shuffled swiftly down the stairs to the big, luxurious morning +room on the floor below, where a dark-eyed girl crouched on the couch +listening to his footsteps beating overhead, and listening so +strangely, without a sign of the grief of the mother or even the negro +nurse, that she seemed rather studying her own absence of feeling with +perplexity and doubt. + +Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp! + +“Ain’ yo’ sorry for him, Miss Iris?” the negress said. + +“Why, Ulame, I—I—” the girl seemed struggling to call up an emotion +she did not feel. “I know I ought to feel sorry for him.” + +“An’ the papers? Ain’ yo’ sorry, honey, dem papers is gone—buhned up; +dem papers he thought so much of—all buhned by somebody?” + +“The papers?—the papers, Ulame?” the girl exclaimed in bewilderment at +herself. “Oh—oh, I know it must be terrible to him that they are gone; +but I—I can’t feel so sorry about them!” + +“Yo’ can’t?” The negress stiffened with anger. “An’ he tol’ me, too, +this mo’nin, now you won’t marry him next Thursday lak’ yo’ +promised—since—since yo’ foun’ dat little green stone! Why is +dat—since yo’ foun’ dat little green stone?” + +The sincere bewilderment deepened in the girl’s face. “I don’t know +why, Ulame—I tell you truly,” she cried, miserably, “I don’t know any +reason why that stone—that stone should change me so! Oh, I can’t +understand it myself; but I know it is so. Ever since I’ve seen that +stone I’ve known it would be wrong to marry him. But I don’t know +why!” + +“Den I do!” The old negress’s eyes blazed wildly. “It’s a’caze yo’ +_is_ voodoo! Yo _is_ voodoo! An’ it’s all my faul’, Oh yas—yas it is!” +She rocked. “For yo’se had the ma’k ever since yo’se been a chile; the +ma’k of the debbil’s claw! But I nebber tole Marse Richard till too +late. But hit’s so! Hit’s so! The debbil’s ma’k is on yo’ left +shoulder, and the green stone is de cha’m dat is come to make yo’ +break Marse Richard’s heart!” + +“Ulame! Oh! Oh!” the girl cried. + +“Ulame! Ulame!” a deeper, firm and controlled voice checked them both +as the man, whose steps had sounded overhead the moment before, stood +in the doorway. + +He was a strikingly well-born, good-looking man of thirty-six, +strongly set up, muscular, with the body of an athlete surmounted by +the broad-browed head of a student. But his skin, indescribably +bronzed by the tropic sun during many expeditions to Central America, +showed now an underhue of sodden gray; and the thin, red veins which +shot his keen, blue eyes, the tenseness of his well-shaped mouth, the +pulse visibly beating in his temples, the slight trembling of the +usually firm hands, all gave plain evidence of some active grief and +long-continued strain; but at the same time bore witness to the +self-control which held his emotion in check. + +The negress, quieted and rebuked by his words, shuffled out as he +entered; and the girl drew herself up quickly to a sitting posture, +rearranging her hair with deft pats. + +“You must not mind Ulame!” He crossed to her and held her hand +steadyingly for an instant. “Or think that I shall ask you anything +more except—you have not altered your decision, Iris?” he asked, +gently. + +The girl shook her head. + +“Then I will not even ask that again, my—Iris,” he caught himself. “If +you will give me the proper form for recalling our wedding +invitations, I will send it at once to Chicago. As to the gifts that +have been already received—will you be good enough also to look up the +convention under these circumstances?” He caught his breath. “I +thought I heard the door bell a moment ago, Iris. Was there some one +for me?” + +“Yes, Anna went to the door.” The girl motioned to a maid who for five +minutes had been hovering about the hall, afraid to go to him with the +card she held upon a silver tray. + +“Ah! I was expecting him.” He took the card. “Where is he? In the +library?” + +“Yes, Dr. Pierce.” + +He crushed the card in his hand, touched tenderly with his finger tips +Iris’s pale cheek, and with the same regular step crossed the hall to +the library. A compact figure rose energetically at his coming. + +“Mr. Trant?” asked Pierce, carefully closing the door behind him and +measuring with forced collectedness his visitor, who seemed slightly +surprised. “I need not apologize to you for my note asking you to come +to me here in Lake Forest this morning. I understand that with you it +is a matter of business. But I thank you for your promptness. I have +heard of you from a number of sources as a psychologist who has +applied laboratory methods to the solution of—of mysteries—of crimes; +not as a police detective, Mr. Trant, but as a—a—” + +“Consultant,” the psychologist suggested. + +“Yes; a consultant. And I badly need a consultant, Mr. Trant.” Pierce +dropped into the nearest chair. “You must pardon me. I am not quite +myself this morning. An event—or, rather events—occurred here last +Wednesday afternoon which, though I have endeavored to keep my feeling +under control, have affected me perhaps even more than I myself was +aware; for I noticed your surprise at sight of me, which can only have +been occasioned by some strangeness in my appearance which these +events have caused.” + +“I was surprised,” the psychologist admitted, “but only because I +expected to see an older man. When I received your note last evening, +Dr. Pierce, I, of course, made some inquiries in regard to you. I +found you spoken of as one of the greatest living authorities on +Central American antiquities, especially the hieroglyphic writing on +the Maya ruins in Yucatan; and as the expeditions connected with your +name seemed to cover a period of nearly sixty years, I expected to +find you a man of at least eighty.” + +“You have confused me with my father, who died in Izabal, Guatemala, +in 1895. Our names and our line of work being the same, our +reputations are often confused, especially as he never published the +results of his work, but left that for me to do. I have not proved a +worthy trustee of that bequest, Mr. Trant!” Pierce added, bitterly. He +arose in agitation, and began again his mechanical pacing to and fro. + +“The events of Wednesday had to do with this trust left you by your +father?” the psychologist asked. + +“They have destroyed, obliterated, blotted out that trust,” Pierce +replied. “All the fruits of my father’s life work and my own, too, +absolutely without purpose, meaning, excuse or explanation of any +sort! And more than that—and this is the reason I have asked you to +advise me, Mr. Trant, instead of putting the matter into the hands of +the police—with even less apparent reason and without her being able +to give an explanation of any sort, the events of last Wednesday have +had such an effect upon my ward, Iris, to whom I was to be married +next Thursday, that she is no longer able to think of marrying me. She +clearly loves me no longer, though previous to Wednesday no one who +knew us could have the slightest question of her affection for me; and +indeed, though previously she had been the very spirit and soul of my +work, now she seems no longer to care for its continuance in any way, +or to be even sorry for the disaster to it.” + +He paused in painful agitation. “I must ask your pardon once more,” he +apologized. “Before you can comprehend any of this I must explain to +you how it happened. My father began his study of the Maya +hieroglyphics as long ago as 1851. He had had as a young man a very +dear friend named James Clarke, who in 1848 took part in an expedition +to Chiapas. On this expedition Clarke became separated from his +companions, failed to rejoin them, and was never heard from again. It +was in search of him that my father in 1850 first went to Central +America; and failing to find Clarke, who was probably dead, he +returned with a considerable collection of the Maya hieroglyphs, which +had strongly excited his interest. Between 1851 and his death my +father made no less than twelve different expeditions to Central +America in search of more hieroglyphs; but in that whole time he did +not publish more than a half dozen short articles regarding his +discoveries, reserving all for a book which he intended to be a +monument to his labors. His passion for perfection prevented him from +ever completing that book, and, on his deathbed, he intrusted its +completion and publication to me. Two years ago I began preparing it +for the stenographer, and last week I had the satisfaction of feeling +that my work was nearly finished. The material consisted of a huge +mass of papers. They contained chapters written by my father which I +am incapable of rewriting; tracings and photographs of the +inscriptions which can be duplicated only by years of labor; original +documents which are irreplaceable; notes of which I have no other +copies. They represented, as you yourself have just said, almost sixty +years of continuous labor. Last Wednesday afternoon, while I was +absent, the whole mass of these papers was taken from the cabinet +where I kept them, and burned—or if not burned, they have completely +vanished.” + +He stopped short in his walk, turned on Trant a face which had grown +suddenly livid, and stretched out his hands. + +“They were destroyed, Trant—destroyed! Mysteriously, inexplicably, +purposelessly!” his helpless indignation burst from his constraint. +“The destruction of papers such as these could not possibly have +benefited anyone. They were without value or interest except to +scientists; and as to envious or malicious enemies, I have not one, +man or woman—least of all a woman!” + +“‘Least of all a woman?’” Trant repeated quickly. “Do you mean by that +that you have reason to believe a woman did it?” + +“Yes; a woman! They all heard her! But—I will tell you everything I +can. Last Wednesday afternoon, as I said, I was in Chicago. The two +maids who look after the front part of the house were also out; they +are sisters and had gone to the funeral of a brother.” + +“Leaving what others in the house?” Trant interrupted the rapid +current of his speech with a quick gesture. + +“My mother, who has hip trouble and cannot go up- or downstairs +without help; my ward, Iris Pierce, who had gone to her room to take a +nap and was so sound asleep upon her bed that when they went for her +twenty minutes later she was aroused with difficulty; my old colored +nurse, Ulame, whom you must have seen pass through here a moment ago; +and the cook, who was in the back part of the house. The gardener, who +was the only other person anywhere about the place, had been busy in +the conservatory, but about a quarter to three went to sweep a light +snowfall from the walks. Fifteen minutes later my mother in her +bedroom in the north wing heard the door bell; but no one went to the +door.” + +“Why was that?” + +“Besides my mother, who was helpless, and Iris who was in her room, +only the cook and Ulame, as I have just said, were in the house, and +each of them, expecting the other to answer, waited for a second ring. +It is certain that neither went to the door.” + +“Then the bell did not ring again?” + +“No; it rang only once. Yet almost immediately after the ringing the +woman was inside the house; for my mother heard her voice distinctly +and—” + +“A moment, please!” Trant stopped him. “In case the person was not +admitted at the front door, which I assume was locked, was there any +other possibility?” + +“One other. The door was locked; but, the day before, the catch of one +of the French windows opening upon the porch had been bent so that it +fastened insecurely. The woman could easily have entered that way.” + +“But the fact of the catch would not be evident from outside—it would +be known only to some one familiar with the premises?” + +“Yes.” + +“Now the voice your mother heard—it was a strange voice?” + +“Yes; a very shrill, excited voice of a child or a woman—she could not +be sure which—but entirely strange to her.” + +“Shrill and excited, as if arguing with some one else?” + +“No; that was one remarkable part of it; she seemed rather talking to +herself. Besides there was no other voice.” + +“But in spite of its excited character, your mother could be sure it +was the voice of a stranger?” Trant pressed with greater precision. + +“Yes. My mother has been confined to her room so much that her ability +to tell a person’s identity by the sound of the voice or footsteps has +been immensely developed. There could be no better evidence than hers +that this was a strange voice and that it was in the south wing. She +thought at first that it was the voice of a frightened child. Two or +three loud screams were uttered by the same voice, and were repeated +at intervals during all that followed. There was noise of thumping or +pounding, which I believe to have been occasioned in opening the study +door. Then, after a brief interval, came the noise of breaking glass, +and, at the end of another short interval, a smell of burning.” + +“The screams continued?” + +“At intervals, as I have said. My mother, when the screams first +reached her, hobbled to the electric bell which communicates from her +room to the servants’ quarters and rang it excitedly. But it was +several minutes before her ringing brought the cook up the back +stairs.” + +“But the screams were still going on?” + +“Yes. Then they were joined in the upper hall by Ulame.” + +“They still heard screams?” + +“Yes; the three women crouched at the head of the stairs listening to +them. Then Ulame ran to the rear window and called the gardener, who +had almost finished sweeping the rear walks; and the cook, crossing +the hall to the second floor of the south wing, aroused Iris, whom, as +I said, she found so soundly asleep that she was awakened with +difficulty. My mother and I have rooms in the north wing, Iris and +Ulame in the south. Iris had heard nothing of the disturbance, and was +amazed at their account of it. They were joined by the gardener, and +the four who were able descended to the first floor together. The cook +ran immediately to the front door, which, she found, remained closed +and locked with its spring lock. The others went straight on into the +south wing, where she at once followed them. They found the museum +filled with an acrid haze of smoke, and the door of the study closed. +They could still hear through the closed door the footsteps and +movements of the woman in the study.” + +“But no more screams?” asked Trant. + +“No, only footsteps, which were plainly audible to all four. You can +imagine, Trant, that with three excited women and the gardener, who is +not a courageous man, several moments were wasted in listening to +these sounds and in discussion. Then the gardener pushed open the +door. The glass front of the cabinet in which my papers were kept had +been broken, and a charred mass, still smoking, in the center of the +composition floor of the study was all that we could find of the +papers which represented my father’s and my own life work, Mr. Trant. +The woman whose footsteps only the instant before had been heard in +the study by Iris and the gardener besides the others, had completely +disappeared, in spite of the fact that there was no possible place for +a woman, or even a child, to conceal herself in the study, or to leave +it except by the door which the others entered!” + +“And they found no other marks or indications of the person’s presence +except those you have mentioned?” + +“No, Mr. Trant, they found—at that time—absolutely none,” Pierce +replied, slowly. “But when I returned that night and myself was able +to go over the room carefully with Iris, I found—this, Mr. Trant,” he +thrust a hand into his pocket, and extended it with a solitary little +egg-shaped stone gleaming upon his palm—“this, Mr. Trant,” he +repeated, staring at the little, blazing crystal egg as though +fascinated, “the mere sight of which cast such an extraordinary +‘spell’ upon my ward, Iris, that, after these two days, trying to +puzzle it out sanely myself, I was unable to bear the strain of it a +moment longer, and wrote you as I did last night, in the hope that +you—if anyone—might be able to advise me.” + +“So this is the little green stone!” Trant took it carefully from his +client’s palm and examined it. “The little green stone of which the +negress was speaking to Miss Iris when you came in! You remember the +door was open!” + +“Yes; that is the little green stone!” Pierce cried. “The chalchihuitl +stone; the green turquoise of Mexico. The first sight of it struck +Iris dumb and dull-eyed before me and started this strange, this +baffling, inexplicable apathy toward me! Tell me, how can this be?” + +“You would hardly have called even me in, I presume,” Trant questioned +quietly, “if you thought it possible that this stone,” he handed it +back, “told her who was in the room and that it was a woman who could +come between you and your ward?” + +“Scarcely, Mr. Trant!” Pierce flushed. “You can dismiss that +absolutely. I told you a moment ago, when trying to think who could +have come to ruin my work, that I have no enemy—least of all a woman +enemy. Nor have I a single woman intimate, even a friend, whom Iris +could possibly think of in that way.” + +“Will you take me, then, to the rooms where these things happened?” +Trant rose abruptly. + +“This is the way the woman must have come,” Pierce indicated as he +pointed Trant into the hall and let him see the arrangement of the +house before he led him on. + +The young psychologist, from his exterior view of the place, had +already gained some idea of the interior arrangement; but as he +followed Pierce from the library down the main hall, he was impressed +anew by the individuality of the rambling structure. The main body of +the house, he saw, had evidently been built some forty or fifty years +ago, before Lake Forest had become the most fashionable and wealthy +suburb to the north of Chicago; but the wings had been added later, +one apparently to keep pace with the coming of the more pretentious +country homes about it, the other more particularly to provide place +for exhibiting the owner’s immense collection of Central American +curiosities. + +So the wide entrance hall, running half-way through the house, divided +at the center into the hallways of the two wings. At the entrance to +the north wing, the main stairs sprang upward in the graceful sweep of +southern Colonial architecture; while, opposite, the hall of the south +wing was blocked part way down by a heavy wall with but one +flat-topped opening. + +“A fire wall, Mr. Trant, and automatic closing fire doors,” Pierce +explained, as they passed through them. “This portion of the south +wing, which we call the museum wing, is a late addition, absolutely +fireproof.” + +“It was from the top of the main stairs, if I have understood you +correctly,” Trant glanced back as he passed through the doorway, “that +the women heard the screams. But this stair,” he pointed to a narrow +flight of steps which wound upward from a little anteroom beyond the +flat-topped opening, “this is certainly not what you called the back +stairs. Where does this lead?” + +“To the second floor of the museum wing, Mr. Trant.” + +“Ah! Where Miss Pierce, and,” he paused reflectively, “the colored +nurse have their bedrooms.” + +“Exactly.” + +They crossed the anteroom and entered the museum. A ceiling higher in +the museum than in any other part of the house gave space for high, +leaded, clear-glass windows. Under them, ranged on pedestals or +fastened to the wall were original carvings or plaster casts of the +grotesque gods of the Maya mythology; death’s-heads symbolic of their +cruel religion, and cabinets of stone and wooden implements and +earthen vessels, though by far the greater number of the specimens +were reproductions of hieroglyphic inscriptions, each separate glyph +forming a whimsical square cartouche. + +But the quick glance of the psychologist passed all these almost +without noting, and centered itself upon an object in the middle of +the room. On a low pedestal stood one of the familiar Central American +stones of sacrifice, with grooved channels to carry away the blood, +and rounded top designed to bend backward the body of the human victim +while the priest, with one quick cut, slew him; and before it, staring +at this stone, as though no continuance of familiarity could make her +unaffected by it, stood the slender, graceful, dark-haired, +dark-skinned girl of whom the psychologist had caught just a glimpse +through the door of the morning room when he entered. + +“My ward, Miss Pierce, Mr. Trant,” Pierce introduced them as she +turned. “Mr. Trant is here to make an investigation into the loss of +my papers, Iris.” + +“Oh!” said the girl, without interest, “then I’ll not interrupt you. I +was only looking for Ulame. Mr. Trant,” she smiled brightly at the +psychologist, “don’t you think this room is beautiful in the morning +sunlight?” + +“Come, Trant,” Pierce passed his hand across his forehead, as he gazed +at the girl’s passionless face, “the study is at the other end of the +museum.” But the psychologist, with his gray eyes narrowing with +interest, his red hair rumpled by an energetic gesture, stood an +instant observing her; and she flushed deeply. + +“I know why it is you look at me in that way, Mr. Trant,” she said, +simply. “I know, of course, that a woman has burned Richard’s papers, +for I saw the ashes; besides I myself looked for the papers afterwards +and could not find them. You are thinking that I believe there is +something between Richard and the woman who took this revenge because +we were going to be married; but it is not so—I know Richard has never +cared for any other woman than myself. There is something I do not +understand. Why, loving Richard as I did, did I not care at all about +the papers? Why, since I saw that little green stone, am I indifferent +whether he loves me in that way or not? Why do I feel now that I +cannot marry him? Has the stone bewitched me—the stone, the stone, Mr. +Trant! It seems crazy to think such a thing, though I know no other +reason; and if I said so, no one—least of all you, Mr. Trant, a man of +science—would believe me!” + +“On the contrary, Miss Pierce, you will find that I will be the first, +not the last, to recognize that the stone could exercise upon you +precisely the influence you have described!” + +“What is that? What is that?” Pierce exclaimed in surprise. + +“I would rather see the study, if you please, Dr. Pierce,” Trant bowed +kindly to the girl as he turned to his client, “before being more +explicit.” + +“Very well,” Pierce pushed open the door and entered, clearly more +puzzled by Trant’s reply than before. The study was long and narrow, +running across the whole end of the south wing; and, like the museum, +had plain burlap-covered walls without curve or recess of any sort; +and like the museum, also, it was lighted by high, leaded windows +above the cases and shelves. The single door was the one through which +they had entered; and the furniture consisted only of a desk and +table, two chairs, and—along the walls—cabinets and cases of drawers +and pigeon-holes whose fronts carried labels denoting their contents. +To furnish protection from dust, the cabinets all were provided with +sliding glass doors, locking with a key. The floor of the study was of +the same fireproof composition as that of the museum, and a black +smudge near its center still showed where the papers had been burned. +The room had neither fireplace nor closet. + +“There is surely no hiding place for anyone here, and we must put that +out of the question,” the young psychologist commented when his eye +had taken in these details. + +Then he stepped directly to the cabinet against the end wall, whose +broken glass showed that it was the one in which the papers had been +kept, and laid his hand upon the sliding door. It slipped backward and +forward in its grooves easily. + +“The door is unlocked,” he said, with slight surprise. “It certainly +was not unlocked at the time the glass was broken to get at the +papers?” + +“No,” Pierce answered, “for before leaving for Chicago that Wednesday, +I carefully locked all the cabinets and put the key in the drawer of +my desk where it is always kept. But that is not the least surprising +part of this affair, Mr. Trant. For when Iris and the servants entered +the room, the cabinet had been unlocked and the key lay on the floor +in front of it. I can account for it only by the supposition that the +woman, having first broken the glass in order to get at the papers, +afterwards happened upon the key and unlocked the cabinet in order to +avoid repeatedly reaching through the jagged edges of the glass.” + +“And did she also break off this brass knob which was used in sliding +the door back and forth, or had that been done previously?” inquired +the psychologist. + +“It was done at the same time, in attempting to open the door before +the glass was broken, I suppose.” + +Trant picked up the brass knob, which had been laid on the top of the +cabinet, and examined it attentively. It had been secured by a thin +bolt through the frame of the door, and in coming loose, the threads +of the bolt, which still remained perfectly straight, had been +stripped off, letting the nut fall inside the cabinet. + +“This is most peculiar,” he commented—“and interesting.” Suddenly his +eyes flashed comprehension. “Dr. Pierce, I am afraid your explanation +does not account for the condition of the cabinet.” He swung about, +minutely inspecting the room anew, and with a sharp and comprehensive +glance measuring the height of the windows. + +“You were certainly correct in saying that no child or woman could +escape from this room in any other way than by the door, Dr. Pierce,” +he exclaimed. “But could not a man—a man more tall and lithe and +active than either you or I—make his escape through one of those +windows and drop to the walk below without harm?” + +“A man, Trant? Yes; of course, that is possible,” Pierce agreed, +impatiently. “But why consider the possibility of a man’s escape, when +there was no question among those who heard the cries that they came +from a woman or a child!” + +“The screams came from a woman,” Trant replied. “But not necessarily +the footsteps that were heard from the other side of the door. No, Dr. +Pierce; the condition of this room indicates without any question or +doubt that not one, but two persons were present here when these +events occurred—one so familiar with these premises as to know where +the key to the cabinets was to be found in your desk; the other so +unfamiliar with them as not even to know that the doors of the +cabinets were sliding, not swinging doors, since it was in attempting +to pull the door outward like a swinging door that the knob was broken +off, as is shown by the condition of the bolt which would otherwise +have been bent. And the person whose footsteps were heard was a man, +for only a man could have escaped through the window, as that person +unquestionably must have done.” + +“But I do not see how you help things by adding a man’s presence here +to the other,” Pierce protested. “It simply complicates matters, since +it furnishes us no solution as to how the woman escaped!” + +But the psychologist, without heeding him, dropped into a chair beside +the table, rested his chin upon his hands, and his eyes grew filmy +with the concentration of thought. + +“She may have been helped through the window by the man,” he said, +finally, “but it is not probable. We have no proof that the woman was +in the study when the footsteps were heard, for the screams had +stopped; and we have unquestionable proof that this tight-fitting door +was opened _after_ the papers had been fired, if, as you told me, when +Miss Pierce and the others reached the museum they found it filled +with smoke. Now, Dr. Pierce,” he looked up sharply, “when you first +spoke to me of the loss of these papers, you said they had been +‘burned or vanished.’ Why did you say vanished? Had you any reason for +supposing they had not been burned?” + +“No real reason,” Pierce answered after a moment’s hesitation. “The +papers, which I had divided by subjects into tentative chapters, were +put together with wire clips, each chapter separately, and I found no +wire clips among the ashes. But it was likely the papers would not +burn readily without taking the clips off. After taking off the clips, +she—they,” he corrected himself—“may very well have carried them away. +It is too improbable to believe that they brought with them other +papers, with the plan of burning them and giving the appearance of +having destroyed the real ones.” + +“That would certainly be too improbable a supposition,” Trant agreed, +and again became deeply thoughtful. + +“A remarkable, a startlingly interesting case!” he raised his eyes to +his client’s, but hardly as though speaking to him. “It presents a +problem with which modern scientific psychology—and that alone—could +possibly be competent to deal. + +“I saw, of course, Dr. Pierce, that I surprised you when a moment ago +I assured your ward that I—as a psychologist—would be the first to +believe that the chalchihuitl stone could exercise over her the +mysterious influence you all have noted. But I am so confident of the +fact that this stone could influence her, and I am so sure that its +influence is the key to this case, that I want to ask you what you +know about the chalchihuitl stone; what beliefs, superstitions, or +charms, however fantastic, are popularly connected with the green +turquoise. It is a Mexican stone, you said; and you, if anyone, must +know about it.” + +“As an archæologist, I have long been familiar with the chalchihuitl +stone, of course,” Pierce replied, gazing at his young adviser with +uneasiness and perplexity, “as the ceremonial marriage stone of the +ancient Aztecs and some still existing tribes of Central America. By +them it is, I know, frequently used in religious rites, bearing a +particularly important part, for instance, in the wedding ceremony. +Though its exact significance and association is not known, I am safe +in assuring you that it is a stone with which many savage +superstitions and spells are to be connected.” + +He smiled, deprecatingly; but Trant met his eyes seriously. + +“Thank you! Can you tell me, then, whether any peculiarity in your +ward has been noted previous to this, which could not be accounted +for?” + +“No; none—ever!” Pierce affirmed confidently, “though her experience +in Central America previous to her coming under our care must +certainly have been most unusual, and would account for some +peculiarity—if she had any.” + +“In Central America, Dr. Pierce?” Trant repeated eagerly. + +“Yes,” Pierce hesitated, dubiously; “perhaps I ought to tell you, Mr. +Trant, how Iris came to be a member of our family. On the last +expedition which my father made to Central America, and on which I +accompanied him as a young man of eighteen, an Indian near Copan, +Honduras, told us of a wonderful white child whom he had seen living +among an isolated Indian tribe in the mountains. We were interested, +and went out of our way to visit the tribe. We found there, exactly as +he had described, a little white girl about six years old as near as +we could guess. She spoke the dialect of the Indians, but two or three +English words which the sight of us brought from her, made us believe +that she was of English birth. My father wanted to take her with us, +but the Indians angrily refused to allow it. + +“The little girl, however, had taken a fancy to me, and when we were +ready to leave she announced her intention of going along. For some +reason which I was unable to fathom, the Indians regarded her with a +superstitious veneration, and though plainly unwilling to let her go, +they were afraid to interfere with her wishes. My father intended to +adopt her, but he died before the expedition returned. I brought the +child home with me, and under my mother’s care she has been educated. +The name Iris Pierce was given her by my mother.” + +“You say the Indians regarded her with veneration?” Trant exclaimed, +with an oddly intent glance at the sculptured effigies of the +monsterlike gods which stood on the cases all about. “Dr. Pierce, were +you exact in saying a moment ago that your ward, since she has been in +your care, has exhibited no peculiarities? Was the nurse, Ulame, +mistaken in what I overheard her saying, that Miss Pierce has on her +shoulder the mark,” his voice steadied soberly, “of the devil’s claw?” + +“Has she the ‘mark of the devil’s claw’?” Pierce frowned with +vexation. “You mean, has she an anæsthetic spot on her shoulder +through which at times she feels no sensation? Yes, she has; but I +scarcely thought you cared to hear about ‘devil’s claws.’ + +“Ulame also told me,” Pierce continued, “that the existence of this +spot denotes in the possessor, not only a susceptibility to ‘controls’ +and ‘spells,’ but also occult powers of clairvoyance. She even +suggested that my ward could, if she would, tell me who was in the +room and burned my papers. Do you follow her beliefs so much farther?” + +“I follow not the negress, but modern scientific psychologists, Dr. +Pierce,” Trant replied, bluntly, “in the belief, the knowledge, that +the existence of the anæsthetic spot called the ‘devil’s claw’ shows +in its possessor a condition which, under peculiar circumstances, may +become what is popularly called clairvoyant. + +“Dr. Pierce, an instant ago you spoke—as an archæologist—of the +exploded belief in witchcraft; but please do not forget that that +belief was at one time widespread, almost universal. You speak now—as +an educated man—with equal contempt of clairvoyance; but a half-hour’s +ride down Madison or Halsted Street, with an eye open to the signs in +the second-story windows, will show you how widespread to-day is the +belief in clairvoyance, since so many persons gain a living by it. If +you ask me whether I believe in witchcraft and clairvoyance, I will +tell you I do not believe one atom in any infernal power of one person +over another; and so far as anyone’s being able to read the future or +reveal in the past matters which they have had no natural means of +knowing, I do not believe in clairvoyance. But if you or I believed +that any widespread popular conception such as witchcraft once was and +clairvoyance is to-day, can exist without having somewhere a basis of +fact, we should be holding a belief even more ridiculous than the +negro’s credulity! + +“I am certain that no explanation of what happened in this house last +Wednesday and since can be formed, except by recognizing in it one of +those comparatively rare authentic cases from which the popular belief +in witchcraft and clairvoyance has sprung; and I would rest the +solution of this case on the ability of your ward, under the proper +circumstances, to tell us who was in this room last Wednesday, and +what the influence is that has been so strangely exercised over her by +the chalchihuitl stone!” + +The psychologist, after the last word, stood with sparkling eyes, and +lips pressed together in a straight, defiant line. + +“Iris tell! Iris!” Pierce excitedly exclaimed, when the door opened +behind him, and his ward entered. + +“Here is the form you asked me for, Richard,” she said, handing her +guardian a paper, and without showing the least curiosity as to what +was going on between the two men, she went out again. + +Pierce’s eyes followed her with strange uneasiness and perplexity; +then fell to the paper she had given him. + +“It is the notice of the indefinite postponement of our wedding, +Trant,” he explained. “I must send it to the Chicago papers this +afternoon, unless—unless—” he halted, dubiously. + +“Unless the ‘spell’ on Miss Pierce can be broken by the means I have +just spoken of?” Trant smiled slightly as he finished the sentence for +him. “If I am not greatly mistaken, Dr. Pierce, your wedding will +still take place. But as to this notice of its postponement, tell me, +how long before last Wednesday, when this thing happened, was the +earliest announcement of the wedding made in the papers?” + +“I should say two weeks,” Pierce replied in surprise. + +“Do you happen to know, Dr. Pierce—you are, of course, well known in +Central America—whether the announcement was copied in papers +circulating there?” + +“Yes; I have heard from several friends in Central America who had +seen the news in Spanish papers.” + +“Excellent! Then it is most essential that the notice of this +postponement be made at once. If you will allow me, I will take it +with me to Chicago this afternoon; and if it meets the eye of the +person I hope, then I trust soon to be able to introduce to you your +last Wednesday’s visitor.” + +“Without—Iris?” Pierce asked nervously. + +“Believe me, I will do everything in my power to spare Miss Pierce the +experience you seem so unwilling she should undergo. But if it proves +to be the only means of solving this case, you must trust me to the +extent of letting me make the attempt.” He glanced at his watch. “I +can catch a train for Chicago in fifteen minutes, and it will be the +quickest way to get this notice in the papers. I will let you hear +from me again as soon as necessary. I can find my own way out.” + +He turned sharply to the door, and, as Pierce made no effort to detain +him, he left the study. + + +The surprising news of the sudden “indefinite postponement” of the +romantic wedding of Dr. Pierce, the Central American archæologist, to +the ward whom he had brought from Honduras as a child, was made in the +last editions of the Chicago evening papers which reached Lake Forest +that night; and it was repeated with fuller comments in both the +morning and afternoon papers of the next day. But to Pierce’s +increasing anxiety he heard nothing from Trant until the second +morning, and then it was merely a telephone message asking him to be +at home at three o’clock that afternoon and to see that Miss Pierce +was at home also, but to prevent her from seeing or hearing any +visitors who might call at that hour. At ten minutes to three, Pierce +himself, watching nervously at the window, saw the young psychologist +approaching the house in company with two strangers, and himself +admitted them. + +“Dr. Pierce, let me introduce Inspector Walker of the Chicago Police,” +Trant, when they had been admitted to the library, motioned to the +larger of his companions, a well-proportioned giant, who wore his +black serge suit with an awkwardness that showed a greater familiarity +with blue broadcloth and brass buttons. “This other gentleman,” he +turned to the very tall, slender, long-nosed man, with an abnormally +narrow head and face, coal black hair and sallow skin, whom Trant and +the officer had half held between them, “calls himself Don Canonigo +Penol, though I do not know whether that is his real name. He speaks +English, and I believe he knows more than anyone else about what went +on in your study last Wednesday.” A momentary flash of white teeth +under Penol’s mustache, which was neither a smile nor a greeting, met +Pierce’s look of inquiry, and he cast uneasy glances to right and left +out of his small crafty eyes. “But as Penol, from the moment of his +arrest, has flatly refused to make any statement regarding the loss of +your papers or the chalchihuitl stone which has so strangely +influenced your ward,” Trant continued, “we have been obliged to bring +him here in hope of getting at the truth through the means I mentioned +to you day before yesterday.” + +“The means you mentioned day before yesterday?” echoed Pierce, as he +spun round and faced Trant with keen apprehension; and it was plain to +the psychologist from the gray pallor and nervous trembling of the man +that his anxiety and uncertainty had not been lessened, but rather +increased by their former conversation. “You refer, I presume, to your +plan to gain facts from her through—through clairvoyance!” + +“I saw Mr. Trant pick the murderer in the Bronson case,” Inspector +Walker intervened confidently, “in a way no police officer had ever +heard of; and I’ve followed him since. And if he says he can get an +explanation here by clairvoyance, I believe him!” The quiet faith of +the huge officer brought Pierce to a halt. + +“For the sake of her happiness and your own, Dr. Pierce,” Trant urged. + +“Oh, I don’t know—I don’t know!” Pierce pressed his hands to his +temples in indecision. “I confess this matter is outside my +comprehension. I have spoken again to the persons who recommended me +to you, and they, like Inspector Walker, have only repeated that I can +have absolute confidence in you!” + +“It is now three o’clock,” Trant began, brusquely. + +“Five minutes after,” said the Inspector. + +“Five minutes makes no difference. But it is absolutely necessary, Dr. +Pierce, that if we are to make this test we begin it at once; and I +can scarcely undertake it without your consent. It requires that the +general look of the rooms and the direction of the sunlight should be +the same as at three o’clock last Wednesday afternoon. Dr. Pierce, +will you bring your ward to me in the study?” + +He turned to his client with quiet confidence as though all were +settled. “Inspector Walker and Penol will remain here—the Inspector +already knows what I require of him. I noticed a clock Saturday over +the desk in the study and heard it strike the hour; you have no +objection to my turning it back ten or fifteen minutes, Pierce? And +before you go, let me have the chalchihuitl stone!” + +For a moment Pierce, with his hands still pressed against his temples, +stood looking at Trant in perplexity and doubt; then, with sudden +resolution, he handed him the chalchihuitl stone and went to get his +ward. A few minutes later he led her into the study where the +psychologist was awaiting them alone. Pierce’s first glance was at the +clock, which he saw had been turned back by Trant to mark five minutes +to three. + +“Good afternoon, Miss Pierce,” Trant set a chair for her, with its +back to the clock, as she acknowledged his salutation; then continued, +conversationally: “You spoke the other day of the morning sunlight in +these rooms, but I have been thinking that the afternoon sunlight, as +it gets near three o’clock, is even more beautiful. One can hardly +imagine anything occurring here which would be distasteful or +unpleasant, or shocking—” + +The girl’s eyes filled with a vague uneasiness, and turned toward +Pierce, who, not knowing what to expect, leaned against the table +watching her with strained anxiety; and at sight of him the half +formed uneasiness of her gaze vanished. Trant rose sharply, and took +Pierce by the arm. + +“You must not look at her so, Dr. Pierce,” he commanded, tensely, “or +you will defeat my purpose. It will be better if she does not even see +you. Sit down at your desk behind her.” + +When Pierce had seated himself at the desk, convulsively grasping the +arms of his chair, Trant glanced at the clock, which now marked two +minutes of three, and hastily returned to the girl. He took from his +pocket the chalchihuitl stone which Pierce had given him, and at sight +of it the girl drew back with sudden uneasiness and apprehension. + +“I know you have seen this stone before, Miss Pierce,” Trant said, +significantly, “for you and Dr. Pierce found it. But had you never +seen it before then? Think! Its color and shape are so unique that I +believe one who had seen it could never forget it. It is so peculiar +that it would not surprise me to know that it has a very special +significance! And it has! For it is the chalchihuitl stone. It is +found in Central America and Mexico; the Aztecs used it in celebrating +marriage—in Central America, where there are Indians and Spaniards; +tall, slender, long-nosed Spaniards, with coal black hair and sallow +skins and tiny black mustaches—Central America, where all those +sculptured gods and strange inscriptions are found, which the papers +were about that were destroyed one afternoon here in this study!” + +As he spoke the clock struck three; and at the sound the girl uttered +a gasp of uncontrollable terror, then poised herself, listening +expectantly. Almost with the last stroke of the clock the door bell +rang, and the girl shrunk suddenly together. + +“Tall, dark, slender Spaniards,” Trant continued; but stopped, for the +girl was not heeding him. White and tense, she was listening to +footsteps which were approaching the study door along the floor of the +museum. The door opened suddenly, and Don Canonigo Penol, pushed from +behind by the stern inspector of police, appeared on the threshold. + +The girl’s head had fallen back, her eyes had turned upward so that +she seemed to be looking at the ceiling, but they were blank and +sightless; she lay, rather than sat, upon the chair, her clenched +hands close against her sides, her whole attitude one of stony +rigidity. + +“Iris! Iris!” cried Pierce in agony. + +“It is no use to call,” the psychologist’s outstretched hand prevented +Pierce from throwing himself on his knees beside the girl, “she cannot +hear you. She can hear no one unless they speak of the chalchihuitl +stone and Central America, and, I hope, the events which went forward +in this house last Wednesday. The chalchihuitl stone! The chalchihuitl +stone! She hears that, doesn’t she?” + +A full half minute passed while the psychologist, anxiously bending +over the rigid body, waited for an answer. Then, as though by intense +effort, the stony lips parted and the answer came, “Yes!” Pierce fell +back with a cry of amazement; the inspector of police straightened, +astonished; the stolid face of Don Canonigo Penol was convulsed all at +once with a living terror and he slipped from the policeman’s hold and +fell, rather than seated himself, in a chair. + +“Who is it that is speaking?” asked Trant in the same steady tone. + +“Isabella Clarke,” the voice was clearer, but high-pitched and +entirely different from Iris’s. The psychologist started with +surprise. + +“How old is Isabella?” he asked after a moment. + +“She is young—a little girl—a child!” the voice was stronger still. + +“Does Isabella know of Iris Pierce?” + +“Yes.” + +“Can she see Iris last Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock?” + +“Yes.” + +“What is she doing?” + +“She is in the library. She went upstairs to take a nap, but she could +not sleep and came down to get a book.” + +A long cry from some distant part of the house—a shriek which set +vibrating the tense nerves of all in the little study—suddenly +startled them. Trant turned sharply toward the door; the others, +petrified in their places, followed the direction of his look. Through +the open door of the study and the arched opening of the anteroom, the +foot of the main stairs was discernible; and, painfully and excitedly +descending them, was a white-haired woman leaning on a cane and on the +other side supported by the trembling negress. + +“Richard, Richard!” she screamed, “that woman is in the house—in the +study! I heard her voice—the voice of the woman who burned your +papers!” + +“It is my mother!” Pierce, suddenly coming to himself, turned with +staring eyes on Trant and darted from the study. He returned an +instant later and closed the door behind him. + +“Trant,” he faltered, “my mother says that the voice that she—that we +all—have just heard is the voice of the woman who was in the study +Wednesday.” + +The psychologist impatiently stopped the excited man with a gesture. +“You still see Iris?” + +“Yes,” the answer came, after a considerable pause. + +“She has not left the library? Tell us what she is doing.” + +“She turns toward the clock, which is striking three. The door bell +rings. Both the maids are out, so Iris lays down her book and goes to +the door. At the door is a tall, dark man, all alone. He is a Spaniard +from the mountains in Honduras, and his name is Canonigo Penol.” + +An indrawing of his breath, sharp almost as a whistle, brought the +gaze of all upon Penol; but the eyes of the Spaniard, starting in +superstitious terror from his livid face, saw only the girl. + +“Penol is not known to Iris, but he has come to see her. She is +surprised. She leads him to the library. His manner makes her uneasy,” +the voice, now uninterrupted by Trant’s questions, went on with great +rapidity. “He asks her if she remembers that she lived among Indians. +Iris remembers that. He asks if she remembers that before that she +lived with white men—an American and some Spaniards—who were near and +dear to her. Iris cannot remember. He asks if she remembers him—Penol. +His speech frightens her. He says: ‘Once an American went to Central +America with an expedition, and got lost from his companions. He +crossed rivers; he was in woods, jungles, mountains; he was near +dying. A Spaniard found him. The Spaniard was poor—poor. He had a +daughter. + +“‘The American, whose name was James Clarke, loved the daughter and +married her. He did not want ever to go back to the United States; he +was mad—mad with love, and mad about the ancient carved statues of +Central America, the temples and inscriptions. He would sit all day in +front of an inscription making marks on a paper, and afterwards he +would tear the paper up. They had a daughter. Canonigo repeats many +times that they were very poor. They had only one white servant and a +hundred Indians. Sickness in the mountains killed the old Spaniard. In +another year sickness killed the wife also. Now the American was all +alone with his baby daughter and one white servant and the Indians. +Then sickness also took hold of him. He was troubled about his +daughter; he trusted no one; he would drag himself in the night in +spite of his sickness to see that no one had done harm to her. + +“‘The American was dying. He proposed to the young Spaniard many +things; finally he proposed that he marry the little girl. There was +no priest, and the American was mad; mad about ancient times and dead, +vanished peoples, and more mad because he was dying; and he married +them after the old custom of the Aztecs, with the chalchihuitl stone +and a bird feather, while they sat on a woven mat with the corners of +their garments tied together—the young Spaniard and the little girl, +who was four years old. Afterwards her father died, and that night the +Spaniard all alone buried him: and when toward morning he came back he +found only a few Indians too old to travel. The others, frightened of +the mad dead man, had gone, taking the little girl with them.’” + +“What does Iris do when she hears that?” asked Trant. + +“It begins to revive memories in Iris,” the voice answered quickly; +“but she says bravely, ‘What is that to me? Why do you tell me about +it?’ ‘Because,’ says Canonigo Penol, ‘I have the chalchihuitl stone +which bears witness to this marriage!’ And as he holds it to her and +it flashes in the sun, just as it did when they held it before her +when her clothes were tied to his on the mat, she remembers and knows +that it is so; and that she is married to this man! By the flash of +the chalchihuitl stone in the sun she remembers and she knows that the +rest is true!” + +“And then?” Trant pressed. + +“She is filled with horror. She shrinks from Canonigo. She puts her +hands to her face, because she loved Dr. Pierce with her whole heart—” + +“O God!” cried Pierce. + +“She cries out that it is not so, though she knows it is the truth. +She dashes the stone from his hand and pushes Canonigo from her. He is +unable to find the stone; and seeing the sculptured gods and the +inscriptions about the room, he thinks it is these by which Dr. Pierce +is able to hold her against him. So now he says that he will destroy +these pictures and he will have her. Iris screams. She runs from +Canonigo to the study. She shuts the door upon him, as he follows. She +sets a chair against it. Canonigo is pushing to get in. But she gets +the key to the cabinet from the desk and opens the cabinet. + +“She takes out the papers, but there is no place to hide them before +he enters. So she opens the drawer, but it is full of worthless +papers. She takes out enough of the old papers to make room for the +others, which she puts in the bottom of the drawer underneath the +rest. The old papers she puts into the cabinet above, closing the +cabinet; but she had no time to lock it. Canonigo has pushed the door +open. He has found the stone and tries to show it to her again; but +again she dashes it from his hand. He rushes straight to the cabinet, +for he has seen from the tree where the papers are kept. The cabinet +is unlocked, but he tries to pull the door to him. He pulls off the +knob. Then he smashes the glass with his foot; he begins burning the +worthless papers. So Iris has done all she can and runs from him to +her room. She is exhausted, fainting. She falls upon the bed—” + +The voice stopped suddenly. Pierce had sprung to her with a cry, and +putting his arms about her for support, spoke to her again and again. +But she neither moved nor spoke to his entreaties, and seemed entirely +insensible when he touched her. He leaped up, facing Trant in hostile +demand, but still kept one arm about her. + +“What is this you have done to her now?” he cried. “And what is this +you have made her say?” + +But the psychologist now was not watching either the girl or his +client. His eyes were fixed upon the face of Canonigo Penol, shot with +red veins and livid spots of overpowering terror. + +“So, Don Canonigo Penol,” Trant addressed him, “that was the way of +it? But, man, you could scarcely have been enough in love with a girl +four years old to take this long and expensive trip for her nineteen +years later. Was there property then, which belonged to her that you +wanted to get?” + +Canonigo Penol heard the question, though he did not look at his +questioner. His eyes, starting from his head, could still see only the +stony face of the girl who, thus unconsciously, under the guidance of +the psychologist, had accused him in a manner which filled him with +superstitious terror. Palpitating, convulsed with fright, with loose +lips shaking and knees which would not bear his weight, he slipped +from his chair and crawled and groveled on the floor before her. + +“Oh, speak not—speak not again!” he shrieked. “I will tell all! I +lied; the old Spaniard was not poor—he was rich! But she can have all! +I abandon all claim! Only let me go from here—let me leave her!” + + [Illustration: In a large room a woman slumps in a chair, staring at + the ceiling with a blank expression. A man kneels before her, upset, + with his hands clasped before him. Three other men stand around the + seated woman protectively, closely watching the other man.] + + Caption: “Oh, speak not—speak not again!” he shrieked. “I will tell + all. I lied” + +“First we will see exactly what damage you have done,” Trant answered. +“Dr. Pierce,” he turned collectedly to his client, “you have just +heard the true account of last Wednesday afternoon.” + +“You want me to believe that she let him in—she was here and did +that?” Pierce cried. “You think that was all real and—true!” + +“Look in the drawer she indicated, and see if she was able, indeed, to +save the papers as she said.” + +Mechanically and many times looking back at Trant’s compelling face, +Pierce went to the cabinet, stooped and, pulling out the drawer, +tossed aside a mass of scattering papers on the top and rose with a +bundle of manuscripts held together with wire clips. He stared at them +almost stupidly, then, coming to himself, sorted them through rapidly +and with amazement. + +“They are all here!” he cried, astounded. “They are intact. But +what—what trick is this, Mr. Trant?” + +“Wait!” Trant motioned him sharply to be silent. “She is about to +awake! Inspector, she must not find you here, or this other,” and +seizing Penol by one arm, while the inspector seized the other, he +pushed him from the room, and closed the study door upon them both. +Then he turned to the girl, whose more regular breathing and lessening +rigidity had warned him that she was coming to herself. + +Gently, peacefully, as those of a child wakening from sleep, her eyes +opened; and with no knowledge of all that in the last half hour had so +shaken those who listened in the little study, with no realization +even that an interval of time had passed, she replied to the first +remark that Trant had made to her when she entered the room: + +“Yes, indeed, Mr. Trant, the afternoon sun is beautiful; but I like +these rooms better in the morning.” + +“You will not mind, Miss Pierce,” Trant answered gently, without +heeding Pierce’s gasp of surprise, and hiding him from the girl’s +sight with his body, as he saw Dr. Pierce could not restrain his +emotion, “if I ask you to leave us for a little while. I have +something to talk over with your guardian.” + +She rose, and with a bright smile left them. + +“Trant! Trant!” cried Pierce. + +“You will understand better, Dr. Pierce,” said the psychologist, “if I +explain this to you from its beginning with the fact of the ‘devil’s +claw,’ which was where I myself began this investigation. + +“You remember that I overheard Ulame, the negro nurse, speak of this +characteristic of Miss Pierce. You, like most educated people to-day, +regarded it simply as an anæsthetic spot—curious, but without +extraordinary significance. I, as a psychologist, recognized it at +once as an evidence, first pointed out by the French scientist, +Charcot, of a somewhat unusual and peculiar nervous disposition in +your ward, Miss Iris. + +“The anæsthetic spot is among the most important of several physical +evidences of mental peculiarity which, in popular opinion, marked out +its possessors through all ages as ‘different’ from other people. In +some ages and countries they have been executed as witches; in others, +they have been deified as saints; they have been regarded as prophets, +pythonesses, sibyls, ‘clairvoyants.’ For in some respects their mental +life is more acute than that of the mass of mankind, in others it is +sometimes duller; and they are known to scientists as ‘hystericals.’ + +“Now, when you gave me your account, Dr. Pierce, of what had happened +here last Wednesday, it was evident to me at once that, if any of the +persons in the house had admitted the visitor who rang the bell—and +this seemed highly probable because the bell rang only once, and would +have been rung again if the visitor had not been admitted—the door +could only have been opened by Miss Iris. For we have evidence that +neither the cook nor Ulame answered the bell; and moreover, all of +those in the house, except Miss Iris, had stood together at the top of +the stairs and listened to the screams from below. + +“Following you into the study, then, I found plain evidence, as I +pointed out to you at the time, that two persons had been there, one a +man; one perfectly familiar with the premises, the other wholly +unfamiliar with them. I had also evidence, from the smoke in the +museum, that the study door had been open after the papers were +lighted, and I saw that whoever came out of the study could have gone +up the anteroom stairs to the second floor of the south wing, but +could not have passed out through the main hall without being seen by +those listening at the top of the stairway. All these physical facts, +therefore, if uncontradicted by stronger evidence, made it an almost +inevitable conclusion that Miss Iris had been in the study.” + +“Yes, yes!” Pierce agreed, impatiently, “if you arrange them in that +order!” + +“In contradiction of this conclusion,” Trant went on rapidly, “I had +three important pieces of evidence. First, the statement of your +mother that the voice she heard was that of a strange woman; second, +the fact that Miss Iris had gone to her room to take a nap and had +been found asleep there on the bed by Ulame; third, that your ward +herself denied with evident honesty and perfect frankness that she had +been present, or knew anything at all of what had gone on in the +study. I admit that without the evidence of the anæsthetic spot—or +even with it, if it had not been for the chalchihuitl stone—I should +have considered this contradictory evidence far stronger than the +other. + +“But the immense and obvious influence on Miss Iris of the +chalchihuitl stone, when you found it together—an influence which she +could not account for, but which nevertheless was sufficient to make +her refuse to marry you—kept me on the right track. For it made me +certain that the stone must have been connected with some intense +emotional experience undergone by your ward, the details of which she +no longer remembered.” + +“No longer remembered!” exclaimed Pierce, incredulously. “When it had +happened only the day before!” + +“Ah!” Trant checked him quickly. “You are doing just what I told you a +moment ago the anæsthetic spot had warned me against; you are judging +Miss Iris as though she were like everybody else! I, as a +psychologist, knew that having the mental disposition that the +anæsthetic spot indicated, any such intense emotion, any such tragedy +in her life as the one I imagined, was connected with the chalchihuitl +stone, might be at once forgotten; as you see it was, for when Ulame +aroused her only a few moments later she no longer remembered any part +of it. + +“You look incredulous, Dr. Pierce! I am not telling you anything that +is not well authenticated, and a familiar fact to men of science. If +you want corroboration, I can only advise you to trace my statement +through the works on psychology in any well-furnished library, where +you will find it confirmed by hundreds of specific instances. With a +mental disposition like Miss Iris’s, an emotion so intense as that she +suffered divides itself off from the rest of her consciousness. It is +so overpowering that it cannot connect itself with her daily life; +ordinary sights and sounds cannot call it back to memory. It can be +awakened only by some extraordinary means such as those I used when, +as far as I was able, I reproduced for her benefit just now here in +your study all the sights and sounds of last Wednesday afternoon that +preceded and attended her interview with Canonigo Penol.” + +“It seems impossible, Mr. Trant,” Pierce pressed his hands to his eyes +dazedly. “But I have seen it with my own eyes!” + +“The sudden sleep into which she had fallen before Ulame aroused her, +and the fact that the voice your mother heard seemed to her a strange +one,” Trant continued, “added strength to my conclusion, for both were +only additional evidences of the effect of an intense emotion on a +disposition such as Miss Iris’s. Now, what was this emotional +experience so closely connected with the chalchihuitl stone that the +sight of the stone was able to recall it, with a dulling feeling of +fear and apathy to her emotions, without being in itself able to bring +recollection to her conscious mind, I could only conjecture. + +“But after learning from you that while a child she had lived among +Central American Indians, and discovering that the chalchihuitl stone +was a ceremonial stone of savage religious rites—particularly the +marriage rite—I could not help but note the remarkable coincidence +that the man who brought the chalchihuitl stone appeared precisely at +the time he would have come if he had learned from newspapers in +Central America of the girl’s intended marriage. As the most probable +reason for his coming, considering the other circumstances, was to +prevent the wedding, I thought the easiest way to lay hands upon him +and establish his identity was to publish at once the notice that the +wedding had been postponed, which, if he saw it, would make him +confident he had accomplished his object and draw him here again. Draw +him it did, last night, into the arms of Walker and myself, with a +Lake Forest officer along to make the arrest legal.” + +“I see! I see! Go on!” Pierce urged intently. + +“But though I caught him,” Trant continued, “I could not gain the +really important facts from him by questioning, as I was totally +unaware of the particulars which concerned Miss Iris’s—or rather +Isabella Clarke’s—parentage and self-exiled father. But I knew +that, by throwing her into the true ‘trance’ which you have just +witnessed—a hysterical condition known as monoideic somnambulism to +psychologists—she would be forced to recall and tell us in detail of +the experiences which she had passed through in that condition, +precisely as the persons possessed of the ‘devil’s claw’ who were +burned and tortured as witches in the Middle Ages had the ability +sometimes to go into trances where they knew and told of things which +they were not conscious of in their ordinary state; precisely as +certain clairvoyants to-day are often able to tell correctly certain +things of which they could seem to have no natural knowledge. + +“As for Miss Iris, there is now no reason for apprehension. +Ordinarily, in case conditions might arise which would remind her so +strongly of the events that took place here last Wednesday, she would +be thrown automatically into the condition she was in this afternoon +when she gave us her narrative. She would then repeat all the +particulars rapidly aloud, as you have heard her give them; or she +would act them out dramatically, going through all the motions of her +flight from Penol, and her attempt to save your papers. And each +reminder being made more easy by the one before, these ‘trances’ as +you call them, would become more and more frequent. + +“But knowing now, as you do, all the particulars of what happened, you +have only to recount them to her, repeating them time after time if +necessary, until she normally remembers them and you have drawn the +two parts of her consciousness back again into one. She will then, +except to the psychologist, be the same as other people, and will show +no more peculiarity in the rest of her life than she had already shown +in that part of it she has passed in your household. My work here, I +think, is done,” the psychologist rose abruptly, and after grasping +the hand which Pierce eagerly and thankfully stretched out to him, he +preceded him through the doorway. + +In the high-ceilinged museum, which blazed red with the light of the +setting sun, they came upon Iris, standing again in absorbed +contemplation of the sacrificial stone. She turned and smiled +pleasantly at them, with no sign of curiosity; but Pierce, as he +passed, bent gently and kissed her lips. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The Empty Cartridges + +Stephen Sheppard, big game shot and all-around sportsman, lay tensely +on his side in bed, watching for the sun to rise out of Lake Michigan. +When the first crest of that yellow rim would push clear of the grim, +gray horizon stretching its great, empty half circle about the Chicago +shore, he was going to make a decision—a decision for the life or for +the death of a young man; and as he personally had always cared for +that man more than for any other man so much younger, and as his +niece, who was the chief person left in the world that Sheppard loved, +also cared for the man so much that she would surely marry him if he +were left alive, Sheppard was not at all anxious for that day to +begin. + +The gray on the horizon, which had been becoming alarmingly pale the +last few moments as he stared at it, now undeniably was spread with +purple and pink from behind the water’s edge. Decide he must, he knew, +within a very few minutes or the rising sun would find him as +faltering in his mind as he was the night before when he had given +himself till daybreak to form his decision. The sportsman shut his +teeth determinedly. No matter how fruitless the hours of darkness when +he had matched mercy with vengeance; no matter how hopeless he had +found it during the earlier moments of that slow December dawn to say +whether he would recognize that his young friend had merely taken the +law into his own hands and done bare justice, and therefore the past +could be left buried, or whether he must return retribution upon that +young man and bring back all that hidden and forgotten past—all was no +matter; he must decide now within five minutes. For it was a +sportsman’s compact he had made with himself to rise with the sun and +act one way or the other, and he kept compacts with himself as +obstinately and as unflinchingly as a man must who has lived decently +a long life alone, without any employment or outside discipline. + +Now the great, crimson aurora shooting up into the sky warned him that +day was close upon him; now the semi-circle of gray waters was +bisected by a broad and blood red pathway; now white darts at the +aurora’s center foretold the coming of the sun. He swung his feet out +of bed and sat up—a stalwart, rosy, obstinate old man, his thick, +white, wiry hair tousled in his indecision—and, reaching over swiftly, +snatched up a loose coin which lay with his watch and keys upon the +table beside his bed. + +“I’ll give him equal chances anyway,” he satisfied himself as he sat +on the edge of the bed with the coin in his hands. “Tails, he goes +free, but heads, he—hangs!” + +Then waiting for the first direct gleam of the sun to give him his +signal, he spun it and put his bare foot upon it as it twirled upon +the floor. + +“Heads!” He removed his foot and looked at it without stooping. He +pushed his feet into the slippers beside his bed, threw his +dressing-gown over his shoulders, went directly to the telephone and +called up the North Side Police Station. + +“I want you to arrest Jim Tyler—James Tyler at the Alden Club at +once!” he commanded abruptly. “Yes; that’s it. What charge? What do I +care what charge you arrest him on—auto speeding—anything you +want—only get him!” The old sportsman spoke with even sharper brevity +than usual. “Look him up and I’ll come with my charges against him +soon enough. See here; do you know who this is, speaking? This is +Steve Sheppard. Ask your Captain Crowley whether I have to swear to a +warrant at this time in the morning to have a man arrested. All right! + +“That starts it!” he recognized grimly to himself, as he slammed down +the receiver. The opposition at the police station had given the +needed drive to his determination. “Now I’ll follow it through. +Beginning with that fellow—Trant,” he recollected, as he found upon +his desk the memorandum which he had made the night before, in case he +should decide this way. + +“Mr. Trant; you got my note of last night?” he said, a little less +sharply, after he had called the number noted as Trant’s room address +at his club. “I am Stephen Sheppard—brother of the late Neal Sheppard. +I have a criminal case and—as I wrote you I might—I want your help at +once. If you leave your rooms immediately, I will call for you at your +office before eight; I want you to meet a train with me at +eight-thirty. Very well!” + +He rang for his man, then, to order his motor and to tell him to bring +coffee and rolls to his room, which he gulped down while he dressed. +Fifteen minutes later he jumped onto the front seat of his car, +displacing the chauffeur, and himself drove the car rapidly down town. + +A crisp, sharp breeze blew in upon them from the lake, scattering dry, +rare flakes of snow. It was a clear, perfect day for the first of +December in Chicago. But Stephen Sheppard was oblivious to it. In the +northern woods beyond the Canada boundary line the breeze would be +sharper and cleaner that day and smell less of the streets and—it was +the very height of his hunting season for big game in those woods! Up +there he would still have been shooting, but as the papers had put it, +“the woods had taken their toll” again this year, and his brother’s +life had been part of that toll. + +“Neal Sheppard’s Body Found in the Woods!” He read the headlines in +the paper which the boy thrust into his face, and he slowed the car at +the Rush Street bridge. “Victim of Stray Shot Being Brought to +Chicago.” Well! That was the way it was known! Stephen Sheppard +released his brake, with a jerk; crossed the bridge and, eight minutes +later, brought up the car with a sharper shock before the First +National Bank Building. + +He had never met the man he had come to see—had heard of him only +through startling successes in the psychological detection of crime +with which this comparative youth, fresh from the laboratory of a +university and using methods new to the criminals and their pursuers +alike, had startled the public and the wiser heads of the police. But +finding the door to Trant’s office on the twelfth floor standing open, +and the psychologist himself taking off his things, Sheppard first +stared over the stocky, red-haired youth, and then clicked his tongue +with satisfaction. + +“It’s lucky you’re early, Mr. Trant,” he approved bluffly. “There is +short enough time as it is, before we meet the train.” He had glanced +at the clock as he spoke, and pulled off his gloves without ceremony. +“You look like what I expected—what I’d heard you were. Now—you know +me?” + +“By reputation, at least, Mr. Sheppard,” Trant replied. “There has +been enough in the papers these last two weeks, and as you spoke of +yourself over the telephone just now as the brother of the late Neal +Sheppard, I suppose this morning’s report is correct. That is, your +brother has finally been found in the woods—dead?” + +“So you’ve been following it, have you?” + +“Only in the papers. I saw, of course, that Mr. Neal Sheppard was +missing from your hunting party in Northern Ontario two weeks ago,” +Trant replied. “I saw that you had been unable to find him and had +given him up for drowned in one of the lakes or dead in the woods, and +therefore you had come home the first of the week to tell his +daughter. Then this morning I saw Mr. Chapin and your guide, whom you +had left to keep up the search, had reported they found him—killed, +apparently, by a stray shot.” + +“I see. I told Chapin to give that out till he saw me, no matter how +he found him.” Sheppard tossed his fur cap upon Trant’s flat-topped +desk before him and slapped his heavy gloves, one after the other, +beside it. + +“You mean that you have private information that your brother was not +shot accidentally?” Trant leaned over his desk intently. + +“Exactly. But I’ve not come to mince matters with you, Trant. He was +murdered, man,—murdered!” + +“Murdered? I understand then!” Trant straightened back. + +“No, you don’t,” his client contradicted bluntly. “I haven’t come to +ask you to find the murderer for me. I named him to the police and +ordered his arrest before I called you this morning. He is Jim Tyler; +and, as I know he was at his club, they must have him by this time. +There’s mighty little psychology in this case, Trant. But if I’m going +to hang young Jim, I’m going to hang him quick—for it’s not a pleasant +job; and I have called for you merely to hear the proofs that Chapin +and the Indian are bringing—they’ve sent word only that it is murder, +as I suspected—so that when we put those proofs into the hands of the +state’s attorney, they can finish Jim quick—and be done with it!” + +“Tyler?” Trant leaned quickly toward his client again, not trying now +to conceal his surprise. “Young Tyler, your shooting-mate and your +partner in the new Sheppard-Tyler Gun Company?” + +“Yes, Tyler,” the other returned brusquely, but rising as he spoke, +and turning his back upon the pretext of closing the transom. “My +shooting-mate for the last three years and I guess he’s rather more +than my partner in the gun company; for, to tell the truth, it was for +him I put up the money to start the business. And there are more +reasons than that for making me want to let him go—though he shot my +brother. But those reasons—I decided this morning—are not enough this +late in the day! So I decided also to hold back nothing—to keep back +nothing of what’s behind this crime, whoever it hurts! I said I +haven’t come to mince matters with you, Trant. Well—I shan’t!” + +He turned back from the transom, and glanced once more swiftly at the +clock. + +“I shall be very glad to go over the evidence for you, Mr. Sheppard,” +Trant acquiesced, following the older man’s glance; “and as you have +come here half an hour before we need start to meet the train—” + +“Just so,” the other interrupted bluntly. “I am here to tell you as +much as I am able before we meet the others. That’s why I asked you if +you knew me. So now—exactly how much do you know about me, Trant?” + +“I know you are a wealthy man—a large holder of real estate, the +papers say, which has advanced greatly in value; and I know—this is +from the papers too—that you belong to a coterie of men who have grown +up with the city,—old settlers of thirty years’ standing.” + +“Quite right. Neal and I came here broke—without a cent, to pick up +what we could in Chicago after the fire. And we made our fortunes +then, easy—or easily, as I’ve learned to say now,” he smiled to +himself grimly, “by buying up lots about the city when they were cheap +and everybody scared and selling them for a song, and we had only to +hold them until they made us rich. I am now a rich old bachelor, +Trant, hunting in season and trap-shooting out, and setting up Jim +Tyler in the gun business between times. The worst that was said about +Neal was his drinking and bad temper; for Leigh, his daughter, goes as +well as anybody else in her circle; and even young Jim Tyler has the +run of a dozen clubs. That’s all good, respectable and satisfactory, +isn’t it? And is that all you know?” + +“That’s all,” replied Trant curtly. + +“Never heard of Sheppard’s White Palace, did you? Don’t know that when +you speak to one of those old boys of thirty years ago—the coterie, +you called them—about Mr. Stephen Sheppard, the thought that comes +into his head is, ‘Oh! you mean Steve Sheppard, the gambler!’ Thirty +years ago, more or less, we were making our money to buy those lots in +a liquor palace and gambling hell—Neal and I and Jim Tyler’s +father—old Jim.” + +“There were more than just Neal and old Tyler and me, though,” he +burst on, pacing the length of the rug beside Trant’s desk and not +looking at his consultant at all. “There were the Findlays +besides—Enoch, who was up in the woods with us, he gets his picture in +the paper every six months or so for paying a thousand dollars for a +thousand-year-old cent piece; and Enoch’s brother, and Chapin, whom +we’re going to meet in a few minutes. We ran a square game—as square +as any; understand that! But we had every other devilment that comes +even to a square gambling house in a wide open town—fights, suicide, +and—murder.” + +He broke off, meeting Trant’s quick and questioning glance for a +fraction of an instant with a steely glitter of his gray-green eyes. + +“Sure—murder!” he repeated with rougher defiance. “Men shot themselves +and, a good deal oftener, shot each other in our house or somewhere +else, on account of what went on there. But we got things passed up a +deal easier in those days, and we seldom bothered ourselves about a +little shooting till—well, the habit spread to us. I mean, one night +one of us—Len Findlay it was—was shot under conditions that made it +certain that one of us other five—Tyler, or Chapin, or Enoch Findlay, +his brother, or Neal, or I, must have shot him. You see, a pleasant +thing to drop into our happy family! Made it certain only to us, of +course; we got it passed up as a suicide with the police. And that +wasn’t all; for as soon afterward as it was safe to have another +‘suicide,’ old Jim Tyler was shot; and this time we knew it was either +Enoch Findlay or—I told you I wouldn’t mince matters—or Neal. That +broke up the game and the partnership—” + +“Wait, wait!” Trant interrupted. “Do you mean me to understand that +your brother shot Tyler?” + +“I mean you to understand just what I said,” the old man’s straight +lips closed tightly under his short white mustache; “for I’ve seen too +much trouble come out of just words to be careless with them. Either +Enoch or Neal shot Jim; I don’t know which.” + +“In retaliation, because he thought Tyler had shot Len Findlay?” + +“Perhaps; but I never thought so, and I don’t think so now,” Sheppard +returned decisively. “For old Jim Tyler was the least up to that sort +of thing of any of us—a tongue-tied, inoffensive old fellow—and he was +dealer in our games; but outside of that Jim didn’t have nerve enough +to handle his own money. But for some reason Neal seemed sure it was +old Jim who had shot Len, and he made Enoch Findlay believe it, too. +So, no matter who actually fired the bullet, it was Neal. Well, it was +up to me to look after old Jim’s widow and his boy. That was +necessary; for after Jim was dead, I found a funny thing. He had taken +his share with the rest of us in the profits of the game; and the rest +of us were getting rich by that time—for we weren’t any of us +gamblers; not in the way of playing it back into the game, that is; +but though I had always supposed that Jim was buying his land like the +rest—and his widow told me so, too—I found nothing when he was dead!” + +“But you implied just now,” Trant put in again quickly, “that Tyler +might have had someone else investing for him. Did you look into that +at the time?” + +“Yes; I asked them all, but no one knew anything. But we’re coming to +that,” the old man answered impatiently. “I wanted you to see how it +was that I began to look after young Jim and take an interest in him +and do things for him till—till he became what he was to me. Neal +never liked my looking after the boy from the first; we quarreled +about it time and again, and especially after young Jim began growing +up and Neal’s girl was growing up, too; and a year or so ago, when he +began seeing that Leigh was caring for young Jim more than for anyone +else, in spite of what he said, Neal hated the boy worse. He forbade +him his house; and he did a good many other things against him, and +the reason for all of it even I couldn’t make out until this last +hunt.” + +The old sportsman stood still now, picked up his fur cap and +thoughtfully began drawing on his big gloves. + +“We had gone up this year, as of course you know from the papers, into +the Ontario reserve, just north of the Temagami region, for deer and +moose. The season is good there, but short, closing the middle of +November. Then we were going to cross into Quebec where the season +stays till January. Young Jim Tyler wasn’t with us, for this hunt was +a sort of exclusive fixture just for the old ones, Neal and I, Findlay +and Chapin. But this time, the second day in camp, young Jim Tyler +comes running in upon us—or rather, in on me, for I was the only one +in camp that day, laid up with a bad ankle. He had his gun with him, +one of our new Sheppard-Tylers which we were all trying out for the +first time this year. But he hadn’t followed us for moose. He’d come +to see Neal. For the people that had bought his father’s old house had +been tearing it down to make room for a business building, and they’d +found some papers between the floors which they’d given to young Jim, +and that was what sent him after us, hot after Neal. He showed them to +me; and I understood. + +“You see, the only real objection that Neal had been able to keep +against young Jim was that he was a pauper—penniless but for me. And +these papers Jim had were notes and memorandum which showed why Jim +was a pauper and who had made him that, and how Neal himself had got +the better half of old Jim’s best properties. For the papers were +private notes and memoranda of money that old Jim Tyler had given Neal +to invest in land for him; among them a paper in Neal’s writing +acknowledging old Jim’s half interest in Neal’s best lots. Then there +were some personal memorandum of Tyler’s stuck with these, part of +which we couldn’t make out, except that it had to do with the shooting +of Len Findlay; but the rest was clear—showed clear that, just before +he was shot, old Jim Tyler had become afraid of Neal and was trying to +make him convert his papers into regular titles and take his things +out of Neal’s hands. + +“I saw, of course, that young Jim must know everything then; so the +only thing I could do was to stop him from hunting up Neal that +morning and in that mood with a gun in his hand. But he laughed at me; +said I ought to know he hadn’t come to kill Leigh’s father, but only +to force a different understanding then and there; and his gun might +come in handy—but he would keep his head as well as his gun. But he +didn’t. For though he didn’t find Neal then, he came across Findlay +and Chapin and blurted it all out to them, so that they stayed with +him till he promised to go home, which he didn’t do either; for one of +our Indians, coming up the trail early next morning with supplies, met +him only half a dozen miles from camp. Jim said he’d laid up over +night because of the snowstorm, but didn’t come back to camp because +he didn’t want to see Neal after the promise he’d made. And there +_had_ been a big snow that night. Chapin and Findlay didn’t get in +till all hours because of it; Chapin about eleven, Findlay not till +near two, dead beat out from tramping through the new snow; and +Neal—he never got in at all. + +“I stayed four days after that looking for Neal; but we couldn’t find +him. Then I left Chapin with the Indians to keep on searching, while I +came down, more to see Jim, you understand, than to break the news to +Leigh. Jim admitted he’d stayed near camp till the next morning but +denied he’d even seen Neal, and denied it so strongly that he fooled +me into giving him the benefit of the doubt until last night; and then +Chapin wired me they had found Neal’s body, and to meet them with a +detective, as they have plain evidence against young Jim that he +murdered my brother!” + +The old man stopped suddenly, and his eyes shifted from Trant to the +clock. “That’s all,” he concluded abruptly. “Not much psychology in +that, is there? My car is waiting down stairs.” + +He pulled the fur cap down upon his ears, and Trant had time only to +throw on his coat and catch his client in the hall, as Sheppard walked +toward the elevators. The chauffeur, at sight of them, opened the +limousine body of the car, and Sheppard got in with Trant, leaving the +man this time to guide the car through the streets. + +“There’s where the Palace stood; Neal owns the lot still, and has made +two re-buildings on it,” he motioned toward a towering office +structure as the car slowed at the Clark Street crossing. Then, as +they stopped a moment later at the Polk Street Station, he laid a +muscular hand upon the door, drove it open and sprang out, leaving +Trant inside. The clock in the tower showed just half past eight, and +he hurried into the train shed. Ten minutes later he reappeared, +leading a plump, almost roly-poly man, with a round face, fiery red +from exposure to the weather, who was buttoned from chin to shoe tops +in an ulster and wore a fur cap like his own. Behind them with +noiseless, woodland tread glided a full-blooded Indian, in corduroy +trousers and coat blotched with many forest stains, carrying carefully +a long leather gun-case and cartridge belt. + +“This is Chapin, Trant,” Sheppard introduced them, having evidently +spoken briefly of the psychologist to Chapin in the station; “and +McLain,” he motioned toward the Indian. + +He stepped after them into the limousine, and as the car jerked and +halted through the crowded city streets back toward his home, he +lifted his eyes to the round-faced man opposite him. + +“Where was it, Chapin?” he asked abruptly. + +“In Bowton’s mining shack, Steve.” + +“What! what!” + +“You say the body was found in a miner’s cabin, Mr. Chapin,” the +psychologist broke in, in crisp tones. “Do you mean the miners live in +the cabin and carried him in there after he was shot?” + +“No, it is an abandoned mine, Mr. Trant. He was in the deserted cabin +when shot down—shot like a dog, Steve!” + +“For God’s sake, let’s drop this till we get to the house!” Sheppard +burst out suddenly, and Trant fell back, still keenly observant and +attentive, while the big car swept swiftly through the less crowded +streets. Only twice Sheppard leaned forward, with forced calmness and +laconic comment, to point out some sight to the Indian; and once he +nodded absently when, passing a meat shop with deer hung beside its +doors, the Indian—finding this the first object on which he dared to +comment—remarked that the skins were being badly torn. Then the motor +stopped before twin, stately, gray-stone houses facing the lake, where +a single broad flight of steps led to two entrance doors which bore +ornate door plates, one the name of Stephen, the other Neal, Sheppard. + +Sheppard led the way through the hall into a wide, high trophy and +smoking-room which occupied a bay of the first floor back of the +dining-room, and himself shut the door firmly, after Chapin and Trant +and the Indian, still carefully carrying the gun-case, had entered. + +“Now tell me,” he commanded Chapin and the Indian equally, “exactly +how you found him.” + +“Neal had plainly taken refuge in the cabin from the snowstorm, +Steve,” Chapin replied almost compassionately. “He was in his stocking +feet, and his shooting-coat and cartridge-belt still lay on the straw +in one of the bunks where he had been sleeping. The man, it seems +clear, entered through the outer door of the mess cabin, which opens +into the bunk-room through a door at its other end. Neal heard him, we +suppose, and picking up his shoes and gun, went to see who it was; and +the man, standing near the outer door, shot him down as he came +through the other—four shots, Steve; two missed.” + +“Four shots, and in the cabin!” Sheppard turned to the Indian almost +in appeal; but at McLain’s nod his square chin set firmly. “You were +right in telegraphing me it was murder!” + +“Two hit—one here; one here,” the Indian touched his right shoulder +and then the center of his forehead. + +“How do you know the man who shot him stood by the outer door?” Trant +interrupted. + +“McLain found the shells ejected from his rifle,” Chapin answered; and +the Indian took from his pocket five cartridges—four empty, one still +loaded. “Man shooting kill with four shots and throw last from +magazine there beside it,” he explained. “Not have need it. I find on +floor with empty shells.” + +“I see.” Sheppard took the shells and examined them tensely. He went +to his drawer and took out a single fresh cartridge and compared it +carefully with the empty shells and the unfired cartridge the Indian +had found with them, before he handed them, still more tensely, to +Trant. “They are all Sheppard-Tyler’s, Trant, which we were just +trying out for the first time ourselves. No one else had them, no one +else could possibly have them, besides ourselves, but Jim! But the +gun-case, Chapin,” he turned toward the burden the Indian had carried. +“Why have you brought that?” + +“It’s just Neal’s gun that we found in his hand, Steve,” Chapin +replied sympathetically, “and his cartridge-belt that was in the +bunk.” + +The Indian unstrapped the case and took out the gun. Then he took from +another pocket a single empty shell, this time, and four full ones, +three of which he put into the magazine of the rifle, and extended it +to Chapin. + +“Neal had time to try twice for Ji—for the other fellow, Steve,” +Chapin explained, “for he wasn’t killed till the fourth shot. But +Neal’s first shell,” he pointed to the pierced primer of the cartridge +he had taken from the Indian, “missed fire, you see; and he was hit so +hard before he could shoot the other,” he handed over the shell, “that +it must have gone wild. Its recoil threw the next cartridge in place +all right, as McLain has it now,” he handed over the gun, “but Neal +couldn’t ever pull the trigger on it then.” + +“I see.” Sheppard’s teeth clenched tight again, as he examined the +faulty cartridge his brother had tried to shoot, the empty shell, and +the three cartridges left intact in the rifle. He handed them after +the others to Trant. And for an instant more his green-gray eyes, +growing steadily colder and more merciless, watched the silent young +psychologist as he weighed again and again and sorted over, without +comment, the shells that had slain Neal Sheppard; and weighed again in +his fingers the one the murderer had not needed to use. Then Trant +turned suddenly to the cartridge-belt the Indian held, and taking out +one shell compared it with the others. + +“They are different?” he said inquiringly. + +“Only that these are full metal-patched bullets, like the one I showed +you from the drawer, while those in Neal’s belt are soft-nosed,” +Sheppard answered immediately. “We had both kinds in camp, for we were +making the first real trial of the new gun; but we used only the +soft-nosed in hunting. They are Sheppard-Tyler’s, Trant—all of them; +and that is the one important thing and enough of itself to settle the +murderer!” + +“But can you understand, Mr. Sheppard, even if the man who shot the +four shells found he didn’t need the fifth,”—the young psychologist +held up the single, unshot shell which the Indian had found near the +door—“why he should throw it there? And more particularly I can’t make +out why—” He checked himself and swung from his client to the Indian +as the perplexity which had filled his face when he first handled the +shells gave way to the quick flush of energetic action. + +“Suppose this were the mess-room of the cabin, McLain,” he gestured to +the trophy-room, as he shot out his question; “can you show me how it +was arranged and what you found there?” + +“Yes, yes;” the Indian turned to the end wall and pointed, “there the +door to outside; on floor near it, four empty shells, one full one.” +He stalked to a corner at the opposite end. “Here door to bunk-room. +Here,” he stopped and touched his fingers to the floor, “Neal +Sheppard’s shoes where he drop them. Here,” he rose and touched the +wall in two spots about the height of a man’s head above the floor, +“bullet hole, and bullet hole, when he miss.” + +“What! what!” cried Trant, “two bullet holes above the shoes?” + +“Yes; so.” + +“And the body—that lay near the shoes?” + +“Oh, no; the body here!” the Indian moved along the end wall almost to +the other corner. “One shell beside it that miss fire, one empty +shell. Neal Sheppard’s matchbox—that empty, too—on floor. Around body +burned matches.” + +“Burned matches around the body?” Trant echoed in still greater +excitement. + +“Yes; and on body.” + +“On it?” + +“Yes; man, after he shot, go to him and burn matches—I think—to see +him dead.” + +“Then they must have shot in the dark!” Trant’s excited face flushed +red with sudden and complete comprehension. “Of course, dolt that I +was! With these shells in my hand, I should have guessed it! That is +as plain a reason for this peculiar distribution of the shells as it +is for the matches which, as the Indian says, the man must have taken +from your brother’s match-box to look at him and make sure he was +dead.” He had whirled to face his client. “It was all shot in the +dark.” + +“Shot in the dark!” Sheppard echoed. He seemed to have caught none of +the spirit of his young adviser’s new comprehension; but, merely +echoing his words, had turned from him and stared steadily out of the +window to the street; and as he stared, thinking of his brother shot +down in darkness by an unseen enemy, his eyes, cold and merciless +before, began to glow madly with his slow but—once aroused—obstinate +and pitiless anger. + +“Mr. Trant;” he turned back suddenly, “I do not deny that when I +called for you this morning, instead of getting a detective from the +city police as Chapin expected, it was not to hang Jim Tyler, as I +pretended, but with a determination to give him every chance that was +coming to him after I had to go against him. But he gave Neal +none—none!—and it’s no matter what Neal did to his father; I’m keeping +you here now to help me hang him! And Chapin! when I ordered Tyler’s +arrest, I told the police I’d prefer charges against him this morning, +but he seems impatient. He’s coming here with Captain Crowley from the +station now,” he continued with short, sharp distinctness. “So let him +in, Chapin—I don’t care to trust myself at the door—Jim’s come for it, +and—I’ll let him have it!” + +“You mean you are going to charge him with murder now, before that +officer, Mr. Sheppard?” Trant moved quickly before his client, as +Chapin obediently went toward the door. “Don’t,” he warned tersely. + +“Don’t? Why?” + +“The first bullet in your brother’s gun that failed—the other +three—the one which the other fellow did not even try to shoot,” Trant +enumerated almost breathlessly, as he heard the front door open. “Do +they mean nothing to you?” + +And putting between his strong even teeth the cartridge with its +primer pierced which had failed in Neal Sheppard’s gun, he tore out +the bullet with a single wrench and held the shell down. “See! it was +empty, Mr. Sheppard! That was the first one in your brother’s gun! +That was why it didn’t go off! And this—the last one the other man +had, the one he didn’t even try to shoot,” Trant jerked out the bullet +from it too with another wrench of his teeth—“was empty as well. See! +And the other man knew it; that was why he didn’t even try to shoot +it, but ejected it on the floor as it was!” + +“How did you guess that? And how did you know that the other +cartridge, the one Jim—the other fellow—didn’t even try to fire—wasn’t +loaded, too?” Sheppard now checked short in surprise, stupefied and +amazed, gazed, with the other white-haired man and the Indian, at the +empty shells. + +But Trant went on swiftly: “Are Sheppard-Tyler shells so poorly +loaded, Mr. Sheppard, that two out of ten of them are bad? And not +only two, but this—and this—and this,” at each word he dropped on the +table another shell, “the three left in your brother’s rifle. For +these others are bad—unloaded, too! So that even if he had been able +to pull the trigger on them, they would have failed like the first; +and I know that for the same reason that I know about the first ones. +Five out of ten shells of Sheppard-Tyler loading ‘accidentally’ with +no powder in them. That is too much for you—for anyone—to believe, Mr. +Sheppard! And that was why I said to you a moment ago, as I say again, +don’t charge that young man out there with murder!” + +“You mean,” Sheppard gasped, “that Jim did not kill Neal?” + +“I didn’t say that,” Trant returned sharply. “But your brother was not +shot down in cold-blooded murder; I’m sure of that! Whether Jim Tyler, +or another, shot him, I can not yet say; but I hope soon to prove. For +there were only four men in the woods who had Sheppard-Tyler guns; and +he must have been shot either by Tyler, or Findlay, or Chapin, or—to +open all the possibilities—by yourself, Mr. Sheppard!” the +psychologist continued boldly. + +“Who? Me?” roared Chapin in fiery indignation. + +“What—what’s that you’re saying?” The old sportsman stood staring at +his young adviser, half in outrage, half in astonishment. + +Then, staring at the startling display of the empty shells—whose +meaning was as yet as incomprehensible to him as the means by which +the psychologist had so suddenly detected them—and dazed by Trant’s +sudden and equally incomprehensible defense of young Tyler after he +had detected them, he weakened. “I—I’m afraid. I don’t understand what +you mean, Mr. Trant!” he said helplessly; then, irritated by his own +weakness, he turned testily toward the door: “I wonder what is keeping +them out there?” + +“Mr. Trant says,” Chapin burst out angrily, “that either you or I is +as likely to have shot Neal as young Jim! But Mr. Trant is crazy; +we’ll have young Jim in here and prove it!” and he threw open the +door. + +But it was not young Tyler, but a girl, tall and blond, with a lithe, +straight figure almost like a boy’s, but with her fine, clear-cut +features deadly pale, and with her gray eyes—straight and frank, like +Sheppard’s, but much deeper and softer—full of grief and terror, who +stood first in the doorway. + +“Leigh! So it was you keeping them out there! Leigh,” her uncle’s +voice trembled as he spoke to the girl, “what are you doing here?” + +“No; what are you doing, uncle?” the girl asked in clear, fearless +tones. “Or rather, I mean, what have Mr. Chapin and this guide and +this—this gentleman,” she looked toward Trant and the gun Sheppard had +handed him, “come here for this morning? And why have they brought Jim +here—this way?” She moved aside a little, as though to let Trant see +behind her the set and firm, but also very pale, features of young +Tyler and the coarser face of the red-haired police officer. “I know,” +she continued, as her uncle still stood speechless, “that it must have +something to do with my father; for Jim could not deny it. But +what—what is it,” she appealed again, with the terror gleaming in her +eyes which told, even to Trant, that she must half suspect, “that +brings you all here this way this morning, and Jim too?” + +“Run over home again, my dear,” the uncle stooped and kissed her +clumsily. “Run back home now, for you can’t come in.” + +“Yes; you’ll go back home now, won’t you, Leigh?” Tyler touched her +hand. + +“Perhaps you had better let Miss Sheppard in for a moment first, Mr. +Tyler,” Trant suggested. “For, in regard to what she seems to fear, I +have only encouragement for her.” + +“You mean you—” Tyler’s pale, defiant lips parted impulsively, but he +quickly checked himself. + +“I am not afraid to ask it, Jim,” the girl this time sought his +fingers with her own. “Do you mean you—are not here to try to connect +Jim with the—disappearance of my father?” + +“No, Miss Sheppard,” Trant replied steadily, while the eyes of the two +older men were fixed upon him scarcely less intently than the girl’s; +“and I have asked you to come in a moment, because I feel safe in +assuring you that Mr. Tyler can not have been connected with the +disappearance of your father in the way they have made you fear. And +more than that, it is quite possible that within a few moments I will +be able to prove that he is clear of any connection with it +whatever—quite possible, Miss Sheppard. That was all I wanted to tell +you.” + +“Who are you?” the girl cried. “And can you make my uncle believe +that, too? Do you think I haven’t known, uncle, what you thought when +Jim went up there after you and—father was lost? I know that what you +suspect is impossible; but,” she turned to Trant again, “can you make +my uncle believe that, too?” + +“Your uncle, though he seemed to forget the fact a moment ago, has +retained me precisely to clear Mr. Tyler from the circumstantial +evidence that seemed so conclusive against him,” said Trant, with a +warning glance at the amazed Sheppard, “and I strongly hope that I +will be able to do so.” + +“Oh, I did not understand! I will wait upstairs, then,” the girl +turned from Trant to Sheppard in bewilderment, touched Tyler’s arm as +she brushed by him in the door, and left them. + +“Thank you for your intention in making it easier for her—whoever you +are—even if you have to take it back later,” Tyler said grimly to the +psychologist. “But since Crowley has told me,” he turned now to +Sheppard, “that it was you who ordered him to arrest me at the club +this morning, I suppose, now that Leigh is gone, that means that you +have found your brother shot as he deserved and as you expected +and—you think I did it!” + +“Morning, Mr. Sheppard,” the red-haired police captain nodded. +“Morning, Mr. Trant; giving us some more of the psycho-palmistry? +Considerable water’s gone past the mill since you put an electric +battery on Caylis, the Bronson murderer, and proved him guilty just as +we were getting ready to send Kanlan up for the crime. As for this +young man,” he motioned with his thumb toward Tyler, “I took him in +because Mr. Sheppard asked it; but as Mr. Sheppard didn’t make any +charge against him, and this Tyler wanted to come up here, I brought +him on myself, not hearing from Mr. Sheppard. I suppose now it’s Mr. +Neal Sheppard’s death, after seeing the morning papers and hearing the +young lady.” + +“Just so, Captain Crowley,” said Trant brusquely, “but we’ll let Mr. +Sheppard make his charge or not make it, just as he sees fit, after we +get through with the little test we’re going to carry out. And I am +greatly mistaken, if, after we are through, he will bring any such +charge as you have suggested. But come in, Captain; I am glad that you +are here. The test I am going to make may seem so trivial to these +gentlemen that I am glad to have a practical man like yourself here +who has seen more in such a test as the one I am going to make now, +than can appear on the surface.” + +“‘More than appears on the surface’ is the word, Mr. Trant,” the +captain cried impulsively. “Mr. Sheppard, it’s myself has told you +about Mr. Trant before; and I’ll back anything he does to the limit, +since I see him catch the Bronson murderer, as I just told you, by a +one-cell battery that would not ring a door bell.” + +“I shall ask you to bear that in mind, if you will, Mr. Sheppard and +Mr. Chapin,” the psychologist smiled slightly as he looked about the +room, and then crossed over to the mantel and took from it five of the +six small stone steins with silver tops which stood there. +“Particularly as I have not here even the regular apparatus for the +test, but must rather improvise. If I had you in my offices or in the +psychological laboratory fitted with that regular apparatus I could +prove in an instant which of you, if any, was the one who shot these +four cartridges to kill Neal Sheppard, and discarded this fifth,” he +touched again the shells on the table. “But, as I said, I hope we can +manage here.” + +“Which of us?” Chapin echoed. “So you’re going to try me, too?” He +raised a plump fist and shook it angrily under Trant’s nose. “You +think I did it?” + +“I didn’t say so, Mr. Chapin,” Trant replied pacificatingly. “I said +there were excellent chances that Mr. Tyler was not the one who did +the shooting; so if that is so, it must have been done by one of the +other men who carried Sheppard-Tyler rifles. I thought of you merely +as one of those; and as the test I am about to try upon Mr. Tyler +would be as simple and efficient a test to determine your +connection—or lack of connection—with this shooting, I shall ask you +to take it after Mr. Tyler, if necessary.” + +He raised the tops of the steins, as he spoke, peered into them to see +they were empty; then put into his pocket the good shell which he had +taken from the belt the Indian had given him, and picked up the five +little covered cups again. + +“As I have a stop second hand to my watch, Mr. Sheppard,” he +continued, “all I need now is some shot—ordinary bird shot, or small +shot of any size.” + +“Shot?” Sheppard stared at the steins crazily, but catching Captain +Crowley’s equally uncomprehending but admiringly confident eyes, he +nodded, “of course. You will find all the shot you can want in the gun +cabinet in the corner.” + +Trant crossed to the cabinet and opened the drawer. He returned in +less than a minute, as they stood exchanging curious glances, and +placed five steins in a row on the table before him. + +“Please take up the middle one now, Mr. Tyler,” he requested, as he +took out his watch. “Thank you. Now the one to the right of it; and +tell me, is it the same weight as the other, or heavier, or lighter?” + +“The same weight or lighter—perhaps a little lighter,” Tyler answered +readily. “But what of it? What is this?” he asked curiously. + +“Take up the middle stein again.” Trant, disregarding his question, +glanced at the time interval on his watch; “the first stein you picked +up, Mr. Tyler; and then take up the remaining three in any order, and +tell me, as quickly as you can, whether they seem the same weight, +lighter or heavier to you. Thank you,” he acknowledged noncommittally +again, as Tyler acquiesced, his wonder at so extraordinary a test +increasing. + +The psychologist glanced over the list of answers he had noted on a +slip of paper with the time taken for each. Then he gathered up the +five steins without comment and redistributed them on the table. + +“It looks bright for you, Mr. Tyler,” he commented calmly; “but I will +ask you to go over the steins again;” and a second, and then a third +time, he made Tyler take up all five steins in turn and tell him +whether each seemed the same weight, lighter or heavier than the first +he handled. + +“What’s all this tomfoolery with steins got to do with who shot Neal +Sheppard?” Chapin blurted out contemptuously. But when he turned for +concurrence to Stephen Sheppard, he found the old sportsman’s anxious +gaze again fixed on the intent face of the police captain who once +before, by his own admission, had seen Trant pick a murderer by +incomprehensible work, and his own contempt as well gave place to +apprehensive wonder at what might lurk behind this apparently childish +experiment. + + [Illustration: In a trophy-room three men stand around a small round + table, one writing in a notebook. On the table are several large + lidded steins and a small pile of shotgun shells. The man on the + right is carefully lifting two of the steins. Several men stand + further back and watch over the proceedings.] + + Caption: “What’s all this tomfoolery with steins got to do with who + shot Neal Sheppard?” Chapin blurted out contemptuously + +“You ask what this means, Mr. Chapin?” Trant looked up as he finished +his notes. “It has made me certain that Mr. Tyler, at least, is +guiltless of the crime of which he has been suspected. As to who shot +Neal Sheppard, if you will kindly take up those steins just as you +have seen him do, perhaps I can tell you.” + +For the fraction of an instant Chapin halted; then, as under direct +gaze of the psychologist, he reached out to pick up the first stein in +the test, whose very seeming triviality made it the more +incomprehensible to him, the sweat broke out on the backs of his +hands; but he answered stoutly: + +“That’s heavier; the same; this lighter; and this the same again.” + +And again: “The same; heavier; lighter; the same! Now, what’s the +answer?” + +“That my feeling which you forced upon me to make me choose you—I +admit it—for the rôle you were so willing to assign to Tyler, Mr. +Chapin, would probably have made me waste valuable time, if I had not +been able to correct it, scientifically, as easily as I confirmed my +other feeling in Tyler’s favor. For there can be no question now that +you had no more to do with the shooting of Neal Sheppard than he had. +I must make still another test to determine the man who fired these +shots.” + +“You mean you want to try _me_?” Sheppard demanded, uneasy and +astounded. + +“I would rather test the other man first, Mr. Sheppard; the fourth man +who was in the woods with you,” Trant corrected calmly. + +“_Findlay?_” + +The psychologist, as he looked around, saw in the faces of Sheppard, +Chapin, and young Tyler alike, indignant astonishment. + +“You don’t know Findlay, Mr. Trant,” Sheppard said roughly, losing +confidence again in spite of Crowley; “or you would understand that he +is the last man among us who could be suspected. Enoch is a regular +hermit—what they call a ‘recluse’! Only once a year are we able to get +him to tear himself away from his musty old house and his collections +of coins, and then only for old sake’s sake, to go to the north woods +with us. Your crazy test with the steins has led you a long way off +the track if you think it’s Findlay.” + +“It has led me inevitably to the conclusion that, if it was one of you +four men, it was either Findlay or yourself, Mr. Sheppard,” Trant +asserted firmly. “You yourself know best whether it is necessary to +test him.” + +Sheppard stared at the obstinate young psychologist for a full minute. +“At least,” he said finally with the same roughness, “we can keep +young Jim still in custody.” He looked at the police officer, who +nodded. Then he went to the house telephone on the wall, spoke shortly +into it, and turned: + +“I’ll take you to Findlay, Trant. I’ve called the motor.” + +Five minutes later the little party in the trophy-room broke up—Tyler, +under the watch of Captain Crowley, going to the police station, but +as yet without charge against him; Chapin going about his own +business; Trant and his client speeding swiftly down the boulevard in +the big motor. + +“You want to stop at your office, I suppose,” Sheppard asked, “for you +haven’t brought the steins you used in your test with us?” + +“Yes—but no,” Trant suddenly recollected; “you have mentioned once or +twice that Findlay is a collector of coins—a numismatist.” + +“The craziest in Chicago.” + +“Then if you’ll drop me for a minute at Swift and Walton’s curio shop +in Randolph Street that will be enough.” + +Sheppard glanced at his young adviser wonderingly; and looked more +wonderingly still when Trant came out from the curio shop jingling a +handful of silver coins, which he showed quietly. + +“They’re silver florins of one of the early Swiss states,” he +exclaimed; “borrowed of Swift and Walton, by means of a deposit, and +guaranteed to make a collector sit up and take notice. They’ll get me +an interview with Mr. Findlay, I hope, without the need of an +introduction. So if you will point out the house to me and let me out +a block or so from it, I will go in first.” + +“And what do you want me to do?” asked Sheppard, startled. + +“Come in a few minutes later; meet him as you would naturally. Your +brother’s body has been found; tell him about it. You suspect young +Tyler; tell him that also. Maybe he can help you. You need not +recognize me until I see I want you; but my work, I trust, will be +done before you get there.” + +“Enoch Findlay help me?” queried Sheppard in perplexity. “You mean +help me to trace Neal’s murderer. But it is you who said because, +against all reason, you suspect Enoch, Mr. Trant, that we have come +here! For there’s the house,” he pointed. And Trant, not making any +answer, leaped out as the car was slowing, and left him. + +The big old Michigan avenue dwelling, Trant saw at a glance, was in +disrepair; but from inattention, the psychologist guessed, not from +lack of money. The maid who opened the door was a slattern. The hall, +with its mingled aroma of dust and cooking, spoke eloquently of the +indifference of the house’s chief occupant; and the musty front room, +with its coin cases and curios, was as unlike the great light and airy +“den” where Stephen Sheppard hung his guns and skins and antlers, as +the man whom Trant rose to greet was unlike his friend, the hale and +ruddy old sportsman. + +As Trant looked over this man, whose great height—six feet four or +five inches—was reduced at least three inches by the studious stoop of +his shoulders; as he took note of his worn and careless clothing and +his feet forced into bulging slippers; as he saw the parchment skin, +and met the eyes, so light in color that the iris could scarcely be +detected from the whites, like the unpainted eyes of a statue, he +appreciated the surprise that Findlay’s former partners, Sheppard and +Chapin, had experienced at the suggestion that this might be the +murderer. + +“I shall ask only a little of your time, Mr. Findlay,” Trant put his +hand into his pocket for his coins, as though the proffered hand of +the other had been extended for them. “I have come to ask your +estimate, as an expert, upon a few coins which I have recently picked +up. I have been informed that you can better advise me as to their +value than any other collector in Chicago. My coins seem to be of the +early Swiss states.” + +“Early Swiss coins are almost as rare as Swiss ships in the present +day, sir.” Findlay took the round bits of silver with the collector’s +intense absorption, which made him forget that he had not even asked +his visitor’s name. “And these are exceptionally rare and interesting +pieces. I have never seen but one other of these which I am fortunate +enough to possess. They are all the same, I see,” he sifted them +swiftly one after the other into his palm. “But—what’s this—what’s +this?” he cried with sudden disappointment as he took the top ones up +separately for more individual examination. “I hope you have not paid +too great a price for these.” He went to one of his cases and, opening +it, took out an exact duplicate of Trant’s coin. “For see!” he weighed +the two accurately in his fingers; “this first one of yours compares +most favorably with this specimen of mine, which is unquestionably +genuine. But this—this—this and this; ah, yes; and this, too”—he +sorted over the others swiftly and picked out five—“are certainly +lighter and I’m afraid they are counterfeit. But where are my scales?” + +“Lighter?” Trant repeated, in apparent bewilderment. + +“The correct coin, you see,” the collector replied, tossing his own +silver pieces into his scales, “should be over 400 grains—almost an +ounce. But these,” he placed the ten pieces one after the other on the +balance, too absorbed to notice the ringing of the door bell, “the +five I feared for, are quite light—twenty grains at least, you see?” +He reweighed them once more, carefully. + +“That is certainly most interesting.” Trant grimly looked up at the +expert as though trying to deny a disappointment. “But it is quite +worth having the five coins light, to witness the facility with which +an expert like yourself can pick them out, unerringly, without +fail—barely twenty grains difference in four hundred.” + +He looked up, still betraying only astonishment. But Findlay’s face, +after the first flush of his collector’s absorption, had suddenly +grown less cordial. + +“I did not get your name, sir,” he started; then turned, at the +opening of the door behind him, to face Stephen Sheppard. + +“Findlay!” the sportsman cried, scarcely waiting for the servant who +had admitted him to vanish, and not appearing to notice Trant at all. +“They’ve found Neal’s body! In Bowton’s mining shack—murdered, Enoch, +murdered! We’ll have young Jim Tyler up for it! Unless,” he hesitated, +and looked at Trant, and added, as though the compelling glance of the +psychologist constrained him to it, “unless you know something that +will help him, Enoch!” + +“Hush, Steve! Hush!” the coin collector fell back upon the chair, +beside his desk, with an anxious glance at the psychologist. “I have a +man here.” He gathered himself together. “And what is it possible that +I could tell to save young Jim?” + +“You might tell _why_, Mr. Findlay,” Trant said sharply, nerving +himself for the coming struggle, “for I know already _how_ you shot +Neal Sheppard yourself!” + +But no struggle came. + +“What—you?” Findlay burst from his pale lips; then caught the +recognition of this stranger in Sheppard’s face and fell back—trapped. + +He clasped his hands convulsively together and stretched them out +before him on the desk. In his cheek something beat and beat with +ceaseless pulse. + +“Murdered, Steve?” the latent fire seemed fanned in Findlay at last. +“But first”—he seemed to check something short on his lips—“who are +you? And why,” he turned to Trant, “why did you come to me with those +coins? I mean—how much do you know?” + +“I am retained by Mr. Sheppard in this case,” Trant replied, “and only +turned coin collector to prove how you picked out those shells with +which you shot Neal Sheppard. And I know enough more to know that you +could not have murdered him in any right sense, and enough to assure +you that, if you tell how you shot him to save young Tyler, you can +count on me for competent confirmation that it was not murder.” + +But the tall, gaunt man, bent in his chair, seemed scarcely to hear +the psychologist’s words or even to be conscious, longer, of his +presence. When he lifted his eyes, they gave no sign as they swept by +Trant’s figure. Findlay saw only his old partner and friend. + +“But you shot him, Enoch? How and why?” + +“How?” the Adam’s apple worked in Findlay’s throat, and the words +seemed wrenched from his lips as though their weight were a burden too +heavy for him longer to bear. “How, Steve? I shot him as he shot Len, +my brother, thirty years ago!” + +“Then it was Neal that shot Len and—and started the murder among us?” +the old sportsman in his turn sought tremblingly for a seat. “For all +these years I have known in my heart that it was done by Neal; but, +Enoch, you didn’t shoot him now because he shot Len—thirty years ago!” + +“No, not because he shot Len; but because he made me kill—made me +murder old Jim Tyler for it! Now do you understand? Neal shot Len, my +brother; and for that, perhaps I should not have shot Neal when, at +last, I found it out thirty years later. But for that murder he did +himself, _he made me murder poor old Jim Tyler_, my best friend! So I +shot him as he made me shoot Jim Tyler. It was both or none! Neal +would be alive to-day, if Jim was!” + +“Neal shot Len and made you shoot old Jim Tyler for it?” + +“Yes; I shot him, Steve! I shot old Jim—old Jim, who was the truest +friend to me of you all! I shot old Jim, whose bed I’d shared—and for +these thirty years old Jim has never left me. There are men like that, +Steve, who do a thing in haste, and then can’t forget. For I’m one of +them. I was no kind of a man for a murderer, Steve; I was no man for +the business we were in. Len led me—led me where I ought never to have +gone, for I hadn’t nerve like he and you and Neal had! Then Len was +shot, and Neal came to me and told me old Jim had done it. I was wild, +Steve—wild, for I’d had a difference with Jim and I knew Jim had had a +difference with Len—over me. So I believed it! But I had no gun. I +never carried one, you know. Neal gave me one and told me to go and +shoot him, or Jim’d shoot me, too. And I shot old Jim—shot him in the +back; that’s the kind of man I was—no nerve. I couldn’t face him when +I did it. But I’ve faced him often enough since, God knows! By night +and by day; by foul weather or by fair weather; for old Jim and I have +got up and gone to bed together ever since—thirty years. And it’s made +me what I am—you see, I never had the nerve. I told you!” + +“But Neal, Enoch? How did you come to shoot Neal two weeks ago—how did +all that make you?” Sheppard urged excitedly. + +“I’m telling you! Those two weeks ago—two weeks ago to-day, young Jim +came up into the woods red hot; for he had the papers he showed you +showing Neal had cheated him out of money. He met Chapin and me, too, +and told us and showed us the papers. There was one paper there that +didn’t mean anything to young Jim or to you or to Chapin, or to anyone +else that didn’t know old Jim intimately—old Jim had his own way of +putting things—but it meant a lot to me. For all these years I’ve been +telling you about—all these years I’ve been carrying old Jim with me, +getting up and lying down with him, and whenever he came to me, I’d +been saying to him, ‘I know, Jim, I killed you; but it was justice; +you killed my brother!’ But that paper made me know different. It made +me know it wasn’t old Jim that killed Len, Steve; it was Neal—and Jim +knew it; and that was why Neal set me on Jim and made me kill him; +because Jim knew it! That was like Neal, wasn’t it, Steve? Never do +anything straight, Neal wouldn’t, when he could do it crooked! He +wanted to get rid of old Jim—he owed him money and was afraid of him +now, for Jim knew he’d killed Len—and he saw a safe way to make me do +it. So then at last I knew why old Jim had never left me, but had been +following me all these years—always with me; and I never let on to +Chapin. I just went to look for Neal. ‘This time,’ said I to myself, +‘it’s justice!’ And—I found him sitting on a log, with his gun behind +him, a little drunk—for he always carried a flask with him, you +know—and whistling. I couldn’t face him any more than I could Jim, and +I came up behind him. Three times I took a bead on Neal’s back, and +three times I couldn’t pull the trigger—for he never stopped +whistling, and I knew if I shot him then I’d hear that whistling all +my life—and the third time he turned and saw me. He must have seen the +whole thing on my face; I can’t keep anything. But he had nerve, Neal +did. ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘it’s Enoch Findlay, the murderer, shooting in the +back as usual.’ ‘I’m what you made me,’ says I, ‘but you’ll never make +any difference to another man!’ ‘Give me a chance,’ says Neal. ‘Don’t +shoot me sitting!’ Neal had nerve, I tell you—I never had any; but +that time for once in my life, I got it. ‘Get up,’ says I, ‘and take +your gun; you’ll have as fair a chance as I will.’ But that wasn’t +quite true. I never had Neal’s nerve—I didn’t have it even then. But +I’ve always been a better shot than him; I’ve never drunk; and he +hasn’t been steady for years. So I knew I still had the advantage; and +Neal knew it, too; but he doesn’t let on. + +“‘Thank you, Enoch,’ he says. ‘Now I’ll kill you, of course; but while +I’m doing it, maybe you’ll hit me—no knowing; and I don’t care to have +a soft-nose bullet mushroom inside of me. Besides, wouldn’t you rather +have a clean hole—you’ve seen what the soft-noses do to the deer!’ +‘It’s all we’ve got,’ says I; but I guess he had me on that then. For +I had seen the game hit by soft-nose bullets; and if I had to have him +around with a bullet hole in him after I’d killed him, I wanted a +clean bullet hole anyway—not the other kind. ‘Have you got the other +kind?’ I said. ‘I’ll go to camp and get some,’ he answered. I don’t +know what was in me; I had my nerve that day—for the first and only +time in my life. I guess it was that, Steve, and it was a new feeling +and I wanted to enjoy it. I knew there was some devilment in what he +said; but I wanted to give him every chance—yes, I enjoyed giving the +chance for more crookedness to him before I finished him; for I knew I +was going to finish him then. + +“‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll wait for you in the clearing by Bowton’s +mining shack’; for I saw in his eyes that he was afraid not to come +back to me; and I watched him go, and went over to Bowton’s and sat +down with my back against the shanty, so he couldn’t come up and shoot +me from behind, and waited. It was dark and cloudy; he was gone four +hours, and before he got back it began to snow. It got so that you +couldn’t see ten feet in that blizzard; but I sat outside in the snow +till Neal came back; then we went into the shack together and agreed +to wait till it was over—no man on earth could have done any shooting +in that storm then, and we knew we couldn’t get back to camp till it +was over. We sat there in the shack, and looked at each other. Night +came, and we were still looking; only now we couldn’t see each other +any longer, but sat waiting to hear the other moving—only neither of +us moved. Then we did—slowly and carefully. Sometimes I sat in one +place, sometimes in another, for I didn’t want him to know just where +I was for fear he’d shoot. But he was afraid to shoot first; for if he +missed, I’d see him by the flash and get him, sure. It kept on +snowing. Once Neal said, ‘We’ll settle this thing in the morning.’ +‘All right,’ says I—but moved again, for I thought he would surely +shoot then. + +“I kept wondering when my nerve would go, but it stayed by me, and I +tell you I enjoyed it; he moved more often than I did. For the first +time in my life I wasn’t afraid of Neal Sheppard; and he was afraid of +me. He laid down in one of the bunks and I could hear him turning from +side to side; but he didn’t dare to sleep any, and I didn’t either. +Then he said, ‘This is hell, ain’t it!’ ‘If it is,’ I said, ‘it’s a +taste of what you’re going to get after!’ After I’d shot him, I meant. +Then he said, ‘I want to sleep, and I can’t sleep while you’re living; +let’s settle this thing now!’ + +“‘In the dark?’ I asked. ‘Not if I can find a light,’ he says, and I +promised not to shoot him while he lit a match—I had none. He lit one +and looked for a piece of candle, but couldn’t find any. Then I said, +‘If you want to do it in the dark, I’m agreeable’; for I’d been +thinking that maybe it was only because of the dark, now, that I had +my nerve, and maybe when daylight came and I could see him, I might be +afraid of him. So we agreed to it. + +“He felt for me in the dark, and held out five shells. We’d +agreed in the afternoon to fight at fifty paces with five shells +each—steel-patched bullets—and shoot till one killed. So he counted +out five in his hand and offered them to me, keeping the other five +for himself. I felt the five he gave me. They were full metal-patched, +all right; the kind for men to fight with; they’d either kill or make +a clean wound. But something about him—and I knew I had to be looking +for devilment—made me suspicious of him. ‘What are your five,’ I said +at a venture; ‘soft-nose? Are you going to use sporting lead on me?’ +‘They’re the same as yours,’ he said; but I got more suspicious. +‘Let’s trade, then,’ I said. ‘Feel the steel on them, then,’ he handed +me one. I felt; and it was metal-patched, all right; but then I knew +what was the bottom of his whole objection to the bullets; his shell +was heavier than mine. Mine were lighter; they were unloaded; I mean +they had no powder. He knew the powder we use was so little compared +to the weight of the case and bullet it could easily pass all right; +no one could spot the difference—no one, except one trained like me; +and I was sure he never thought I could. It all flashed across me ten +times quicker than that as soon as I felt his cartridges; but I said +nothing. I told you I had my nerve that night. For the same second my +plan flashed to me, too; my plan to turn his own trick against him and +not let him know! So I gave him back his shell; let him think it was +all right; but I knocked all ten, his and mine, on the floor. + +“Then we had to get down and look for them on the floor. I knew I +could pick out the good from the bad easy; but he—well, whenever I +found a light one, I left it; but when I found a heavy one, I kept it. +I got four good ones so easy and quick that he never guessed I was +picking them; he was fumbling—I could almost feel him sweat—trying to +be sure he was getting good shells. He got one, by accident, before I +found it; so I had to take one bad one; but I knew he had four bad, +though he himself couldn’t know anything about that. Then we loaded +the guns, and went out into the big room of the cabin, and backed away +from each other. + +“I backed as quick as I could, but he went slower. I did that so I +could hear his footsteps, and I listened and knew just about where he +was. We didn’t either one of us want to fire first, for the other one +would see his flash and fire at it. But after I had waited as long as +I could and knew that he hadn’t moved because I heard no footsteps, I +fired twice—as fast as I could pull the trigger—where I heard him +last; and from just the opposite corner from where I last heard him, I +heard the click of his rifle—the hammer falling on one of his bad +shells, or it might have been the last for me. I didn’t see how he +could have got there without my knowing it; but I didn’t stop to think +of that. I just swung and gave it to him quick—two shots again, but +not so quick but that—between them—his hammer struck his good shell +and the bullet banged through the wall behind me. But then I gave him +my fourth shot—straight; for his hammer didn’t even click again. +Besides, I heard him fall. I waited a long time to see if he moved; +but he didn’t. I threw the bad cartridge out of my gun, and went over +and felt for him. I got the matchbox and lit matches and saw he was +dead; and I saw, too, how he had got in that corner without me +hearing. He was in his stockings; he had taken off his shoes and +sneaked from the corner where I first shot for him, so he would have +killed me if I hadn’t seen to it that he had the bad shells he fixed +for me. It struck a sort of a shiver to me to see that—to see him +tricky and fighting foul to the end. But that was like Neal, wasn’t +it, Steve? That was like him, clear to the last, looking for any +unfair advantage he could take? That’s how and why I killed Neal, +Steve—and this time it was justice, Steve! For Neal had it coming! +Steve, Steve! didn’t Neal have it coming?” + +He stretched out his hands to his old friend, the brother of the man +he had killed, in pitiable appeal; and as the other rose, with his +face working with indecision and emotion, Trant saw that the question +he had asked and the answer that was to be given were for those two +alone, and he went out and left them. + +The psychologist waited at the top of the high stone entrance steps +for several minutes before Sheppard joined him and stood drinking in +great breaths of the cold December air as though by its freshness to +restore his nervous balance. + +“I do not know what your decision is, Mr. Sheppard,” said the younger +man finally, “as to what will be done in the matter. I may tell you +that the case had already given me independent confirmation of Mr. +Findlay’s remarkable statement in the important last particulars. So +it will be no surprise to me, and I shall not mention it, if I am +never called on by you to bear witness to the very full confession we +have just heard.” + +“Confession?” Sheppard started. “Findlay does not regard it a +confession, Mr. Trant, but as his defense; and I—I rather think that +during the last few minutes I have been looking at it in that light.” + +He led the way toward the automobile, and as they stepped into it, he +continued: “You have proved completely, Mr. Trant, all the assertions +you made at my house this morning, but I am still guessing how the +means you used could have made you think of Findlay as the man who +killed Neal—the one whom I would have least suspected.” + +“You know already,” Trant answered, “what led me to the conclusion +that your brother was killed in the dark; and that it was certainly +not a murder, but a duel, or, at least, some sort of a formal fight +between two men, had occurred to me with compelling suggestiveness as +soon as the Indian showed to me the intact shells—all with full +metal-patched bullets, though these were not carried by you for game +and no other such shells were found in your brother’s belt. And not +only were the intact shells with steel-patched bullets, but the shots +fired were also steel-patched bullets, as the Indian noticed from +their holes through the logs. So here were two men with five +metal-patched shells apiece firing at each other. + +“It still more strongly suggested some sort of a duel to me,” the +psychologist continued, “when they told us the singularly curious fact +that two of the bullets had pierced the wall directly above the place +where your brother’s shoes stood. This could reasonably be explained +if I held my suspicion that the men had fought a duel in the +dark—shooting by sound; but I could not even guess at any other +explanation which was not entirely fantastic. And when I discovered +immediately afterwards that, of the ten special shells which these men +seemed to have chosen to fire at each other, five had been unloaded, +it made the fact final to me; for it was utterly absurd to suppose +that of the ten shells to be shot under such circumstances, five—just +one half—would have been without powder by accident. But I am free to +confess,” Trant continued frankly, “that I did not even guess at the +true explanation of that—for I have accepted Mr. Findlay’s statement +as correct. I had accounted for it by supposing that, in this duel, +the men more consciously chose their cartridges and that the duel was +a sort of repeating rifle adaptation of two men dueling with one +loaded and one unloaded pistol. In the essential fact, however, I was +correct and that was that the men did choose the shells; so, granting +that, it was perfectly plain that one of the men had been able to +clearly discriminate between the loaded and the unloaded shells, and +the other had not. For not only did the one have four good shells to +the other’s one—in itself an almost convincing figure—but the man with +four did not even try to shoot his bad shell, while it appeared that +the other had tried to shoot his bad one first. Now as there was not +the slightest difference to the eye between the bad and good shells +and—that which made it final—the duel was fought in the dark, the +discrimination which one man had and your brother did not, could only +have been an ability for fine discrimination in weight.” + +“I see!” Comprehension dawned curiously upon Sheppard’s face. + +“For the bullet and the case of those special shells of yours, Mr. +Sheppard,” the psychologist continued rapidly, “were so heavy—weighing +together over three hundred grains, as I weighed them at your gun +cabinet—and the smokeless powder you were trying was of such +exceptional power that you had barely twenty grains in a cartridge; so +the difference in weight between one of those full shells and an empty +one was scarcely one-fifteenth—an extremely difficult difference for +one without special deftness to detect in such delicate weights. It +was entirely indistinguishable to you; and also apparently so to Mr. +Chapin, though I was not at first convinced whether it was really so +or not. However, as I have trained myself in laboratory work to fine +differences—a man may work up to discriminations as fine as +one-fortieth—I was able to make out this essential difference at once. + +“This reduced my case to a single and extremely elementary +consideration: _could_ young Tyler have picked out those shells in the +dark and shot Neal Sheppard with them. If he could, then I could take +up the circumstantial evidence against him, which certainly seemed +strong. But if he could not, then I had merely to test the other men +who carried Sheppard-Tyler rifles and were gone from camp the night +your brother was shot, as well as young Tyler—though that circumstance +seemed to have been forgotten in the case against Tyler.” + +“I see!” Sheppard cried again. “So that was what you were doing with +the steins and shot! But how could you tell that from the steins?” + +“I was making a test, as you understand now, Mr. Sheppard,” Trant +explained, “to determine whether or not Tyler—and after him, Mr. +Chapin—could have distinguished easily between a loaded shell weighing +something over 320 grains and one without the 20 odd grains of +smokeless powder; that is, to find if either could discriminate +differences of no more than one-fifteenth in such a small weight. To +test for this in the laboratory and with the proper series of +experiment weights, I should have a number of rubber blocks of +precisely the same size and appearance, but graded in weight from 300 +grains to something over 320 grains. If I had the subject take up the +300 grain weight and then the others in succession, asking him to call +them heavier or lighter or the same weight, and then made him go over +all the weights again in a different order, I could have as accurately +proved his sense of weight discrimination as an oculist can prove the +power of sight of the eyes, and with as little possibility of anyone +fooling me. But I could not arrange a proper series of experiment +weights of only 300 grains without a great deal of trouble; and it was +not necessary for me to do so. For under the operation of a well-known +psychological principle called Weber’s Law, I knew that the same ratio +of discrimination between weights holds pretty nearly constant for +each individual, whether the experiment is made with grains, or +ounces, or pounds. In other words, if a person’s ‘threshold of +difference’—as his power of weight discrimination is called—is only +one-tenth in grains, it is the same in drams or ounces; and if he can +not accurately determine whether one stein weighs one-fifteenth more +than another, neither can he pick out the heavier shell if the +difference is only one-fifteenth. So I merely had to take five of your +steins, fill the one I used as a standard with shot till it weighed +about six ounces, or 100 drams. The other steins I weighted to 105, +107, 108, 110 drams respectively; and by mixing them up and timing +both Tyler’s and Chapin’s answers so as to be sure they were answering +their honest, first impressions of the weights of the steins and were +not trying to trick me, I found that neither could consistently tell +whether the steins that weighed one-twentieth, one-fifteenth or even +the steins which weighed one-twelfth more were heavier, lighter or the +same as the standard stein; and it was only when they got the one +which weighed 110 drams and was one-tenth heavier that they were +always right. So I knew.” + +“I see! I see!” Sheppard cried eagerly. “Then the coins you took to +Findlay were—” + +“Weights to try him in precisely the same sense,” Trant continued. +“Only they approximated much more closely the weights of the bullets +and had, indeed, even finer differences in weight. Five were genuine +old florins weighing 400 grains, while the other five were light +twenty grains or only one-twentieth; yet Findlay picked them out at +once from the others, as soon as he compared them, without a moment’s +hesitation.” + +“Simple as you make it out now, young man,” Sheppard said to his young +adviser admiringly, “it was a wonderful bit of work. And whether or +not it would have proved that you were needed to save Tyler’s life, +you have certainly saved me from making the most serious criminal +charge against him; and you have spared him and my niece from starting +their lives together under the shame and shadow of the public +knowledge of my brother’s past. I am going now, of course, to see that +Jim is freed and that even the suspicion that my brother was not +killed accidentally in the woods, gets no further than Captain +Crowley. I can see to that! And you, Mr. Trant—” + +“I have retained the privilege, fortunately, Mr. Sheppard,” Trant +interrupted, “since I am unofficial, of judging for myself when +justice has been done. And I told you that the story we have just +heard satisfied me as the truth. My office is in the next block. You +will leave me there?” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The Axton Letters + +The sounds in her dressing-room had waked her just before five. Ethel +Waldron could still see, when she closed her eyes, every single, sharp +detail of her room as it was that instant she sprang up in bed, with +the cry that had given the alarm, and switched on the electric light. +Instantly the man had shut the door; but as she sat, strained, staring +at it to reopen, the hands and dial of her clock standing on the +mantel beside the door, had fixed themselves upon her retina like the +painted dial of a jeweler’s dummy. It could have been barely five, +therefore, when Howard Axton, after his first swift rush in her +defense had found the window which had been forced open; had picked up +the queer Turkish dagger which he found broken on the sill, and, +crying to the girl not to call the police, as it was surely “the same +man”—the same man, he meant, who had so inexplicably followed him +around the world—had rushed to his room for extra cartridges for his +revolver and run out into the cold sleet of the March morning. + +So it was now an hour or more since Howard had run after the man, +revolver in hand; and he had not reappeared or telephoned or sent any +word at all of his safety. And however much Howard’s life in wild +lands had accustomed him to seek redress outside the law, hers still +held the city-bred impulse to appeal to the police. She turned from +her nervous pacing at the window and seized the telephone from its +hook; but at the sound of the operator’s voice she remembered again +Howard’s injunction that the man, whenever he appeared, was to be left +solely to him, and dropped the receiver without answering. But she +resented fiercely the advantage he held over her which must oblige +her, she knew, to obey him. He had told her frankly—threatened her, +indeed—that if there was the slightest publicity given to his +homecoming to marry her, or any further notoriety made of the +attending circumstances, he would surely leave her. + +At the rehearsal of this threat she straightened and threw the +superfluous dressing gown from her shoulders with a proud, defiant +gesture. She was a straight, almost tall girl, with the figure of a +more youthful Diana and with features as fair and flawless as any +younger Hera, and in addition a great depth of blue in very direct +eyes and a crowning glory of thick, golden hair. She was barely +twenty-two. And she was not used to having any man show a sense of +advantage over her, much less threaten her, as Howard had done. So, in +that impulse of defiance, she was reaching again for the telephone she +had just dropped, when she saw through the fog outside the window the +man she was waiting for—a tall, alert figure hastening toward the +house. + +She ran downstairs rapidly and herself opened the door to him, a fresh +flush of defiance flooding over her. Whether she resented it because +this man, whom she did not love but must marry, could appear more the +assured and perfect gentleman without collar, or scarf, and with his +clothes and boots spattered with mud and rain, than any of her other +friends could ever appear; or whether it was merely the confident, +insolent smile of his full lips behind his small, close-clipped +mustache, she could not tell. At any rate she motioned him into the +library without speaking; but when they were alone and she had closed +the door, she burst upon him. + +“Well, Howard? Well? Well, Howard?” breathlessly. + +“Then you have not sent any word to the police, Ethel?” + +“I was about to—the moment you came. But—I have not—yet,” she had to +confess. + +“Or to that—” he checked the epithet that was on his lips—“your friend +Caryl?” + +She flushed, and shook her head. + +He drew his revolver, “broke” it, ejecting the cartridges carelessly +upon the table, and threw himself wearily into a chair. “I’m glad to +see you understand that this has not been the sort of affair for +anyone else to interfere in!” + +“Has been, you mean;” the girl’s face went white; “you—you caught him +this time and—and killed him, Howard?” + +“Killed him, Ethel?” the man laughed, but observed her more carefully. +“Of course I haven’t killed him—or even caught him. But I’ve made +myself sure, at last, that he’s the same fellow that’s been trying to +make a fool of me all this year—that’s been after me, as I wrote you. +And if you remember my letters, even you—I mean even a girl brought up +in a city ought to see how it’s a matter of honor with me now to +settle with him alone!” + +“If he is merely trying to ‘make a fool of you,’ as you say—yes, +Howard,” the girl returned hotly. “But from what you yourself have +told me of him, you know he must be keeping after you for some serious +reason! Yes; you know it! I can see it! You can’t deny it!” + +“Ethel—what do you mean by that?” + +“I mean that, if you do not think that the man who has been following +you from Calcutta to Cape Town, to Chicago, means more than a joke for +you to settle for yourself; anyway, _I_ know that the man who has now +twice gone through the things in _my_ room, is something for me to go +to the police about!” + +“And have the papers flaring the family scandal again?” the man +returned. “I admit, Ethel,” he conceded, carefully calculating the +sharpness of his second sting before he delivered it, “that if you or +I could call in the police without setting the whole pack of papers +upon us again, I’d be glad to do it, if only to please you. But I told +you, before I came back, that if there was to be any more airing of +the family affairs at all, I could not come; so if you want to press +the point now, of course I can leave you,” he gave the very slightest +but most suggestive glance about the rich, luxurious furnishings of +the great room, “in possession.” + +“You know I can’t let you do that!” the girl flushed scarlet. “But +neither can you prevent me from making the private inquiry I spoke of +for myself!” She went to the side of the room and, in his plain +hearing, took down the telephone and called a number without having to +look it up. + +“Mr. Caryl, please,” she said. “Oh, Henry, is it you? You can take me +to your—Mr. Trant, wasn’t that the name—as soon as you can now. . . . +Yes; I want you to come here. I will have my brougham. Immediately!” +And still without another word or even a glance at Axton, she brushed +by him and ran up the stairs to her room. + +He had made no effort to prevent her telephoning; and she wondered at +it, even as, in the same impetus of reckless anger, she swept up the +scattered letters and papers on her writing desk, and put on her +things to go out. But on her way downstairs she stopped suddenly. The +curl of his cigarette smoke through the open library door showed that +he was waiting just inside it. He meant to speak to her before she +went out. Perhaps he was even glad to have Caryl come in order that he +might speak his say in the presence of both of them. Suddenly his +tobacco’s sharp, distinctive odor sickened her. She turned about, ran +upstairs again and fled, almost headlong, down the rear stairs and out +the servants’ door to the alley. + +The dull, gray fog, which was thickening as the morning advanced, +veiled her and made her unrecognizable except at a very few feet; but +at the end of the alley, she shrank instinctively from the glance of +the men passing until she made out a hurrying form of a man taller +even than Axton and much broader. She sprang toward it with a shiver +of relief as she saw Henry Caryl’s light hair and recognized his even, +open features. + +“Ethel!” he caught her, gasping his surprise. “You here? Why—” + +“Don’t go to the house!” She led him the opposite way. “There is a cab +stand at the corner. Get one there and take me—take me to this Mr. +Trant. I will tell you everything. The man came again last night. +Auntie is sick in bed from it. Howard still says it is his affair and +will do nothing. I had to come to you.” + +Caryl steadied her against a house-wall an instant; ran to the corner +for a cab and, returning with it, half lifted her into it. + +Forty minutes later he led her into Trant’s reception-room in the +First National Bank Building; and recognizing the abrupt, decisive +tones of the psychologist in conversation in the inner office, Caryl +went to the door and knocked sharply. + +“I beg your pardon, but—can you possibly postpone what you are doing, +Mr. Trant?” he questioned quickly as the door opened and he faced the +sturdy and energetic form of the red-haired young psychologist who, in +six months, had made himself admittedly the chief consultant in +Chicago on criminal cases. “My name is Caryl. Henry Howell introduced +me to you last week at the club. But I am not presuming upon that for +this interruption. I and—my friend need your help badly, Mr. Trant, +and immediately. I mean, if we can not speak with you now, we may be +interrupted—unpleasantly.” + +Caryl had moved, as he spoke, to hide the girl behind him from the +sight of the man in the inner office, who, Caryl had seen, was a +police officer. Trant noted this and also that Caryl had carefully +refrained from mentioning the girl’s name. + +“I can postpone this present business, Mr. Caryl,” the psychologist +replied quietly. He closed the door, but reopened it almost instantly. +His official visitor had left through the entrance directly into the +hall; the two young clients came into the inner room. + +“This is Mr. Trant, Ethel,” Caryl spoke to the girl a little nervously +as she took a seat. “And, Mr. Trant, this is Miss Waldron. I have +brought her to tell you of a mysterious man who has been pursuing +Howard Axton about the world, and who, since Axton came home to her +house two weeks ago, has been threatening her.” + +“Axton—Axton!” the psychologist repeated the name which Caryl had +spoken, as if assured that Trant must recognize it. “Ah! Of course, +Howard Axton is the son!” he frankly admitted his clearing +recollection and his comprehension of how the face of the girl had +seemed familiar. “Then you,” he addressed her directly, “are Miss +Waldron, of Drexel Boulevard?” + +“Yes; I am that Miss Waldron, Mr. Trant,” the girl replied, flushing +red to her lips, but raising her head proudly and meeting his eyes +directly. “The step-daughter—the daughter of the second wife of Mr. +Nimrod Axton. It was my mother, Mr. Trant, who was the cause of Mrs. +Anna Axton getting a divorce and the complete custody of her son from +Mr. Axton twenty years ago. It was my mother who, just before Mr. +Nimrod Axton’s death last year, required that, in the will, the +son—the first Mrs. Axton was then dead—should be cut off absolutely +and entirely, without a cent, and that Mr. Axton’s entire estate be +put in trust for her—my mother. So, since you doubtless remember the +reopening of all this again six months ago when my mother, too, died, +I am now the sole heir and legatee of the Axton properties of upwards +of sixty millions, they tell me. Yes; I am that Miss Waldron, Mr. +Trant!” + +“I recall the accounts, but only vaguely—from the death of Mr. Axton +and, later, of the second Mrs. Axton, your mother, Miss Waldron,” +Trant replied, quietly, “though I remember the comment upon the +disposition of the estate both times. It was from the pictures +published of you and the accompanying comment in the papers only a +week or two ago that I recognized you. I mean, of course, the recent +comments upon the son, Mr. Howard Axton, whom you have mentioned, who +has come home at last to contest the will.” + +“You do Miss Waldron an injustice—all the papers have been doing her a +great injustice, Mr. Trant,” Caryl corrected quickly. “Mr. Axton has +not come to contest the will.” + +“No?” + +“No. Miss Waldron has had him come home, at her own several times +repeated request, so that she may turn over to him, as completely as +possible, the whole of his father’s estate! If you can recall, in any +detail, the provisions of Mr. Axton’s will, you will appreciate, I +believe, why we have preferred to let the other impression go +uncorrected. For the second Mrs. Axton so carefully and completely cut +off all possibility of any of the property being transferred in any +form to the son, that Miss Waldron, when she went to a lawyer to see +how she could transfer it to Howard Axton, as soon as she had come +into the estate, found that her mother’s lawyers had provided against +every possibility except that of the heir marrying the disinherited +son. So she sent for him, offering to establish him into his estate, +even at that cost.” + +“You mean that you offered to marry him?” Trant questioned the girl +directly again. “And he has come to gain his estate in that way?” + +“Yes, Mr. Trant; but you must be fair to Mr. Axton also,” the girl +replied. “When I first wrote him, almost a year ago, he refused point +blank to consider such an offer. In spite of my repeated letters it +was not till six weeks ago, after a shipwreck in which he lost his +friend who had been traveling with him for some years, that he would +consent even to come home. Even now I—I remain the one urging the +marriage.” + +The psychologist looked at the girl keenly and questioningly. + +“I need scarcely say how little urging he would need, entirely apart +from the property,” Caryl flushed, “if he were not gentleman enough to +appreciate—partly, at least—Miss Waldron’s position. I—her friends, I +mean, Mr. Trant—have admitted that he appeared at first well enough in +every way to permit the possibility of her marrying him if she +considers that her duty. But now, this mystery has come up about the +man who has been following him—the man who appeared again only this +morning in Miss Waldron’s room and went through her papers—” + +“And Mr. Axton cannot account for it?” the psychologist helped him. + +“Axton won’t tell her or anybody else who the man is or why he follows +him. On the contrary, he has opposed in every possible way every +inquiry or search made for the man, except such as he chooses to make +for himself. Only this morning he made a threat against Miss Waldron +if she attempted to summon the police and ‘take the man out of his +hands’; and it is because I am sure that he will follow us here to +prevent her consulting you—when he finds that she has come here—that I +asked you to see us at once.” + +“Leave the details of his appearance this morning to the last then,” +Trant requested abruptly, “and tell me where you first heard of this +man following Mr. Axton, and how? How, for instance, do you know he +was following him, if Mr. Axton is so reticent about the affair?” + +“That is one of the strange things about it, Mr. Trant”—the girl took +from her bosom the bundle of letters she had taken from her room—“he +used to write to amuse me with him, as you can see here. I told you I +wrote Mr. Axton about a year ago to come home and he refused to +consider it. But afterwards he always wrote in reply to my letters in +the half-serious, friendly way you shall see. These four letters I +brought you are almost entirely taken up with his adventures with the +mysterious man. He wrote on typewriter, as you see”—she handed them +over—“because on his travels he used to correspond regularly for some +of the London syndicates.” + +“London?” + +“Yes; the first Mrs. Axton took Howard to England with her when he was +scarcely seven, immediately after she got her divorce. He grew up +there and abroad. This is his first return to America. I have arranged +those letters, Mr. Trant,” she added as the psychologist was opening +them for examination now, “in the order they came.” + +“I will read them that way then,” Trant said, and he glanced over the +contents of the first hastily; it was postmarked at Cairo, Egypt, some +ten months before. He then re-read more carefully this part of it: + + “But a strange and startling incident has happened since my last + letter to you, Miss Waldron, which bothers me considerably. We are, + as you will see by the letter paper, at Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo, + but could not, after our usual custom, get communicating rooms. It + was after midnight, and the million noises of this babel-town had + finally died into a hot and breathless stillness. I had been writing + letters, and when through I put out the lights to get rid of their + heat, lighted instead the small night lamp I carry with me, and + still partly dressed threw myself upon the bed, without, however, + any idea of going to sleep before undressing. As I lay there I heard + distinctly soft footsteps come down the corridor on which my room + opens and stop apparently in front of the door. They were not, I + judged, the footsteps of a European, for the walker was either + barefooted or wore soft sandals. I turned my head toward the door, + expecting a knock, but none followed. Neither did the door open, + though I had not yet locked it. I was on the point of rising to see + what was wanted, when it occurred to me that it was probably not at + my door that the steps had stopped but at the door directly + opposite, across the corridor. Without doubt my opposite neighbor + had merely returned to his room and his footsteps had ceased to + reach my ears when he entered and closed his door behind him. I + dozed off. But half an hour later, as nearly as I can estimate it, I + awoke and was thinking of the necessity for getting undressed and + into bed, when a slight—a very slight rustling noise attracted my + attention. I listened intently to locate the direction of the sound + and determine whether it was inside the room or out of it, and then + heard in connection with it a slighter and more regular sound which + could be nothing else than breathing. Some living creature, Miss + Waldron, was in my room. The sounds came from the direction of the + table by the window. I turned my head as silently as I was able, and + was aware that a man was holding a sheet of paper under the light of + the lamp. He was at the table going through the papers in my writing + desk. But the very slight noise I had made in turning on the bed had + warned him. He rose, with a hissing intake of the breath, his feet + pattered softly and swiftly across the floor, my door creaked under + his hand, and he was gone before I could jump from the bed and + intercept him. I ran out into the hallway, but it was empty. I + listened, but could hear no movement in any of the rooms near me. I + went back and examined the writing desk, but found nothing missing; + and it was plain nothing had been touched except some of my letters + from you. But, before finally going to bed, you may well believe, I + locked my door carefully; and in the morning I reported the matter + to the hotel office. The only description I could give of the + intruder was that he had certainly worn a turban, and one even + larger it seemed to me than ordinary. The hotel attendants had seen + no one coming from or entering my corridor that night who answered + this description. The turban and the absence of European shoes, of + course, determined him to have been an Egyptian, Turk or Arab. But + what Egyptian, Turk or Arab could have entered my room with any + other object than robbery—which was certainly not the aim of my + intruder, for the valuables in the writing desk were untouched. That + same afternoon, it is true, I had had an altercation amounting + almost to a quarrel with a Bedouin Arab on my way back from + Heliopolis; but if this were he, why should he have taken revenge on + my writing desk instead of on me? And what reason on earth can any + follower of the Prophet have had for examining with such particular + attention my letters from you? It was so decidedly a strange thing + that I have taken all this space to tell it to you—one of the + strangest sort of things I’ve had in all my knocking about; and + Lawler can make no more of it than I.” + +“Who is this Lawler who was with Mr. Axton then?” Trant looked up +interestedly from the last page of the letter. + +“I only know he was a friend Howard made in London—an interesting man +who had traveled a great deal, particularly in America. Howard was +lonely after his mother’s death; and as Mr. Lawler was about his age, +they struck up a friendship and traveled together.” + +“An English younger son, perhaps?” + +“I don’t know anything else except that he had been in the English +army—in the Royal Sussex regiment—but was forced to give up his +commission on account of charges that he had cheated at cards. Howard +always held that the charges were false; but that was why he wanted to +travel.” + +“You know of no other trouble which this Lawler had?” + +“No, none.” + +“Then where is he now?” + +“Dead.” + +“Dead?” Trant’s face fell. + +“Yes; he was the friend I spoke of that was lost—drowned in the wreck +of the _Gladstone_ just before Howard started home.” + +Trant picked up the next letter, which was dated and postmarked at +Calcutta. + + “Miss Waldron, I have seen him again,” he read. “Who, you ask? My + Moslem friend with a taste for your correspondence. You see, I can + again joke about it; but really it was only last night and I am + still in a perfect funk. It was the same man—I’ll swear it—shoeless + and turbaned and enjoying the pleasant pursuit of going through my + writing desk for your letters. Did he follow us down the Red Sea, + across the Indian Ocean—over three thousand miles of ocean travel? I + can imagine no other explanation—for I would take oath to his + identity—the very same man I saw at Cairo, but now here in this + Great Eastern Hotel at Calcutta, where we have two rooms at the end + of the most noisome corridor that ever caged the sounds and odors of + a babbling East Indian population, and where the doors have no + locks. I had the end of a trunk against my door, notwithstanding the + fact that an Indian servant I have hired was sleeping in the + corridor outside across the doorway, but it booted nothing; for + Lawler in the next room had neglected to fasten his door in any way, + trusting to his servant, who occupied a like strategic position + outside the threshold, and the door between our two rooms was open. + I had been asleep in spite of everything—in spite of the snores and + stertorous breathing of a floorful of sleeping humans, for the + partitions between the rooms do not come within several feet of the + ceiling; in spite of the distant bellowing of a sacred bull, and the + nearer howl of a very far from sacred dog, and a jingling of + elephant bells which were set off intermittently somewhere close at + hand whenever some living thing in their neighborhood—animal or + human—shifted its position. I was awakened—at least I believe it was + this which awakened me—by a creaking of the floor boards in my room, + and, with what seemed a causeless, but was certainly one of the most + oppressive feelings of chilling terror I have ever experienced, I + started upright in my bed. He was there, again at my writing desk, + and rustling the papers. For an instant I remained motionless; and + in that instant, alarmed by the slight sound I had made, he fled + noiselessly, pattered through the door between the rooms and loudly + slammed it shut, slammed Lawler’s outer door behind him, and had + gone. I crashed the door open, ran across the creaking floor of the + other room—where Lawler, awakened by the slamming of the doors, had + whisked out of bed—and opened the door into the corridor. Lawler’s + servant, aroused, but still dazed with sleep, blubbered that he had + seen no one, though the man must have stepped over his very body. A + dozen other servants, sleeping before their masters’ doors in the + corridor, had awakened likewise, but cried out shrilly that they had + seen no one. Lawler, too, though the noise of the man’s passage had + brought him out of bed, had not seen him. When I examined my writing + desk I found, as before at Cairo, that nothing had been taken. The + literary delight of looking over your letters seems to be all that + draws him—of course, I am joking; for there must be a real reason. + What it is that he is searching for, why it is that he follows me, + for he has never intruded on anyone else so far as I can learn, I + would like to know—I would like to know—I would like to know! The + native servants asked in awe-struck whispers whether I noticed if + his feet were turned backwards; for it seems they believe that to be + one of the characteristics of a ghost. But the man was flesh and + blood—I am sure of it; and I am bound that if he comes again I will + learn his object, for I sleep now with my pistol under my pillow, + and next time—I shall shoot!” + +Trant, as he finished the last words, looked up suddenly at Miss +Waldron, as though about to ask a question or make some comment, but +checked himself, and hastily laying aside this letter he picked up the +next one, which bore a Cape Town date line: + + “My affair with my mysterious visitor came almost to a conclusion + last night, for except for a careless mistake of my own I should + have bagged him. Isn’t it mystifying, bewildering—yes, and a little + terrifying—he made his appearance here last night in Cape Town, + thousands of miles away from the two other places I had encountered + him; and he seemed to have no more difficulty in entering the house + of a Cape Town correspondent, Mr. Arthur Emsley, where we are + guests, than he had before in entering public hotels, and when + discovered he disappeared as mysteriously as ever. This time, + however, he took some precautions. He had moved my night lamp so + that, with his body in shadow, he could still see the contents of my + desk; but I could hear his shoulders rubbing on the wall and located + him exactly. I slipped my hand noiselessly for my revolver, but it + was gone. The slight noise I made in searching for it alarmed him, + and he ran. I rushed out into the hall after him. Mr. Emsley and + Lawler, awakened by the breaking of the glass, had come out of their + rooms. They had not seen him, and though we searched the house he + had disappeared as inexplicably as the two other times. But I have + learned one thing: It is not a turban he wears, it is his coat, + which he takes off and wraps around his head to hide his face. An + odd disguise; and the possession of a coat of that sort makes it + probable he is a European. I know of only two Europeans who have + been in Cairo, Calcutta and Cape Town at the same time we were—both + travelers like ourselves; a guttural young German named Schultz, a + freight agent for the Nord Deutscher Lloyd, and a nasal American + named Walcott, who travels for the Seric Medicine Co. of New York. I + shall keep an eye on both of them. For, in my mind at least, this + affair has come to be a personal and bitter contest between the + unknown and myself. I am determined not only to know who this man is + and what is the object of his visits, but to settle with him the + score which I now have against him. I shall shoot him next time he + comes as mercilessly as I would a rabid dog; and I should have shot + him this time except for my own careless mistake through which I had + let my revolver slip to the floor, where I found it. By the bye, we + sail for home—that is, England—next week on the steamer _Gladstone_, + but, I am sorry to say, without my English servant, Beasley. Poor + Beasley, since these mysterious occurrences, has been bitten with + superstitious terror; the man is in a perfect fright, thinks I am + haunted, and does not dare to embark on the same ship with me, for + he believes that the _Gladstone_ will never reach England in safety + if I am aboard. I shall discharge him, of course, but furnish him + with his transportation home and leave him to follow at his leisure + if he sees fit.” + +“This is the first time I have heard of another man in their party who +might possibly be the masquerader, Miss Waldron;” Trant swung suddenly +in his revolving chair to face the girl again. “Mr. Axton speaks of +him as his English servant—I suppose, from that, he left England with +Mr. Axton.” + +“Yes, Mr. Trant.” + +“And therefore was present, though not mentioned, at Cairo, Calcutta +and Cape Town?” + +“Yes, Mr. Trant; but he was dismissed at that time by Mr. Axton and is +now, and also was, at the mysterious man’s next appearance, in the +Charing Cross Hospital in London. He had his leg broken by a cab; and +one of the doctors there wrote Mr. Axton two days ago telling him of +Beasley’s need of assistance. It could not have been Beasley.” + +“And there was no one else with Mr. Axton, except his friend Lawler +who, you say, was drowned in a wreck?” + +“No one else but Mr. Lawler, Mr. Trant; and Howard himself saw him +dead and identified him, as you will see in that last letter.” + +Trant opened the envelope and took out the enclosure interestedly; but +as he unfolded the first page, a printed sheet dropped out. He spread +it upon his desk—a page from the London _Illustrated News_ showing +four portraits with the caption, “Sole survivors of the ill-fated +British steamer _Gladstone_, wrecked off Cape Blanco, January 24,” the +first portrait bearing the name of Howard Axton and showing the +determined, distinctly handsome features and the full lips and +deep-set eyes of the man whom the girl had defied that morning. + +“This is a good portrait?” Trant asked abruptly. + +“Very good, indeed,” the girl answered, “though it was taken almost +immediately after the wreck for the _News_. I have the photograph from +which it was made at home. I had asked him for a picture of himself in +my last previous letter, as my mother had destroyed every picture, +even the early pictures, of him and his mother.” + +Trant turned to the last letter. + + “Wrecked, Miss Waldron. Poor Beasley’s prophecy of disaster has come + only too true, and I suppose he is already congratulating himself + that he was ‘warned’ by my mysterious visitor and so escaped the + fate that so many have suffered, including poor Lawler. Of course + you will have seen all about it in the staring headlines of some + newspaper long before this reaches you. I am glad that when found I + was at once identified, though still unconscious, and my name listed + first among the very few survivors, so that you were spared the + anxiety of waiting for news of me. Only four of us left out of that + whole shipload! I had final proof this morning of poor Lawler’s + death by the finding of his body. + + “I was hardly out of bed when a mangy little man—a German + trader—came to tell me that more bodies had been found, and, as I + have been called upon in every instance to aid in identification, I + set out with him down the beach at once. It was almost impossible to + realize that this blue and silver ocean glimmering under the blazing + sun was the same white-frothing terror that had swallowed up all my + companions of three days before. The greater part of the bodies + found that morning had been already carried up the beach. Among + those remaining on the sand the first we came upon was that of + Lawler. It lay upon its side at the entrance of a ragged sandy cove, + half buried in the sand, which here was white as leprosy. His ears, + the sockets of his eyes, and every interstice of his clothing were + filled with this white and leprous sand by the washing of the waves; + his pockets bulged and were distended with it.” + +“What! What!” Trant clutched the letter from the desk in excitement +and stared at it with eyes flashing with interest. + +“It is a horrible picture, Mr. Trant,” the girl shuddered. + +“Horrible—yes, certainly,” the psychologist assented tensely; “but I +was not thinking of the horror,” he checked himself. + +“Of what, then?” asked Caryl pointedly. + +But the psychologist had already returned to the letter in his hand, +the remainder of which he read with intent and ever-increasing +interest: + + “Of course I identified him at once. His face was calm and showed no + evidence of his last bitter struggle, and I am glad his look was + thus peaceful. Poor Lawler! If the first part of his life was not + all it should have been—as indeed he frankly told me—he atoned for + all in his last hour; for undoubtedly, Miss Waldron, Lawler gave his + life for mine. + + “I suppose the story of the wreck is already all known to you, for + our one telegraph wire that binds this isolated town to the outside + world has been laboring for three days under a load of messages. You + know then that eighteen hours out of St. Vincent fire was discovered + among the cargo, that the captain, confident at first that the fire + would be got under control, kept on his course, only drawing in + somewhat toward the African shore in case of emergency. But a very + heavy sea rising, prevented the fire-fighters from doing efficient + work among the cargo and in the storm and darkness the _Gladstone_ + struck several miles to the north of Cape Blanco on a hidden reef at + a distance of over a mile from the shore. + + “On the night it occurred I awakened with so strong a sense of + something being wrong that I rose, partly dressed myself, and went + out into the cabin, where I found a white-faced steward going from + door to door arousing the passengers. Heavy smoke was billowing up + the main companion-way in the light of the cabin lamps, and the + pitching and reeling of the vessel showed that the sea had greatly + increased. I returned and awoke Lawler, and we went out on deck. The + sea was a smother of startling whiteness through which the + _Gladstone_ was staggering at the full power of her engines. No + flame as yet was anywhere visible, but huge volumes of smoke were + bursting from every opening in the fore part of the vessel. The + passengers, in a pale and terrified group, were kept together on the + after deck as far as possible from the fire. Now and then some + pallid, staring man or woman would break through the guard and rush + back to the cabin in search of a missing loved one or valuables. + Lawler and I determined that one of us must return to the stateroom + for our money, and Lawler successfully made the attempt. He returned + in ten minutes with my money and papers and two life preservers. But + when I tried to put on my life preserver I found it to be old and in + such a condition as made it useless. Lawler then took off the + preserver that he himself had on, declaring himself to be a much + better swimmer than I—which I knew to be the case—and forced me to + wear it. This life preserver was all that brought me safely ashore, + and the lack of it was, I believe, the reason for Lawler’s death. + Within ten minutes afterward the flames burst through the forward + deck—a red and awful banner which the fierce wind flattened into a + fan-shaped sheet of fire against the night—and the _Gladstone_ + struck with terrific force, throwing everything and everybody flat + upon the deck. The bow was raised high upon the reef, while the + stern with its maddened living freight began to sink rapidly into + the swirl of foaming waters. The first two boats were overfilled at + once in a wild rush, and one was stove immediately against the + steamer’s side and sank, while the other was badly damaged and made + only about fifty yards’ progress before it went down also. The + remaining boats all were lowered from the starboard davits, and got + away in safety; but only to capsize or be stove upon the reef. + Lawler and I found places in the last boat—the captain’s. At the + last moment, just as we were putting off, the fiery maw of the + _Gladstone_ vomited out the scorched and half-blinded second + engineer and a single stoker, whom we took in with difficulty. There + was but one woman in our boat—a fragile, illiterate Dutchwoman from + the neighborhood of Johannesburg—who had in her arms a baby. How + strange that of our boatload those who alone survived should be the + Dutchwoman, but without her baby; the engineer and stoker, whom the + fire had already partly disabled, and myself, a very indifferent + swimmer—while the strongest among us all perished! Of what happened + after leaving the ship I have only the most indistinct recollection. + I recall the swamping of our boat, and cruel white waters that + rushed out of the night to engulf us; I recall a blind and painful + struggle against a power infinitely greater than my own—a struggle + which seemed interminable; for, as a matter of fact, I must have + been in the water fully four hours and the impact of the waves alone + beat my flesh almost to a jelly; and I recall the coming of + daylight, and occasional glimpses of a shore which seemed to project + itself suddenly above the sea and then at once to sink away and be + swallowed by it. I was found unconscious on the sands—I have not the + faintest idea how I got there—and I was identified before coming to + myself (it may please you to know this) by several of your letters + which were found in my pocket. At present, with my three rescued + companions—whose names even I probably never should have known if + the _Gladstone_ had reached England safely—I am a most enthralling + center of interest to the white, black and parti-colored inhabitants + of this region; and I am writing this letter on an antiquated + typewriter belonging to the smallest, thinnest, baldest little + American that ever left his own dooryard to become a missionary.” + +Trant tossed aside the last page and, with eyes flashing with a deep, +glowing fire, he glanced across intensely to the girl watching him; +and his hands clenched on the table, in the constraint of his +eagerness. + +“Why—what is it, Mr. Trant?” the girl cried. + +“This is so taken up with the wreck and the death of Lawler,” the +psychologist touched the last letter, “that there is hardly any more +mention of the mysterious man. But you said, since Mr. Axton has come +home, he has twice appeared and in your room, Miss Waldron. Please +give me the details.” + +“Of his first appearance—or visit, I should say, since no one really +saw him, Mr. Trant,” the girl replied, still watching the psychologist +with wonder, “I can’t tell you much, I’m afraid. When Mr. Axton first +came home, I asked him about this mysterious friend; and he put me off +with a laugh and merely said he hadn’t seen much of him since he last +wrote. But even then I could see he wasn’t so easy as he seemed. And +it was only two days after that—or nights, for it was about one +o’clock in the morning—that I was wakened by some sound which seemed +to come from my dressing-room. I turned on the light in my room and +rang the servant’s bell. The butler came almost at once and, as he is +not a courageous man, roused Mr. Axton before opening the door to my +dressing-room. They found no one there and nothing taken or even +disturbed except my letters in my writing desk, Mr. Trant. My aunt, +who has been taking care of me since my mother died, was aroused and +came with the servants. She thought I must have imagined everything; +but I discovered and showed Mr. Axton that it was _his letters to me_ +that had appeared to be the ones the man was searching for. I found +that two of them had been taken and every other typewritten letter in +my desk—and only those—had been opened in an apparent search for more +of his letters. I could see that this excited him exceedingly, though +he tried to conceal it from me; and immediately afterwards he found +that a window on the first floor had been forced, so some man had come +in, as I said.” + +“Then last night.” + +“It was early this morning, Mr. Trant, but still very dark—a little +before five o’clock. It was so damp, you know, that I had not opened +the window in my bedroom, which is close to the bed; but had opened +the windows of my dressing-room, and so left the door between open. It +had been closed and locked before. So when I awoke, I could see +directly into my dressing-room.” + +“Clearly?” + +“Of course not at all clearly. But my writing-desk is directly +opposite my bedroom door; and in a sort of silhouette against my +shaded desk light, which he was using, I could see his figure—a very +vague, monstrous looking figure, Mr. Trant. Its lower part seemed +plain enough; but the upper part was a formless blotch. I confess at +first that enough of my girl’s fear for ghosts came to me to make me +see him as a headless man, until I remembered how Howard had seen and +described him—with a coat wrapped round his head. As soon as I was +sure of this, I pressed the bell-button again and this time screamed, +too, and switched on my light. But he slammed the door between us and +escaped. He went through another window he had forced on the lower +floor with a queer sort of dagger-knife which he had broken and left +on the sill. And as soon as Howard saw this, he knew it was the same +man, for it was then he ordered me not to interfere. He made off after +him, and when he came back, he told me he was sure it was the same +man.” + +“This time, too, the man at your desk seemed rummaging for your +correspondence with Mr. Axton?” + +“It seemed so, Mr. Trant.” + +“But his letters were all merely personal—like these letters you have +given me?” + +“Yes.” + +“Amazing!” Trant leaped to his feet, with eyes flashing now with +unrestrained fire, and took two or three rapid turns up and down the +office. “If I am to believe the obvious inference from these letters, +Miss Waldron—coupled with what you have told me—I have not yet come +across a case, an attempt at crime more careful, more cold-blooded +and, withall, more surprising!” + +“A crime—an attempt at crime, Mr. Trant?” cried the white and startled +girl. “So there was cause for my belief that something serious +underlay these mysterious appearances?” + +“Cause?” Trant swung to face her. “Yes, Miss Waldron—criminal cause, a +crime so skillfully carried on, so assisted by unexpected circumstance +that you—that the very people against whom it is aimed have not so +much as suspected its existence.” + +“Then you think Howard honestly believes the man still means nothing?” + +“The man never meant ‘nothing,’ Miss Waldron; but it was only at first +the plot was aimed against Howard Axton,” Trant replied. “Now it is +aimed solely at you!” + +The girl grew paler. + +“How can you say that so surely, Mr. Trant?” Caryl demanded, “without +investigation?” + +“These letters are quite enough evidence for what I say, Mr. Caryl,” +Trant returned. “Would you have come to me unless you had known that +my training in the methods of psychology enabled me to see causes and +motives in such a case as this which others, untrained, can not see? + +“You have nothing more to tell me which might be of assistance?” he +faced the girl again, but turned back at once to Caryl. “Let me tell +you then, Mr. Caryl, that I am about to make a very thorough +investigation of this for you. Meanwhile, I repeat: a definite, daring +crime was planned first, I believe, against Howard Axton and Miss +Waldron; but now—I am practically certain—it is aimed against Miss +Waldron alone. But there cannot be in it the slightest danger of +intentional personal hurt to her. So neither of you need be uneasy +while I am taking time to obtain full proof—” + +“But, Mr. Trant,” the girl interrupted, “are you not going to tell +me—you _must_ tell me—what the criminal secret is that these letters +have revealed to you?” + +“You must wait, Miss Waldron,” the psychologist answered kindly, with +his hand on the doorknob, as though anxious for the interview to end. +“What I could tell you now would only terrify you and leave you +perplexed how to act while you were waiting to hear from me. No; leave +the letters, if you will, and the page from the _Illustrated News_,” +he said suddenly, as the girl began gathering up her papers. “There is +only one thing more. You said you expected an interruption here from +Howard Axton, Mr. Caryl. Is there still a good chance of his coming +here or—must I go to see him?” + +“Miss Waldron telephoned to me, in his presence, to take her to see +you. Afterwards she left the house without his knowledge. As soon as +he finds she has gone, he will look up your address, and I think you +may expect him.” + +“Very good. Then I must set to work at once!” He shook hands with both +of them hurriedly and almost forcing them out his door, closed it +behind them, and strode back to his desk. He picked up immediately the +second of the four letters which the girl had given him, read it +through again, and crossed the corridor to the opposite office, which +was that of a public stenographer. + +“Make a careful copy of that,” he directed, “and bring it to me as +soon as it is finished.” + +A quarter of an hour later, when the copy had been brought him, he +compared it carefully with the original. He put the copy in a drawer +of the desk and was apparently waiting with the four originals before +him when he heard a knock on his door and, opening it, found that his +visitor was again young Caryl. + +“Miss Waldron did not wish to return home at once; she has gone to see +a friend. So I came back,” he explained, “thinking you might make a +fuller statement of your suspicions to me than you would in Miss +Waldron’s presence.” + +“Fuller in what respect, Mr. Caryl?” + +The young man reddened. + +“I must tell you—though you already may have guessed—that before Miss +Waldron inherited the estate and came to believe it her duty to do as +she has done, there had been an—understanding between us, Mr. Trant. +She still has no friend to look to as she looks to me. So, if you mean +that you have discovered through those letters—though God knows how +you can have done it—anything in Axton which shows him unfit to marry +her, you must tell me!” + +“As far as Axton’s past goes,” Trant replied, “his letters show him a +man of high type—moral, if I may make a guess, above the average. +There is a most pleasing frankness about him. As to making any further +explanation than I have done—but good Lord! what’s that?” + +The door of the office had been dashed loudly open, and its still +trembling frame was filled by a tall, very angry young man in +automobile costume, whose highly colored, aristocratic looking +features Trant recognized immediately from the print in the page of +the _Illustrated London News_. + +“Ah, Mr. Caryl here too?—the village busybody!” the newcomer sneered, +with a slight accent which showed his English education. “You are +insufferably mixing yourself in my affairs,” he continued, as Caryl, +with an effort, controlled himself and made no answer. “Keep out of +them! That is my advice—take it! Does a woman have to order you off +the premises before you can understand that you are not wanted? As for +you,” he swung toward Trant, “you are Trant, I suppose!” + +“Yes, that is my name, Mr. Axton,” replied the psychologist, leaning +against his desk. + +The other advanced a step and raised a threatening finger. “Then that +advice is meant for you, too. I want no police, no detectives, no +outsider of any sort interfering in this matter. Make no mistake; it +will be the worse for anyone who pushes himself in! I came here at +once to take the case out of your hands, as soon as I found Miss +Waldron had come here. This is strictly my affair—keep out of it!” + +“You mean, Mr. Axton, that you prefer to investigate it personally?” +the psychologist inquired. + +“Exactly—investigate and punish!” + +“But you cannot blame Miss Waldron for feeling great anxiety even on +your account, as your personal risk in making such an investigation +will be so immensely greater than anyone’s else would be.” + +“My risk?” + +“Certainly; you may be simply playing into the hand of your strange +visitor, by pursuing him unaided. Any other’s risk,—mine, for +instance, if I were to take up the matter—would be comparatively +slight, beginning perhaps by questioning the nightwatchmen and +stableboys in the neighborhood with a view to learning what became of +the man after he left the house; and besides, such risks are a part of +my business.” + +Axton halted. “I had not thought of it in that light,” he said +reflectively. + +“You are too courageous—foolishly courageous, Mr. Axton.” + +“Do you mind if I sit down? Thank you. You think, Mr. Trant, that an +investigation such as you suggest, would satisfy Miss Waldron—make her +easier in her mind, I mean?” + +“I think so, certainly.” + +“And it would not necessarily entail calling in the police? You must +appreciate how I shrink from publicity—another story concerning the +Axton family exploited in the daily papers!” + +“I had no intention of consulting the police, or of calling them in, +at least until I was ready to make the arrest.” + +“I must confess, Mr. Trant,” said Axton easily, “that I find you a +very different man from what I had expected. I imagined an uneducated, +somewhat brutal, perhaps talkative fellow; but I find you, if I may +say so, a gentleman. Yes, I am tempted to let you continue your +investigation—on the lines you have suggested.” + +“I shall ask your help.” + +“I will help you as much as is in my power.” + +“Then let me begin, Mr. Axton, with a question—pardon me if I open a +window, for the room is rather warm—I want to know whether you can +supplement these letters, which so far are the only real evidence +against the man, by any further description of him,” and Trant, who +had thrown open the window beside him, undisturbed by the roar that +filled the office from the traffic-laden street below, took the +letters from his pocket and opened them one by one, clumsily, upon the +desk. + +“I am afraid I cannot add anything to them, Mr. Trant.” + +“We must get on then with what we have here,” the psychologist hitched +his chair near to the window to get a better light on the paper in his +hand, and his cuff knocked one of the other letters off the desk onto +the windowsill. He turned, hastily but clumsily, and touched, but +could not grasp it before it slipped from the sill out into the air. +He sprang to his feet with an exclamation of dismay, and dashed from +the room. Axton and Caryl, rushing to the window, watched the paper, +driven by a strong breeze, flutter down the street until lost to sight +among wagons; and a minute later saw Trant appear below them, +bareheaded and excited, darting in and out among vehicles at the spot +where the paper had disappeared; but it had been carried away upon +some muddy wagon-wheel or reduced to tatters, for he returned after +fifteen minutes’ search disheartened, vexed and empty handed. + +“It was the letter describing the second visit,” he exclaimed +disgustedly as he opened the door. “It was most essential, for it +contained the most minute description of the man of all. I do not see +how I can manage well, now, without it.” + +“Why should you?” Caryl said in surprise at the evident stupidity of +the psychologist. “Surely, Mr. Axton, if he can not add any other +details, can at least repeat those he had already given.” + +“Of course!” Trant recollected. “If you would be so good, Mr. Axton, I +will have a stenographer take down the statement to give you the least +trouble.” + +“I will gladly do that,” Axton agreed; and, when the psychologist had +summoned the stenographer, he dictated without hesitation the +following letter: + + “The second time that I saw the man was at Calcutta, in the Great + Eastern Hotel. He was the same man I had seen at Cairo—shoeless and + turbaned; at least I believed then that it was a turban, but I saw + later, at Cape Town, that it was his short brown coat wrapped round + his head and tied by the sleeves under his chin. We had at the Great + Eastern two whitewashed communicating rooms opening off a narrow, + dirty corridor, along whose whitewashed walls at a height of some + two feet from the floor ran a greasy smudge gathered from the heads + and shoulders of the dark-skinned, white-robed native servants who + spent the nights sleeping or sitting in front of their masters’ + doors. Though Lawler and I each had a servant also outside his door, + I dragged a trunk against mine after closing it—a useless + precaution, as it proved, as Lawler put no trunk against his—and + though I see now that I must have been moved by some foresight of + danger, I went to sleep afterward quite peacefully. I awakened + somewhat later in a cold and shuddering fright, oppressed by the + sense of some presence in my room—started up in bed and looked + about. My trunk was still against the door as I had left it; and + besides this, I saw at first only the furniture of the room, which + stood as when I had gone to sleep—two rather heavy and much + scratched mahogany English chairs, a mahogany dresser with swinging + mirror, and the spindle-legged, four-post canopy bed on which I lay. + But presently, I saw more. He was there—a dark shadow against the + whitewashed wall beside the flat-topped window marked his position, + as he crouched beside my writing desk and held the papers in a bar + of white moonlight to look at them. For an instant, the sight held + me motionless, and suddenly becoming aware that he was seen, he + leaped to his feet—a short, broad-shouldered, bulky man—sped across + the blue and white straw matting into Lawler’s room and drove the + door to behind him. I followed, forcing the door open with my + shoulder, saw Lawler just leaping out of bed in his pajamas, and + tore open Lawler’s corridor door, through which the man had + vanished. He was not in the corridor, though I inspected it + carefully, and Lawler, though he had been awakened by the man’s + passage, had not seen him. Lawler’s servant, pretty well dazed with + sleep, told me in blank and open-mouthed amazement at my question, + that he had not seen him pass; and the other white-draped Hindoos, + gathering about me from the doors in front of which they had been + asleep, made the same statement. None of these Hindoos resembled in + the least the man I had seen, for I looked them over carefully one + by one with this in mind. When I made a light in my room in order to + examine it thoroughly, I found nothing had been touched except the + writing desk, and even from that nothing had been taken, although + the papers had been disturbed. The whole affair was as mysterious + and inexplicable as the man’s first appearance had been, or as his + subsequent appearance proved; for though I carefully questioned the + hotel employés in the morning I could not learn that any such man + had entered or gone out from the hotel.” + +“That is very satisfactory indeed;” Trant’s gratification was evident +in his tone, as Axton finished. “It will quite take the place of the +letter that was lost. There is only one thing more—so far as I know +now—in which you may be of present help to me, Mr. Axton. Besides your +friend Lawler, who was drowned in the wreck of the _Gladstone_, and +the man Beasley—who, Miss Waldron tells me, is in a London +hospital—there were only two men in Cape Town with you who had been in +Cairo and Calcutta at the same time you were. You do not happen to +know what has become of that German freight agent, Schultz?” + +“I have not the least idea, Mr. Trant.” + +“Or Walcott, the American patent medicine man?” + +“I know no more of him than of the other. Whether either of them is in +Chicago now, is precisely what I would like to know myself, Mr. Trant; +and I hope you will be able to find out for me.” + +“I will do my best to locate them. By the way, Mr. Axton, you have no +objection to my setting a watch over your family home, provided I +employ a man who has no connection with the police?” + +“With that condition I think it would be a very good idea,” Axton +assented. He waited to see whether Trant had anything more to ask him; +then, with a look of partially veiled hostility at Caryl, he went out. + +The other followed, but stopped at the door. + +“We—that is, Miss Waldron—will hear from you, Mr. Trant?” he asked +with sudden distrust—“I mean, you will report to her, as well as to +Mr. Axton?” + +“Certainly; but I hardly expect to have anything for you for two or +three days.” + +The psychologist smiled, as he shut the door behind Caryl. He dropped +into the chair at his desk and wrote rapidly a series of telegrams, +which he addressed to the chiefs of police of a dozen foreign and +American cities. Then, more slowly, he wrote a message to the Seric +Medicine Company, of New York, and another to the Nord Deutscher +Lloyd. + +The first two days, of the three Trant had specified to Caryl, passed +with no other event than the installing of a burly watchman at the +Axton home. On the third night this watchman reported to Miss Waldron +that he had seen and driven off, without being able to catch, a man +who was trying to force a lower window; and the next morning—within +half an hour of the arrival of the Overland Limited from San +Francisco—Trant called up the Axton home on the telephone with the +news that he thought he had at last positive proof of the mysterious +man’s identity. At least, he had with him a man whom he wanted Mr. +Axton to see. Axton replied that he would be very glad to see the man, +if Trant would make an appointment. In three quarters of an hour at +the Axton home, Trant answered; and forty minutes later, having first +telephoned young Caryl, Trant with his watchman, escorting a stranger +who was broad-shouldered, weasel-eyed, of peculiarly alert and guarded +manner, reached the Axton doorstep. Caryl had so perfectly timed his +arrival, under Trant’s instructions, that he joined them before the +bell was answered. + +Trant and Caryl, leaving the stranger under guard of the watchman in +the hall, found Miss Waldron and Axton in the morning-room. + +“Ah! Mr. Caryl again?” said Axton sneeringly. “Caryl was certainly not +the man you wanted me to see, Trant!” + +“The man is outside,” the psychologist replied. “But before bringing +him in for identification I thought it best to prepare Miss Waldron, +and perhaps even more particularly you, Mr. Axton, for the surprise he +is likely to occasion.” + +“A surprise?” Axton scowled questioningly. “Who is the fellow?—or +rather, if that is what you have come to find out from me, where did +you get him, Trant?” + +“That is the explanation I wish to make,” Trant replied, with his hand +still upon the knob of the door, which he had pushed shut behind him. +“You will recall, Mr. Axton, that there were but four men whom we know +to have been in Cairo, Calcutta, and Cape Town at the same time you +were. These were Lawler, your servant Beasley, the German Schultz, and +the American Walcott. Through the Seric Medicine Company I have +positively located Walcott; he is now in Australia. The Nord Deutscher +Lloyd has given me equally positive assurance regarding Schultz. +Schultz is now in Bremen. Miss Waldron has accounted for Beasley, and +the Charing Cross Hospital corroborates her; Beasley is in London. +There remains, therefore, the inevitable conclusion that either there +was some other man following Mr. Axton—some man whom Mr. Axton did not +see—or else that the man who so pried into Mr. Axton’s correspondence +abroad and into your letters, Miss Waldron, this last week here in +Chicago, was—Lawler; and this I believe to have been the case.” + +“Lawler?” the girl and Caryl echoed in amazement, while Axton stared +at the psychologist with increasing surprise and wonder. “Lawler?” + +“Oh! I see,” Axton all at once smiled contemptuously. “You believe in +ghosts, Trant—you think it is Lawler’s ghost that Miss Waldron saw!” + +“I did not say Lawler’s ghost,” Trant replied a little testily. “I +said Lawler’s self, in flesh and blood. I am trying to make it plain +to you,” Trant took from his pocket the letters the girl had given him +four days before and indicated the one describing the wreck, “that I +believe the man whose death you so minutely and carefully describe +here in this letter as Lawler, was not Lawler at all!” + +“You mean to say that I didn’t know Lawler?” Axton laughed +loudly—“Lawler, who had been my companion in sixteen thousand miles of +travel?” + +Trant turned as though to reopen the door into the hall; then paused +once more and kindly faced the girl. + +“I know, Miss Waldron,” he said, “that you have believed that Mr. +Lawler has been dead these six weeks; and it is only because I am so +certain that the man who is to be identified here now will prove to be +that same Lawler that I have thought best to let you know in advance.” + +He threw open the door, and stood back to allow the Irish watchman to +enter, preceded by the weasel-faced stranger. Then he closed the door +quickly behind him, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and spun +swiftly to see the effect of the stranger upon Axton. + +That young man’s face, despite his effort to control it, flushed and +paled, flushed and went white again; but neither to Caryl nor the girl +did it look at all like the face of one who saw a dead friend alive +again. + +“I do not know him!” Axton’s eyes glanced quickly, furtively about. “I +have never seen him before! Why have you brought him here? This is not +Lawler!” + +“No; he is not Lawler,” Trant agreed; and at his signal the Irishman +left his place and went to stand behind Axton. “But you know him, do +you not? You have seen him before! Surely I need not recall to you +this special officer Burns of the San Francisco detective bureau! That +is right; you had better keep hold of him, Sullivan; and now, Burns, +who is this man? Do _you_ know _him_? Can you tell us who he is?” + +“Do I know him?” the detective laughed. “Can I tell you who he is? +Well, rather! That is Lord George Albany, who got into Claude +Shelton’s boy in San Francisco for $30,000 in a card game; that is Mr. +Arthur Wilmering, who came within a hair of turning the same trick on +young Stuyvesant in New York; that—first and last—is Mr. George Lawler +himself, who makes a specialty of cards and rich men’s sons!” + +“Lawler? George Lawler?” Caryl and the girl gasped again. + +“But why, in this affair, he used his own name,” the detective +continued, “is more than I can see; for surely he shouldn’t have +minded another change.” + +“He met Mr. Howard Axton in London,” Trant suggested, “where there was +still a chance that the card cheating in the Sussex guards was not +forgotten, and he might at any moment meet someone who recalled his +face. It was safer to tell Axton all about it, and protest innocence.” + +“Howard Axton?” the girl echoed, recovering herself at the name. “Why, +Mr. Trant; if this is Mr. Lawler, as this man says and you believe, +then where is Mr. Axton—oh, where is Howard Axton?” + +“I am afraid, Miss Waldron,” the psychologist replied, “that Mr. +Howard Axton was undoubtedly lost in the wreck of the _Gladstone_. It +may even have been the finding of Howard Axton’s body that this man +described in that last letter.” + +“Howard Axton drowned! Then this man—” + +“Mr. George Lawler’s specialty being rich men’s sons,” said the +psychologist, “I suppose he joined company with Howard Axton because +he was the son of Nimrod Axton. Possibly he did not know at first that +Howard had been disinherited, and he may not have found it out until +the second Mrs. Axton’s death, when the estate came to Miss Waldron, +and she created a situation which at least promised an opportunity. It +was in seeking this opportunity, Miss Waldron, among the intimate +family affairs revealed in your letters to Howard Axton that Lawler +was three times seen by Axton in his room, as described in the first +three letters that you showed to me. That was it, was it not, Lawler?” + +The prisoner—for the attitude of Sullivan and Burns left no doubt now +that he was a prisoner—made no answer. + +“You mean, Mr. Trant,” the eyes of the horrified girl turned from +Lawler as though even the sight of him shamed her, “that if Howard +Axton had not been drowned, this—this man would have come anyway?” + +“I cannot say what Lawler’s intentions were if the wreck had +not occurred,” the psychologist replied. “For you remember that +I told you that this attempted crime has been most wonderfully +assisted by circumstances. Lawler, cast ashore from the wreck of the +_Gladstone_, found himself—if the fourth of these letters is to be +believed—identified as Howard Axton, even before he had regained +consciousness, by your stolen letters to Howard which he had in his +pocket. From that time on he did not have to lift a finger, beyond the +mere identification of a body—possibly Howard Axton’s—as his own. +Howard had left America so young that identification here was +impossible unless you had a portrait; and Lawler undoubtedly had +learned from your letters that you had no picture of Howard. His own +picture, published in the _News_ over Howard’s name, when it escaped +identification as Lawler, showed him that the game was safe and +prepared you to accept him as Howard without question. He had not even +the necessity of counterfeiting Howard’s writing, as Howard had the +correspondent’s habit of using a typewriter. Only two possible dangers +threatened him. First, was the chance that, if brought in contact with +the police, he might be recognized. You can understand, Miss Waldron, +by his threats to prevent your consulting them, how anxious he was to +avoid this. And second, that there might be something in Howard +Axton’s letters to you which, if unknown to him, might lead him to +compromise and betray himself in his relations with you. His sole +mistake was that, when he attempted to search your desk for these +letters, he clumsily adopted once more the same disguise that had +proved so perplexing to Howard Axton. For he could have done nothing +that would have been more terrifying to you. It quite nullified the +effect of the window he had fixed to prove by the man’s means of exit +and entrance that he was not a member of the household. It sent you, +in spite of his objections and threats, to consult me; and, most +important of all, it connected these visits at once with the former +ones described in Howard’s letters, so that you brought the letters to +me—when, of course, the nature of the crime, though not the identity +of the criminal, was at once plain to me.” + +“I see it was plain; but was it merely from these letters—these +typewritten letters, Mr. Trant?” cried Caryl incredulously. + +“From those alone, Mr. Caryl,” the psychologist smiled slightly, +“through a most elementary, primer fact of psychology. Perhaps you +would like to know, Lawler,” Trant turned, still smiling, to the +prisoner, “just wherein you failed. And, as you will probably never +have another chance such as the one just past for putting the +information to practical use—even if you were not, as Mr. Burns tells +me, likely to retire for a number of years from active life—I am +willing to tell you.” + +The prisoner turned on Trant his face—now grown livid—with an +expression of almost superstitious questioning. + +“Did you ever happen to go to a light opera with Howard Axton, Mr. +Lawler,” asked Trant, “and find after the performance that you +remembered all the stage-settings of the piece but could not recall a +tune—you know you cannot recall a tune, Lawler—while Axton, perhaps, +could whistle all the tunes but could not remember a costume or a +scene? Psychologists call that difference between you and Howard Axton +a difference in ‘memory types.’ In an almost masterly manner you +imitated the style, the tricks and turns of expression of Howard Axton +in your letter to Miss Waldron describing the wreck—not quite so well +in the statement you dictated in my office. But you could not imitate +the primary difference of Howard Axton’s mind from yours. That was +where you failed. + +“The change in the personality of the letter writer might easily have +passed unnoticed, as it passed Miss Waldron, had not the letters +fallen into the hands of one who, like myself, is interested in the +manifestations of mind. For different minds are so constituted that +inevitably their processes run more easily along certain channels than +along others. Some minds have a preference, so to speak, for a +particular type of impression; they remember a sight that they have +seen, they forget the sound that went with it; or they remember the +sound and forget the sight. There are minds which are almost wholly +ear-minds or eye-minds. In minds of the visual, or eye, type, all +thoughts and memories and imaginations will consist of ideas of sight; +if of the auditory type, the impressions of sound predominate and +obscure the others. + +“The first three letters you handed me, Miss Waldron,” the +psychologist turned again to the girl, “were those really written by +Howard Axton. As I read through them I knew that I was dealing with +what psychologists call an auditory mind. When, in ordinary memory, he +recalled an event he remembered best its sounds. But I had not +finished the first page of the fourth letter when I came upon the +description of the body lying on the sand—a visual memory so clear and +so distinct, so perfect even to the pockets distended with sand, that +it startled and amazed me—for it was the first distinct visual memory +I had found. As I read on I became certain that the man who had +written the first three letters—who described a German as guttural and +remembered the American as nasal—could never have written the fourth. +Would that first man—the man who recalled even the sound of his +midnight visitor’s shoulders when they rubbed against the wall—fail to +remember in his recollection of the shipwreck the roaring wind and +roaring sea, the screams of men and women, the crackling of the fire? +They would have been his clearest recollection. But the man who wrote +the fourth letter recalled most clearly that the sea was white and +frothy, the men were pallid and staring!” + +“I see! I see!” Caryl and the girl cried as, at the psychologist’s +bidding, they scanned together the letters he spread before them. + +“The subterfuge by which I destroyed the second letter of the set, +after first making a copy of it—” + +“You did it on purpose? What an idiot I was!” exclaimed Caryl. + +“Was merely to obviate the possibility of mistake,” Trant continued, +without heeding the interruption. “The statement this man dictated, as +it was given in terms of ‘sight,’ assured me that he was not Axton. +When, by means of the telegraph, I had accounted for the present +whereabouts of three of the four men he might possibly be, it became +plain that he must be Lawler. And finding that Lawler was badly wanted +in San Francisco, I asked Mr. Burns to come on and identify him. + +“And the stationing of the watchman here was a blind also, as well as +his report of the man who last night tried to force the window?” Caryl +exclaimed. + +Trant nodded. He was watching the complete dissolution of the +swindler’s effrontery. Trant had appreciated that Lawler had let him +speak on uninterrupted as though, after the psychologist had shown his +hand, he held in reserve cards to beat it. But his attempt to sneer +and scoff and contemn was so weak, when the psychologist was through, +that Ethel Waldron—almost as though to spare him—arose and motioned to +Trant to tell her, whatever else he wished, in the next room. + +Trant followed her a moment obediently; but at the door he seemed to +recollect himself. + +“I think there is nothing else now, Miss Waldron,” he said, “except +that I believe I can spare you the reopening of your family affairs +here. Burns tells me there is more than enough against him in +California to keep Mr. Lawler there for some good time. I will go with +him, now,” and he stood aside for Caryl to go, in his place, into the +next room. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The Eleventh Hour + +On the third Sunday in March the thermometer dropped suddenly in +Chicago a little after ten in the evening. A roaring storm of mingled +rain and snow, driven by a riotous wind—wild even for the Great Lakes +in winter—changed suddenly to sleet, which lay in liquid slush upon +the walks. At twenty minutes past the hour, sleet and slush had both +begun to freeze. Mr. Luther Trant, hastening on foot back to his rooms +at his club from north of the river where he had been taking tea, +observed—casually, as he observed many things—that the soft mess +underfoot had coated with tough, rubbery ice, through which the heels +of his shoes crunched at every step while his toes left almost no +mark. + +But he noted this then only as a hindrance to his haste. He had been +taking the day “off” away from both his office and his club; but +fifteen minutes before, he had called up the club for the first time +that day and had learned that a woman—a wildly terrified and anxious +woman—had been inquiring for him at intervals during the day over the +telephone, and that a special delivery letter from the same source had +been awaiting him since six o’clock. The psychologist, suddenly +stricken with a sense of guilt and dereliction, had not waited for a +cab. + +As he hurried down Michigan Avenue now, he was considering how affairs +had changed with him in the last six months. Then he had been a callow +assistant in a psychological laboratory. The very professor whom he +had served had smiled amusedly, almost derisively, when he had +declared his belief in his own powers to apply the necromancy of the +new psychology to the detection of crime. But the delicate instruments +of the laboratory—the chronoscopes, kymographs, plethysmographs, +which made visible and recorded unerringly, unfalteringly, the most +secret emotions of the heart and the hidden workings of the brain; +the experimental investigations of Freud and Jung, of the German +and French scientists, of Munsterberg and others in America—had +fired him with the belief in them and in himself. In the face of +misunderstanding and derision, he had tried to trace the criminal, not +by the world-old method of the marks he had left on things, but by the +evidences which the crime had left on the mind of the criminal +himself. And so well had he succeeded that now he could not leave his +club even on a Sunday, without disappointing somewhere, in the +great-pulsating city, an appeal to him for help in trouble. But as he +turned at the corner into the entrance of the club, he put aside this +thought and faced the doorman. + +“Has she called again?” + +“The last time, sir, was at nine o’clock. She wanted to know if you +had received the note, and said you were to have it as soon as you +came in.” + +The man handed it out—a plain, coarse envelope, with the red two-cent +and the blue special delivery stamp stuck askew above an uneven line +of great, unsteady characters addressing the envelope to Trant at the +club. Within it, ten lines spread this wild appeal across the paper: + + “If Mr. Trant will do—for some one unknown to him—the greatest + possible service—to save perhaps a life—a life! I beg him to come to + —— Ashland Avenue between seven and nine o’clock to-night! Eleven! + For God’s sake come—between seven and nine! Later will be too late. + Eleven! I tell you it may be worse than useless to come after + eleven! So for God’s sake—if you are human—help me! You will be + expected. + + “W. Newberry.” + +The psychologist glanced at his watch swiftly. It was already +twenty-five minutes to eleven! + +Besides the panic expressed by the writing itself, the broken +sentences, the reiterated appeal, most of all the strange and +disconnected recurrence three times in the few short lines of the word +eleven—which plainly pointed to that hour as the last at which help +might avail—the characters themselves, which were the same as those on +the envelope, confirmed the psychologist’s first impression that the +note was written by a man, a young man, too, despite the havoc that +fear and nervelessness had played with him. + +“You’re sure it was a woman’s voice on the phone?” he asked quickly. + +“Yes, sir; and she seemed a lady.” + +Trant hastily picked up the telephone on the desk; “Hello! Is this the +West End Police Station? This is Mr. Trant. Can you send a +plain-clothes man and a patrolman at once to —— Ashland Avenue? . . . +No; I don’t know what the trouble is, but I understand it is a matter +of life and death; that’s why I want to have help at hand if I need +it. Let me know who you are sending.” + +He stood impatiently tapping one heel against the other, while he +waited for the matter to be adjusted at the police station, then swung +back to receive the name of the detective: “Yes. . . . You are sending +Detective Siler? Because he knows the house? . . . Oh, there has been +trouble there before? . . . I see. . . . Tell him to hurry. I will try +and get there myself before eleven.” + +He dashed the receiver back on to the hook, caught his coat collar +close again and ran swiftly to claim a taxicab which was just bringing +another member up to the club. + +The streets were all but empty; and into the stiffening ice the chains +on the tires of the driving wheels bit sharply; so it still lacked ten +minutes of the hour, as Trant assured himself by another quick glance +at his watch, when the chauffeur checked the motor short before the +given number on Ashland Avenue, and the psychologist jumped out. + +The vacant street, and the one dim light on the first floor of the old +house, told Trant the police had not yet arrived. + +The porticoed front and the battered fountain with cupids, which rose +obscurely from the ice-crusted sod of the narrow lawn at its side, +showed an attempt at fashion. In the rear, as well as Trant could see +it in the indistinct glare of the street lamps, the building seemed to +fall away into a single rambling story. + +As the psychologist rang the bell and was admitted, he saw at once +that he had not been mistaken in believing that the cab which had +passed his motor only an instant before had come from the same house; +for the mild-eyed, white-haired little man, who opened the door almost +before the bell had stopped ringing, had not yet taken off his +overcoat. Behind him, in the dim light of a shaded lamp, an equally +placid, white-haired little woman was laying off her wraps; and their +gentle faces were so completely at variance with the wild terror of +the note that Trant now held between his fingers in his pocket, that +he hesitated before he asked his question: + +“Is W. Newberry here?” + +“I am the Reverend Wesley Newberry,” the little man answered. “I am no +longer in the active service of the Lord; but if it is a case of +immediate necessity and I can be of use—” + +“No, no!” Trant checked him. “I have not come to ask your service as a +minister, Mr. Newberry. I am Luther Trant. But I see I must explain,” +the psychologist continued, at first nonplused by the little man’s +stare of perplexity, which showed no recognition of the name, and then +flushing with the sudden suspicion that followed. “To-night when I +returned to my club at half-past ten, I was informed that a +woman—apparently in great anxiety—had been trying to catch me all day; +and had finally referred me to this special delivery letter which was +delivered for me at six o’clock.” Trant extended it to the staring +little minister. “Of course, I can see now that both telephone calls +and note may have been a hoax; but—in Heaven’s name! What is the +matter, Mr. Newberry?” + +The two old people had taken the note between them. Now the little +woman, her wraps only half removed, had dropped, shaking and pale, +into the nearest chair. The little man had lost his placidity and was +shuddering in uncontrolled fear. He seemed to shrink away; but +stiffened bravely. + +“A hoax? I fear not, Mr. Trant!” The man gathered himself together. +“This note is not from me; but it is, I must not deceive myself, +undoubtedly from our son Walter—Walter Newberry. This writing, though +broken beyond anything I have seen from him in his worst dissipations +is undoubtedly his. Yet Walter is not here, Mr. Trant! I mean—I mean, +he should not be here! There have been reasons—we have not seen or +heard of Walter for two months. He can not be here now—surely he can +not be here now, unless—unless—my wife and I went to a friend’s this +evening; this is as though the writer had known we were going out! We +left at half-past six and have only just returned. Oh, it is +impossible that Walter could have come here! But Martha, we have not +seen Adele!” The livid terror grew stronger on his rosy, simple face +as he turned to his wife. “We have not seen Adele, Martha, since we +came in! And this gentleman tells us that a woman in great trouble was +sending for him. If Walter had been here—be strong, Martha; be strong! +But come—let us look together!” + +He had turned, with no further word of explanation, and pattered +excitedly to the stairs, followed by his wife and Trant. + +“Adele! Adele!” the old man cried anxiously, knocking at the door +nearest the head of the stairs; and when he received no answer, he +flung the door open. + +“Dreadful! Dreadful!” he wrung his hands, while his wife sank weakly +down upon the upper step, as she saw the room was empty. “There is +something very wrong here, Mr. Trant! This is the bedroom of my +daughter-in-law, Walter’s wife. She should be here, at this hour! My +son and his wife are separated and do not live together. My son, who +has been unprincipled and uncontrollable from his childhood up, made a +climax to his career of dissipation two months ago by threatening the +life of his wife because she refused—because she found it impossible +to live longer with him. It was a most painful affair; the police were +even called in. We forbade Walter the house. So if she called to you +because he was threatening her again, and he returned here to-night to +carry out his threat, then Adele—Adele was indeed in danger!” + +“But why should _he_ have written me that note?” Trant returned +crisply. “However—if we believe the note at all—there is surely now no +time to lose, Mr. Newberry. We must search the entire house at once +and make sure, at least, that Mrs. Walter Newberry is not in some +other part of it!” + +“You are right—quite right!” the little man pattered rapidly from door +to door, throwing the rooms open to the impatient scrutiny of the +psychologist; and while they were still engaged in this search upon +the upper floor, a tall clock on the landing of the stairs struck +eleven! + +So strongly had the warning of the note impressed Trant that, at the +signal of the hour, he stopped short; the others, seeing him, stopped +too, and stared at him with blanched faces, while all three +apprehensively strained their ears for some sound which might mark the +note’s fulfillment. And scarcely had the last deep stroke of the hour +ceased to resound in the hall, when suddenly, sharply, and without +other warning, a revolver shot rang out, followed so swiftly by three +others that the four reports rang almost as one through the silent +house. The little woman screamed and seized her husband’s arm. His +hand, in turn, hung upon Trant. The psychologist, turning his head to +be surer of the direction of the sound, for an instant more stared +indecisively; for though the shots were plainly inside the house, the +echoes made it impossible to locate them exactly. But almost +immediately a fifth shot, seeming louder and more distinct in its +separateness, startled them again. + +“It is in the billiard room!” the wife shrieked, with a woman’s +quicker location of indoor sounds. + +The little minister ran to seize the lamp, as Trant turned toward the +rear of the house. The woman started with them; but at that instant +the doorbell rang furiously; and the woman stopped in trembling +confusion. The psychologist pushed her husband on, however; and taking +the lamp from the elder man’s shaking hand, he now led Newberry into +the one-story addition which formed the back part of the house. Here +he found that the L shaped passage into which they ran, opened at one +end apparently on to a side porch. Newberry, now taking the lead, +hurried down the other branch of the passage past a door which was +plainly that of a kitchen, came to another further down the passage, +tried it, and recoiled in fresh bewilderment to find it locked. + +“It is never locked—never! Something dreadful must have been happening +in here!” he wrung his hands again weakly. + +“We must break it down then!” Trant drew the little man aside, and, +bracing himself against the opposite wall, threw his shoulder against +it once—twice, and even a third time, ineffectually, till a uniformed +patrolman, and another man in plain clothes, coming after them with +Mrs. Newberry, added their weight to Trant’s, and the door crashed +open. + +A blast of air from the outside storm instantly blew out both the lamp +in Trant’s hand and another which had been burning in the room. The +woman screamed and threw herself toward some object on the floor which +the flare of the failing lights had momentarily revealed; but her +husband caught in the darkness at her wrist and drew her to him. Siler +and the patrolman, swearing softly, felt for matches and tried vainly +in the draft to relight the lamp which Trant had thrust upon the +table; for the psychologist had dashed to the window which was letting +in the outside storm, stared out, then closed it and returned to light +the lamp, which belonged in the room, as the plain-clothes man now lit +the other. + +This room which Mrs. Newberry had called the billiard room, he saw +then, was now used only for storage purposes and was littered with the +old rubbish which accumulates in every house; but the arrangement of +the discarded furniture showed plainly the room had recently been +fitted for occupancy as well as its means allowed. That the occupant +had taken care to conceal himself, heavy sheets of brown paper pasted +over the panes of all the windows—including that which Trant had found +open—testified; that the occupant had been well tended, a full tray of +food—practically untouched—and the stubs of at least a hundred +cigarettes flung in the fireplace, made plain. These things Trant +appreciated only after the first swift glance which showed him a +huddled figure with its head half under a musty lounge which stood +furthest from the window. It was not the body of a woman, but that of +a man not yet thirty, whose rather handsome face was marred by deep +lines of dissipation. The mother’s shuddering cry of recognition had +showed that this was Walter Newberry. + +Trant knelt beside the officers working over the body; the blood had +been flowing from a bullet wound in the temple, but it had ceased to +flow. A small, silver-mounted automatic revolver, such as had been +recently widely advertised for the protection of women, lay on the +floor close by, with the shells which had been ejected as it was +fired. The psychologist straightened. + +“We have come too late,” he said simply to the father. “It was +necessary, as he foresaw, to get here before eleven, if we were to +help him; for he is dead. And now—” he checked himself, as the little +woman clutched her husband and buried her face in his sleeve, and the +little man stared up at him with a chalky face—“it will be better for +you to wait somewhere else till we are through here.” + +“In the name of mercy, Mr. Trant!” Newberry cried miserably, as the +psychologist picked up a lamp and lighted the two old people into the +hall, “what is this terrible thing that has happened here? What is +it—Oh, what is it, Mr. Trant? And where—where is Adele?” + +“I am here, father; I am here!” a new voice broke clearly and calmly +through the confusion, and the light of Trant’s lamp fell on a slight +but stately girl advancing down the hallway. “And you,” she said as +composedly to the psychologist, though Trant could see now that her +self-possession was belied by the nervous picking of her fingers at +her dress and her paleness, which grew greater as she met his eyes, +“are Mr. Trant—and you came too late!” + +“You are—Mrs. Walter Newberry?” Trant returned. “You were the one who +was calling me up this morning and this afternoon?” + +“Yes,” she said. “I was his wife. So he is dead!” + +She took no heed of the quick glance Trant flashed to assure himself +that she spoke in this way before she could have seen the body from +her place in the hall; and she turned calmly still to the old man who +was clinging to her crying nervously now, “Adele! Adele! Adele!” + +“Yes, dear father and dear mother!” she began compassionately. “Walter +came back—” she broke off suddenly; and Trant saw her grow pale as +death with staring eyes fixed over his shoulder on Siler, who had come +to the doorway. “You—you brought the police, Mr. Trant! I—I thought +you had nothing to do with the police!” + +“Never mind that,” the plain-clothes man checked Trant’s answer. “You +were saying your husband came home, Mrs. Newberry—then what?” + +“Then—but that is all I know; I know nothing whatever about it.” + +“Your shoes and skirt are wet, Mrs. Newberry,” the plain-clothes man +pointed significantly. + +“I—I heard the shots!” she caught herself up with admirable +self-control. “That was all. I ran over to the neighbors’ for help; +but I could get no one.” + +“Then you’ll have a chance to make your statement later,” Siler +answered in a business-like way. “Just now you’d better look after +your father and mother.” + +He took the lamp from Trant and held it to light them down the hall, +then turned swiftly to the patrolman: “She is going upstairs with +them; watch the front stairs and see that she does not go out. If she +comes down the back stairs we can see her.” + +As the patrolman went out, the plain-clothes man turned back into the +room, leaving the door ajar so that the rear stairs were visible. +“These husband and wife cases, Mr. Trant,” he said easily. “You +think—and the man thinks, too—the woman will stand everything; and she +does—till he does one more thing too much, and, all of a sudden, she +lets him have it!” + +“Don’t you think it’s a bit premature,” the psychologist suggested, +“to assume that she killed him?” + +“Didn’t you see how she shut up when she saw me?” Siler’s eyes met +Trant’s with a flash of opposition. “That was because she recognized +me and knew that, having been here last time there was trouble, I knew +that he had been threatening her. It’s a cinch! Regular minister’s +son, he was; the old man’s a missionary, you know; spent his life till +two years ago trying to turn Chinese heathens into Christians. And +this Walter—our station blotter’d be black with his doings; only, ever +since he made China too hot to hold him and the old man brought him +back here, everything’s been hushed up on the old man’s account. But I +happen to have been here before; and all winter I’ve known there’d be +a killing if he ever came back. Hell! I tell you it was a relief to me +to see it was him on the floor when that door went down. There are no +powder marks, you see,” the officer led Trant’s eyes back to the wound +in the head of the form beside the lounge. “He could not have shot +himself. He was shot from further off than he could reach. Besides, +it’s on the left side.” + +“Yes; I saw,” Trant replied. + +“And that little automatic gun,” the officer stooped now and picked up +the pistol that lay on the floor beside the body, “is hers. I saw it +the last time I was called in here.” + +“But how could he have known—if she shot him—that she was going to +kill him just at eleven?” Trant objected, pulling from his pocket the +note, which old Mr. Newberry had returned to him, and handing it to +Siler. “He sent that to me; at least, the father says it is in his +handwriting.” + +“You mean,” Siler’s eyes rose slowly from the paper, “that she must +have told him what she was going to do—premeditated murder?” + +“I mean that the first fact which we have—and which certainly seems to +me wholly incompatible with anything which you have suggested so +far—is that Walter Newberry foresaw his own death and set the hour of +its accomplishment; and that his wife—it is plain at least to me—when +she telephoned so often for me to-day, was trying to help him to +escape from it. Now what are the other facts?” Trant went on rapidly, +paying no attention to the obstinate glance in the eyes of the +officer. “I distinctly heard five shots—four together and then, after +a second or so, one. You heard five?” + +“Yes.” + +“And five shots,” the psychologist’s quick glances had been taking in +the finer details of the room, “are accounted for by the bullet +holes—one through the lower pane of the window I found open, which +shows it was down and closed during the shooting, as there is no break +in the upper half; one on the plaster there to the side; one under the +moulding there four feet to the right; and one more, in the plaster +almost as far to the left. The one that killed him makes five.” + +“Exactly!” Siler followed Trant’s indication triumphantly, “the fifth +in his head! The first four went off in their struggle; and then she +got away and, with the fifth, shot him.” + +“But the shells,” Trant continued; “for that sort of revolver ejects +the shells as they are fired—and I see only four. Where is the fifth?” + +“You’re trying to fog this thing all up, Mr. Trant.” + +“No; I’m trying to clear it. How could anyone have left the room after +the firing of the last shot? No one could have gone through the door +and not been seen by us in the hall; besides the door was bolted on +the inside,” Trant pointed to the two bolts. “No one could have left +except by the window—this window which was open when we came in, but +which must have been closed when one, at least, of the shots was being +fired. You remember I went at once to it and looked out, but saw +nothing.” + +Trant re-crossed the room swiftly and threw the window open, intently +re-examining it. On the outside it was barred with a heavy grating, +but he saw that the key to the grating was in the lock. + +“Bring the lamp,” he said to the plain-clothes man; and as Siler +screened the flame against the wind—“Ah!” he continued, “look at the +ice cracked from it there—it must have been swung open. He must have +gone out this way!” + +“He?” Siler repeated. + +The plain-clothes man had squeezed past Trant, as the grating swung +back, and lamp in hand had let himself easily down to the ice-covered +walk below the window, and was holding his light, shielded, just above +the ground. “It was she,” he cried triumphantly—“the woman, as I told +you! Look at her marks here!” He showed by the flickering light the +double, sharp little semi-circles of a woman’s high heels cut into the +ice; and, as Trant dropped down beside him, the police detective +followed the sharp little heel marks to the side door of the house, +where they turned and led into the kitchen entry. + +“Premature, was I—eh?” Siler triumphed laconically. “We are used to +these cases, Mr. Trant; we know what to expect in ’em.” + +Trant stood for an instant studying the sheet of ice. In this +sheltered spot, freezing had not progressed so fast as in the open +streets. Here, as an hour before on Michigan Avenue, he saw that his +heels and those of the police officer at every step cut through the +crust, while their toes left no mark. But except for the marks they +themselves had made and the crescent stamp of the woman’s high heels +leading in sharp, clear outline from the window to the side steps of +the house, there were no other imprints. Then he followed the +detective into the side door of the house. + +In the passage they met the patrolman. “She came down stairs just +now,” said that officer briskly, “and went in here.” + +Siler laid his hand on the door of the little sitting-room the +patrolman indicated, but turned to speak a terse command to the man +over his shoulder; “Go back to that room and see that things are kept +as they are. Look for the fifth shell. We got four; find the other!” + +Then, with a warning glance at Trant, he pushed the door open. + +The girl faced the two calmly as they entered; but the whiteness of +her lips showed Trant, with swift appreciation, that she could bear no +more and was reaching the end of her restraint. + +“You’ve had a little while to think this over, Mrs. Newberry,” the +plain-clothes man said, not unkindly, “and I guess you’ve seen it’s +best to make a clean breast of it. Mr. Walter Newberry has been in +that room quite a while—the room shows it—though his father and mother +seem not to have known about it.” + +“He”—she hesitated, then answered suddenly and collectively, “he had +been there six days.” + +“You started to tell us about it,” Trant helped her. “You said ‘Walter +came home’—but, what brought him here? Did he come to see you?” + +“No;” the girl’s pale cheeks suddenly burned blood red and went white +again, as she made her decision. “It was fear—deadly fear that drove +him here; but I do not know of what.” + +“You are going to tell us all you know, are you not, Mrs. Newberry?” +the psychologist urged quietly—“how he came here; and particularly how +both he and you could so foresee his death that you summoned me as you +did!” + +“Yes; yes—I will tell you,” the girl clenched and unclenched her +hands, as she gathered herself together. “Six nights ago, Monday +night, Mr. Trant, Walter came here. It was after midnight, and he did +not ring the bell, but waked me by throwing pieces of ice and frozen +sod against my window. I saw at once that something was the matter +with him; so I went down and talked to him through the closed door—the +side door here; for I was afraid at first to let him in, in spite of +his promises not to hurt me. He told me his very life was in +danger—and he had no other place to go; and he must hide here—hide; +and I must not let anyone—even his mother or father—know he had come +back; that I was the only one he could trust! So—he was my husband—and +I let him in! + +“I started to run from him, when I had opened the door; for I was +afraid—afraid; but he ran at once into the old billiard-room—the store +room there—and tried the locks of the door and the window gratings,” +the sensitive voice ran on rapidly, “and then threw himself all +sweating cold on the lounge there, and went to sleep in a stupor. I +thought at first it was another frenzy from whiskey or—or opium. And I +stayed there. But just at morning when he woke up, I saw it wasn’t +that—but it was fear—fear—fear, such as I’d never seen before. He +rolled off the couch and half hid under it till I’d pasted brown paper +over the window panes—there were no curtains. But he wouldn’t tell me +what he was afraid of. + +“He got so much worse as the days went by that he couldn’t sleep at +all; he walked the floor all the time and he smoked continually, so +that nearly every day I had to slip out and get him cigarettes. He got +more and more afraid of every noise outside and of every little sound +within; and it made him so much worse when I told him I had to tell +someone else—even his mother—that I didn’t dare to. He said other +people were sure to find out that he was there, then, and they would +kill him—kill him! He was always worst at eleven—eleven o’clock at +night; and he dreaded especially eleven o’clock Sunday night—though I +couldn’t find out what or why! + +“I gave him my pistol—the one—the one you saw on the floor in _there_. +It was Friday then; and he had been getting worse and worse all the +time. Eleven o’clock every night I managed to be with him; and no one +found us out. I was glad I gave him the pistol until this—until this +morning. I never thought till then that he might use it to kill +himself; but this morning—Sunday morning, when I came to him, he was +talking about it—denying it; but I saw it was in his mind! ‘I shan’t +shoot myself!’ I heard him saying over and over again, when I came to +the door. ‘They can’t make me shoot myself! I shan’t! I shan’t!’—over +and over, like that. And when he had let me in and I saw him, then I +knew—I knew he meant to do it! He asked me if it wasn’t Sunday; and +went whiter when I told him it was! So then I told him he had to trust +someone now; this couldn’t go on; and I spoke to him about Mr. Trant; +and he said he’d try him; and he wrote the letter I mailed you—special +delivery—so you could come when his father and mother were out—but he +never once let go my pistol; he was wild—wild with fear. Every time I +could get away to the telephone, I tried to get Mr. Trant; and the +last time I got back—it was awful! It was hardly ten, but he was +walking up and down with my pistol in his hand, whispering strange +things over and over to himself, saying most of anything, ‘No one can +make me do it! No one can make me do it—even when it’s eleven—even +when it’s eleven!’—and staring—staring at his watch which he’d taken +out and laid on the table; staring and staring so—so that I knew I +must get someone before eleven—and at last I was running next door for +help—for anyone—for anything—when—when I heard the shots—I heard the +shots!” + +She sank forward and buried her face in her hands; rent by tearless +sobs. Her fingers, white from the pressure, made long marks on her +cheeks, showing livid even in the pallor of her face. But Siler pursed +his lips toward Trant, and laid his hand upon her arm, sternly. + +“Steady, steady, Mrs. Newberry!” the plain-clothes man warned. “You +can not do that now! You say you were with your husband a moment +before the shooting, but you were not in the room when he was killed?” + +“Yes; yes!” the woman cried. + +“You went out the door the last time?” + +“The door? Yes; yes; of course the door! Why not the door?” + +“Because, Mrs. Newberry,” the detective replied impressively, “just +at, or a moment after, the time of the shooting, a woman left that +room by the window—unlocked the grating and went out the window. We +have seen her marks. And you were that woman, Mrs. Newberry!” + +The girl gasped and her eyes wavered to Trant; but seeing no help +there now, she recovered herself quickly. + +“Of course! Why, of course!” she cried. “The last time I went out, I +did go out the window! It was to get the neighbors—didn’t I tell you? +So I went out the window!” + +“Yes; we know you went out the window, Mrs. Newberry,” Siler responded +mercilessly. “But we know, too, you did not even start for the +neighbors. We have traced your tracks on the ice straight to the side +door and into the house! Now, Mrs. Newberry, you’ve tried to make us +believe that your husband killed himself. But that won’t do! Isn’t it +a little too strange, if you left by the window while your husband was +still alive, that he let the window stay open and the grating +unlocked? Yes; it’s altogether too strange. You left him dead; and +what we want to know—and I’m asking you straight out—is how you did +it?” + +“How I did it?” the girl repeated mechanically; then with sharp agony +and starting eyes: “How _I_ did it! Oh, no, no, I did not do it! I was +there—I have not told all the truth! But when I saw you,” her +horrified gaze resting on Siler, “and remembered you had been here +before when he—he threatened me, my only thought was to hide for his +sake and for theirs,” she indicated the room above, where she had +taken her husband’s parents, “that he had tried to carry out his +threat. For before he killed himself, he tried to kill me! That’s how +he fired those first four shots. He tried to kill me first!” + +“Well, we’re getting nearer to it,” Siler approved. + +“Yes; now I have told you all!” the girl cried. “Oh, I have now—I +have! The last time he let me in, it was almost eleven—eleven! He had +my pistol in his hand, waiting—waiting! And at last he cried out it +was eleven; and he raised the pistol and shot straight at me—with the +face—the face of a demon with fear. It was no use to try to speak to +him, or to get away; I fell on my knees before him, just as he shot at +me again and again—aiming straight, not at my eyes, but at my hair; +and he shot again! But again he missed me; and his face—his face was +so terrible that—that I covered my own face as he aimed at me again, +staring always at my hair. And that time, when he shot, I heard him +fall and saw—saw that he had shot himself and he was dead! + +“Then I heard your footsteps coming to the door; and I saw for the +first time that Walter had opened the window before I came in. And—all +without thinking of anything except that if I was found there +everybody would know he’d tried to kill me, I took up the key of the +grating from the table where he had laid it, and went out!” + +“I can’t force you to confess, if you will not, Mrs. Newberry,” Siler +said meaningly, “though no jury, after they learned how he had +threatened you, would convict you if you pleaded self-defense. We know +he didn’t kill himself; for he couldn’t have fired that shot! And the +case is complete, I think,” the detective shot a finally triumphant +glance at Trant, “unless Mr. Trant wants to ask you something more.” + +“I do!” Trant quietly spoke for the first time. “I want to ask Mrs. +Newberry—since she did not actually see her husband fire the last shot +that killed him—whether she was directly facing him as she knelt. It +is most essential to know whether or not her head was turned to one +side.” + +“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Trant?” the girl looked up wonderingly; +for his tone seemed to promise he was coming to her defense. + +“Suppose he might have shot himself before her, as she says—what’s the +difference whether she heard him with her head straight or her head +turned?” the police detective demanded sneeringly. + +“A fundamental difference in this case, Siler,” Trant replied, “if +taken in connection with that other most important factor of all—that +Walter Newberry foretold the hour of his own death. But answer me, +Mrs. Newberry—if you can be certain.” + +“I—certainly I can never forget how I crouched there with every muscle +strained. I was directly facing him,” the girl answered. + +“That is very important!” The psychologist took a rapid turn or two up +and down the room. “Now you told us that your husband, during the days +he was shut up in that room, talked to himself almost continuously. +Toward the end, you say, he repeated over and over again such +sentences as ‘No one can make me do it!’ Can you remember any others?” + +“I couldn’t make much out of anything else, Mr. Trant,” the girl +replied, after thinking an instant. “He seemed to have hallucinations +so much of the time.” + +“Hallucinations?” + +“Yes; he seemed to think I was singing to him—as I used to sing to +him, you know, when we were first married—and he would catch hold of +me and say, ‘Don’t—don’t—don’t sing!’ Or at other times he would +clutch me and tell me to sing low—sing low!” + +“Anything else?” + +“Nothing else even so sensible as that,” the girl responded. “Many +things he said made me think he had lost his mind. He would often +stare at me in an absorbed way, looking me over from head to foot, and +say, ‘Look here; if anyone asks you—anyone at all—whether your mother +had large or small feet, say small—never admit she had large feet, or +you’ll never get in. Do you understand?’” + +“What?” The psychologist stood for several moments in deep thought; +then his eyes flashed suddenly with excitement. “What!” he cried +again, clutching the chair-back as he leaned toward her. “He said that +to you when he was absorbed?” + +“A dozen times at least, Mr. Trant,” the girl replied, staring at him +in startled wonder. + +“Remarkable! Yes; this is extraordinary!” Trant strode up and down +excitedly. “Nobody could have hoped for so fortunate a confirmation of +the evidence in this remarkable case. We knew that Walter Newberry +foresaw his own death; now we actually get from him himself, the +key—the possibly complete explanation of his danger—” + +“Explanation!” shouted the police detective. “I’ve heard no +explanation! You’re throwing an impressive bluff, Mr. Trant; but I’ve +heard nothing yet to make me doubt that Newberry met his death at the +hands of his wife; and I’ll arrest her for his murder!” + +“I can’t prevent your arresting Mrs. Newberry,” Trant swung to look +the police officer between the eyes hotly. “But I can tell you—if you +care to hear it—how Walter Newberry died! He was not shot by his wife; +he did not die by his own hand, as she believes and has told you. The +fifth shot—you have not found the fifth shell yet, Siler; and you will +not find it, for it was not fired either by Walter Newberry or his +wife. As she knelt, blinding her eyes as she faced her husband, Mrs. +Newberry could not know whether the fifth shot sounded in front or +behind her. If her head was not turned to one side, as she says it was +not, then—and this is a simple psychological fact, Siler, though it +seems to be unknown to you—it would be impossible for her to +distinguish between sounds directly ahead and directly behind. It was +not at her—at her hair—that her husband fired the four shots whose +empty shells we found, but over her head at the window directly behind +her. And it was through this just opened window that the fifth shot +came and killed him—the shot at eleven o’clock—which he had foreseen +and dreaded!” + +“You must think I’m easy, Mr. Trant,” said the police officer +derisively. “You can’t clear her by dragging into this business some +third person who never existed. For there were no marks, and marks +would have been left by anybody who came to the window!” + +“Marks!” Trant echoed. “If you mean marks on the window-sill and +floor, I cannot show you any. But the murderer did leave, of course, +one mark which in the end will probably prove final, even to you, +Siler. The shell of the fifth shot is missing because he carried it +away in his revolver. But the bullet—it will be a most remarkable +coincidence, Siler, if you find that the bullet which killed young +Newberry was the same as the four we know were shot from his wife’s +little automatic revolver!” + +“But the ice—the ice under the window!” shouted the detective. “You +saw for yourself how her heels and ours cut through the crust; and you +saw that there were no other heel marks, as there must have been if +anyone had stood outside the window to look through it, or to fire +through it, as you say!” + +“When you have reached the point, Siler,” said Trant, more quietly, +“where you can think of some class of men who would have left no heel +marks but who could have produced the effect on young Newberry’s mind +which his wife has described, you will have gone far toward the +discovery of the real murderer of Walter Newberry. In the meantime, I +have clews enough; and I hope to find help, which cannot be given me +by the city police, to enable me to bring the murderer to justice. I +will ask you, Mrs. Newberry,” he glanced toward the girl, “to let me +have a photograph of your husband, or”—he hesitated, unable to tell +from her manner whether she had heard him—“I will stop on my way out +to ask his photograph from his father.” + +He glanced once more from the detective to the pale girl, who, since +she received notice of her arrest, had stood as though cut from +marble, with small hands tightly clenched and blind eyes fixed on +vacancy; then he left them. + +The next morning’s papers, which carried startling headlines of the +murder of Walter Newberry, brought Police Detective Siler a feeling of +satisfaction with his own work. The detective, it is true, had been +made a little doubtful of his own assumptions by Trant’s confident +suggestion of a third person as the murderer. But he was reassured by +the newspaper accounts, though they contained merely an elaboration of +his own theory of an attack by the missionary’s dissipated son on his +wife and her shooting him in self-defense, which Siler had +successfully impressed not only on the police but on the reporters as +well. + +Even the discovery on the second morning that the bullet which had now +been taken from young Newberry’s body was of .38 calibre and, as Trant +had predicted, not at all similar to the steel .32 calibre bullets +shot by the little automatic pistol which had belonged to young Mrs. +Newberry, did not disturb the police officer’s self-confidence, though +it obviously weakened the case against the wife. And when, on the day +following, Siler received orders to report at an hour when he was not +ordinarily on duty at the West End Police Station, where Mrs. Newberry +was still held under arrest, he pushed open, with an air of +importance, the door of the captain’s room, to which the sharp nod of +the desk sergeant had directed him. + +The detective’s first glance showed him the room’s three occupants—the +huge figure of Division Inspector of Police Walker, lolling in the +chair before the captain’s desk; a slight, dark man—unknown to +Siler—near the window; and Luther Trant at the end of the room busy +arranging a somewhat complicated apparatus. + +Trant, with a short nod of greeting, at once called Siler to his aid. + +With the detective’s half-suspicious, half-respectful assistance, the +psychologist stretched across the end of the room a white sheet about +ten feet long, three feet high, and divided into ten rectangles by +nine vertical lines. Opposite this, and upon a table about ten feet +away, he set up a small electrical contrivance, consisting of two +magnets and wire coils supporting a small, round mirror about an inch +in diameter and so delicately set upon an axis that it turned at the +slightest current coming to the coils below it. In front of this +little mirror Trant placed a shaded electric lamp in such a position +that its light was reflected from the mirror upon the sheet at the end +of the room. Then he put down a carbon plate and a zinc plate at the +edge of the table; set a single cell battery under the table; +connected the battery with the coils controlling the mirror, and +connected them also with the zinc and carbon plates. + +“I suppose,” Siler burst out finally with growing curiosity which even +the presence of the inspector could not restrain, “I haven’t got any +business to ask what all this machinery is for?” + +“I was about to explain,” Trant answered. + +The psychologist rested his hands lightly on the plates upon the +table; and, as he did so, a slight and, in fact, imperceptible current +passed through him from the battery; but it was enough to slightly +move the light reflected upon the screen. + +“This apparatus,” the psychologist continued, as he saw even Walker +stare strangely at this result, “is the newest electric psychometer—or +‘the soul machine,’ as it is already becoming popularly known. It is +made after the models of Dr. Peterson, of Columbia University, and of +the Swiss psychologist Jung, of Zurich, and is probably the most +delicate and efficient instrument there is for detecting and +registering human emotion—such as anxiety, fear, and the sense of +guilt. Like the galvanometer which you saw me use to catch Caylis, the +Bronson murderer, in the first case where I worked with the police, +Inspector Walker,” the psychologist turned to his tall friend, “this +psychometer—which is really an improved and much more spectacular +galvanometer—is already in use by physicians to get the truth from +patients when they don’t want to tell it. No man can control the +automatic reflexes which this apparatus was particularly designed to +register when the subject is examined with his hands merely resting +upon these two plates! As you see,” he placed his hands in the test +position again, “these are arranged so that the very slight current +passing through my arms—so slight that I cannot feel it at all—moves +that mirror and swings the reflected light upon the screen according +to the amount of current coming through me. As you see now, the light +stays almost steady in the center of the screen, because the amount of +current coming through me is very slight, as I am not under any stress +or emotion of any sort. But if I were confronted suddenly with an +object to arouse fear—if, for instance, it reminded me of a crime I +was trying to conceal—I might be able to control every other evidence +of my fright, but I could not control the involuntary sweating of my +glands and the automatic changes in the blood pressure which allow the +electric current to flow more freely through me. The light would then +register immediately the amount of my emotion by the distance it swung +along the screen. But I will give you a much more perfect +demonstration of the instrument,” the psychologist concluded, while +all three examined it with varying degrees of interest and respect, +“during the next half hour while I am making the test that I have +planned to determine the murderer of Walter Newberry.” + +“You mean,” cried Siler, “you are going to test the woman?” + +“I might have thought it necessary to test Mrs. Newberry,” Trant +answered, “if the evidence at the house of the presence of a third +person who was the murderer had not been so plain as to make any test +of her useless.” + +“Then you—you still stick to that?” Siler demanded derisively. + +“Thanks to Mr. Ferris, who is a special agent of the United States +government,” Trant motioned to the slight, dark man who was the fourth +member of the party, “I have been able to fix upon four men, one of +whom, I feel absolutely certain, shot and killed young Newberry +through the window of the billiard-room that night. Inspector Walker +has had all four arrested and brought here. Mr. Ferris’s experience +and thorough knowledge enabled me to lay my hands on them much more +easily than I had feared, though I was able to go to him with +information which would have made their detection almost certain +sooner or later.” + +“You mean information you got at the house?” asked Siler, less +derisively, as he caught the attentive attitude of the inspector. + +“Just so, Siler; and it was as much at your disposal as mine,” Trant +replied. “It seemed to mean nothing to you that Walter Newberry knew +the hour at which he was to die—which made it seem more like an +execution than a murder; or that in his terror he raved that ‘he would +not do it—that they could not make him do it’—plainly meaning commit +suicide. Perhaps you don’t know that it is an Oriental custom, under +certain conditions, to allow a man who has been sentenced to death, +the alternative of carrying out the decree upon himself before a +certain day and hour that has been decided upon. But certainly his +ravings, as told us by his wife, ought to have given you a clew, if +you had heard only that sentence which she believed an injunction not +to sing loudly, but which was in reality a name—Sing lo!” + +“Then—it was a Chinaman!” cried Siler, astounded. + +“It could hardly have been any other sort of man, Siler. For there is +no other to whom it could be commended as a matter of such vital +importance whether his mother had small feet or large, as was shown in +the other sentence Mrs. Newberry repeated to us. But to a Chinaman +that fact is of prime importance; for it indicates whether he is of +low birth, when his mother would have had large feet, or of high, in +which case his women of the last generation would have had their feet +bound and made artificially smaller. It was that sentence that sent me +to Mr. Ferris.” + +“I see—I see!” exclaimed the crest-fallen detective. “But if it was a +Chinaman, then, even with that thing,” he pointed to the instrument +Trant had just finished arranging, “you’ll never get the truth out of +him. You can’t get anything out of a Chinaman! Inspector Walker will +tell you that!” + +“I know, Siler,” Trant answered, “that it is absolutely hopeless to +expect a confession from a Chinaman; they are so accustomed to control +the obvious signs of fear, guilt, the slightest trace or hint of +emotion, even under the most rigid examination, that it had come to be +regarded as a characteristic of the race. But the new psychology does +not deal with those obvious signs; it deals with the involuntary +reactions in the blood and glands which are common to all men +alike—even to Chinamen! We have in here,” the psychologist looked to +the door of an inner room, “the four Chinamen—Wong Bo, Billy Lee, Sing +Lo, and Sin Chung Ming. + +“My first test is to see which of them—if any—were acquainted with +Walter Newberry; and next who, if any of them, knew where he lived. +For this purpose I have brought here Newberry’s photograph and a view +of his father’s house, which I had taken yesterday.” He stooped to one +of his suit-cases, and took out first a dozen photographs of young +men, among them Newberry’s; and about twenty views of different +houses, among which he mixed the one of the Newberry house. “If you +are ready, inspector, I will go ahead with the test.” + +The psychologist threw open the door of the inner room, showing the +four Celestials in a stolid group, and summoned first Wong Bo, who +spoke English. + +Trant, pushing a chair to the table, ordered the Oriental to sit down +and place his hands upon the plates at the table’s edge before him. +The Chinaman obeyed passively, as if expecting some sort of torture. +Immediately the light moved to the center of the screen, where it had +moved when Trant was touching the plates, then kept on toward the next +line beyond. But as Wong Bo’s first suspicious excitement—which the +movement of the light betrayed—subsided as he felt nothing, the light +returned to the center of the screen. + +“You know why you have been brought here, Wong Bo?” Trant demanded of +the Chinaman. + +“No,” the Chinaman answered shortly, the light moving six inches as he +did so. + +“You know no reason at all why you should be brought here?” + +“No,” the Chinaman answered calmly again, while the light moved about +six inches. Trant waited till it returned to its normal position in +the center of the screen. + +“Do you know an American named Paul Tobin, Wong Bo?” + +“No,” the Chinaman answered. This time the light remained stationary. + +“Nor one named Ralph Murray?” + +“No.” Still the light stayed stationary. + +“Hugh Larkin, Wong Bo?” + +“No.” Calmly again, and with the light quiet in the center of the +screen. + +“Walter Newberry?” the psychologist asked in precisely the same tone +as he had put the preceding question. + +“No,” the Chinaman answered laconically again; but before he answered +and almost before the name was off Trant’s lips, the light—which had +stayed almost still at the recital of the other names—jumped quickly +to one side across the screen, crossed the first division line and +moved on toward the second and stayed there. It had moved over a foot! +But the face of the Oriental was as quiet, patient, and impassive as +before. The psychologist made no comment; but waited for the light +slowly to return to its normal position. Then he took up his pile of +portrait photographs. + +“You say you do not know any of these men, Wong Bo,” Trant said +quietly, but with the effect of sending the light swinging half the +distance again, “You may know them, but not by name, so I want you to +look at these pictures.” Trant showed him the first. “Do you know that +man, Wong Bo?” + +“No,” the Chinaman answered patiently. Trant glanced quickly to see +that the light stayed steady; then showed him four more pictures of +young men, getting the same answer and precisely the same effect. He +showed the sixth picture—the photograph of Walter Newberry. + +“You know him?” Trant asked precisely in the same tone as the others. + +“No,” Wong Bo answered with precisely the same patient impassiveness. +Not a muscle of his face changed nor an eyelash quivered; but as soon +as Trant had displayed this picture and the Chinaman’s eyes fell upon +it, the light on the screen again jumped a space and settled near the +second line to the left! + +Trant put aside the portraits and took up the pictures of the houses. +He waited again till the light slowly resumed its central position on +the screen. + +“You have never gone to this house, Wong Bo?” he showed a large, stone +mansion, not at all like the Newberry’s. + +“No,” the Chinaman replied, impassive as ever. The light remained +steady. + +“Nor to this—or this—or this?” Trant showed three more with the same +result. “Nor this?” he displayed now a rear view of the Newberry +house. + +“No,” quietly again; but, as when Newberry’s name was mentioned and +his picture shown, the light swung swiftly to one side and stood +trembling, again a foot and a half to the left of its normal position +when shown the other pictures! + +“That will do for the present,” Trant dismissed Wong Bo. “Send him +back to his cell, away from the others,” he said to Walker, with +flashing eyes. “We will try the rest—in turn!” + +And rapidly, and with precisely the same questions and test he +examined Billy Lee and Sing Lo. Each man made precisely the same +denials and in the same manner as Wong Bo, but to the increasing +wonder and surprise of Walker and the utter astonishment of Siler, for +each man the light stayed steady when they were asked if they knew the +other Americans named; while for each the light swung suddenly wide +and trembling when Walter Newberry’s name was mentioned and when his +picture was shown. And for Sing Lo also—precisely as for Wong Bo—the +light wavered suddenly and swung, quivering, a foot and a half to the +left when they were shown the Newberry home. + +“Bring in Sin Chung Ming!” the psychologist commanded with subdued +fire shining in his eyes; but he hid all signs of excitement himself, +as the government agent handed the last Oriental over to him. Trant +set the yellow hands over the plates and started his questions in the +same quiet tone as before. For the first two questions the light moved +three times, as it had done with the others—and as even Ferris and +Siler now seemed to be expecting it to move—only this time it seemed +even to the police officers to swing a little wider. And at Walter +Newberry’s name, for the first time in any of the tests, it crossed +the second dividing line at the first impulse; moved toward the third +and stayed there. + +Even Siler now waited with bated breath, as Trant took up his pile of +pictures; and, as he came to the picture of the murdered man and the +house where he had lived, for the second and third time in that single +test the light—stationary when Sin Chung Ming glanced at the other +photographs—trembled across the screen to the third dividing line. For +the others it had moved hardly eighteen inches, but when Sin Chung +Ming saw the pictured face of the murdered man it had swung almost +three feet. + +“Inspector Walker,” Trant drew the giant officer aside, “this is the +man, I think, for the final test. You will carry it out as I arranged +with you?” + +“Sin Chung Ming,” the psychologist turned back to the Chinaman +swiftly, as the inspector, without comment, left the room, “you have +been watching the little light, have you not? You saw it move? It +moved when you lied, Sin Chung Ming! It will always move when you lie. +It moved when you said you did not know Walter Newberry; it moved when +you saw his picture, and pretended not to know it; it moved when you +saw the picture of his house, which you said you did not know! Look +how it is moving now, as you grow afraid that you have betrayed your +secret to us now, Sin Chung Ming—as you have and will,” Trant pointed +to the swinging light in triumph. + +A low knock sounded on the door; but Trant, watching the light now +slowly returning to its normal place, waited an instant more. Then he +himself rapped gently on the table. The door to the next room—directly +opposite the Chinaman’s eyes—swung slowly open; and through it they +could see the scene which Trant and the inspector had prepared. In the +middle of the floor knelt young Mrs. Newberry, her back toward them, +her hands pressed against her face; and six feet beyond a man stood, +facing her. Ferris and Siler looked in astonishment at Trant, for +there was no meaning in this scene to them at first. Then Siler +remembered suddenly, and Ferris guessed, that such must have been the +scene in the billiard room that night at the Newberry’s; thus it must +have been seen by the man who fired through the window at young +Newberry that night—and to him, but to that man only—it would bring a +shock of terror. And appreciating this, they stared swiftly, first at +the Chinaman’s passionless and immobile face; then at the light upon +the screen and saw it leap across bar after bar. And, as the Chinaman +saw it, and knew that it was betraying him, it leaped and leaped +again; swung wider and wider; until at last the impassiveness of the +Celestial’s attitude was for an instant broken, and Sin Chung Ming +snatched his hands from the metal plates. + + [Illustration: In a darkened room a man in a silk Tang suit sits at + a table. Wires lead from the fingers on one hand to a small + electrical machine. A table lamp is pointed at the top of the + machine where a mirror is mounted, reflecting light onto a screen at + the right. A young man stands by and watches the seated man. Through + an open doorway can be seen two people: a woman, seated, holding her + face in her hands, and a man, standing, pointing a gun at the + woman.] + + Caption: The Chinaman saw it and knew that it was betraying him, but + it leaped and leaped again + +“I had guessed that anyway, Sin Chung Ming,” Trant swiftly closed the +door, as Walker returned to the room, “for your feeling at sound of +Walter Newberry’s name and the sight of his picture was so much deeper +than any of the rest. So, it was you that fired the shot, after +watching the house with Sing Lo and Wong Bo, as their fright when they +saw the picture of the house showed, while Billy Lee was not needed at +the house that night and has never seen it, though he knew what was to +be done. That is all I need of you now, Sin Chung Ming; for I have +learned what I wanted to know.” + +As the fourth of the Chinamen was led away to his cell, Trant turned +back to Inspector Walker and Siler. + +“I must acknowledge my debt to Mr. Ferris,” he said with a glance +toward the man of whom he spoke, “for help in solving this case, +without which I could not have brought it to a conclusion without +giving much more time to the investigation. Mr. Ferris, as you already +know, Inspector Walker, as special agent for the Government, has for +years been engaged in the enforcement of the Chinese exclusion laws. +The sentence repeated to us by Mrs. Newberry, in which her husband, +delirious with fright, seemed warning some one that to acknowledge +that his mother had large feet would prevent him from ‘getting in,’ +seemed to me to establish a connection between young Newberry’s terror +and an evasion of the exclusion laws. I went at once to Mr. Ferris to +test this idea, and he recognized its application at once. + +“As the exclusion laws against all but a very small class of Chinese +are being more strictly enforced than ever before, there has been a +large and increasing traffic among the Chinese in bogus papers to +procure entry into this country of Chinese belonging to the excluded +classes. And in addition to being supplied with forged official papers +for entry, as Ferris can tell you, the applicants of the classes +excluded are supplied with regular ‘coaching papers’ so that they can +correctly answer the questions asked them at San Francisco or Seattle. +The injunction to ‘say your mother had small feet’ was recognized at +once by Ferris as one of the instructions of the ‘coaching paper’ to +get a laborer entered as a man of the merchant class. + +“Mr. Ferris and I together investigated the career of Walter Newberry +after his return from China, where he had spent nearly the whole of +his life, and we were able to establish, as we expected we might, a +connection between him and the Sing Lo Trading Company—a Chinese +company which Mr. Ferris had long suspected of dealing in fraudulent +admission papers, though he had never been able to bring home to them +any proof. We found, also, that young Newberry had spent and gambled +away much more money in the last few months than he had legitimately +received. And we were able to make certain that this money had come to +him through the Sing Lo Company, though obviously not for such uses. +As it is not an uncommon thing for Chinese engaged in the fraudulent +bringing in of their countrymen to confide part of the business to +unprincipled Americans—especially as all papers have to be viséd by +American consuls and disputes settled in American courts—we became +certain that young Newberry had been serving the Sing Lo Company in +this capacity. It was plain that he had diverted a large amount of +money from the ends for which the members of the Sing Lo Company had +intended it to be used and his actions as described by his wife, made +it equally certain that he had been sentenced by the members of the +Company to death, and given the Oriental alternative of committing +suicide before eleven o’clock on Sunday night, or else the company +would take the carrying out of the sentence into their own hands. Now +whether it will be possible to convict all four of the Chinamen we had +here for complicity in his murder, or whether Sin Chung Ming, who +fired the shot will be the only one tried, I do not know. But the +others, in any case, will be turned over to Mr. Ferris for prosecution +for their evasions of the exclusion laws.” + +“Exclusion laws!” exclaimed the giant inspector—“Mr. Ferris can look +after his exclusion laws if he wants. What we want, Trant, is to +convict these men for the murder of Walter Newberry; and knowing what +we do now, we will get a confession out of them some way!” + +“I doubt whether, under the circumstances, any force could be brought +to bear that would extort any formal confession from these Chinamen,” +the Government agent shook his head. “They would lose their ‘face’ and +with it all reputation among their countrymen.” + +But at this instant the door of the room was dashed open and the +flushed face of the desk sergeant appeared before them. + +“Inspector!” he cried sharply, “the chink’s dead! The last one, Sin +Chung Ming, choked himself as soon as he was alone in his cell!” + +The inspector turned to Trant who looked to Ferris, first, in his +surprise. + +“What? Ah—I see!” the immigration officer comprehended after an +instant. “He considered what we found from him here confession +enough—especially since he implicated the others with him—so that his +‘face’ was lost. To him, it was unpardonable weakness to let us find +what we did. I think, then, Mr. Trant,” he concluded quietly, “that +you can safely consider your case proved. His suicide is the surest +proof that this Chinaman considered that he had confessed.” + + + The End + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE + +This transcription is made from the edition published in 1910 by +Small, Maynard & Company. The following alterations have been made to +correct what are believed to be unambiguous errors in the text: + + * “42$=80” was changed to “43$=80”, as per the surrounding context + (Chapter IV). + * “straighened” was changed to “straightened” (Chapter V). + * “chachihuitl” was changed to “chalchihuitl” (Chapter VI). + * “neice” was changed to “niece” (Chapter VII). + * “touseled” was changed to “tousled” (Chapter VII). + * “mysterous” was changed to “mysterious” (Chapter VIII). + * Three occurrences of mismatched quotation marks have been repaired. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75523 *** |