Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 1

 

Kennedy's Suit-Case Was Lying Open On The Bed,  And He Was

Literally Throwing Things Into It From His Chiffonier,  As I

Entered After A Hurried Trip Up-Town From The Star Office In

Response To An Urgent Message From Him.

 

"Come,  Walter," He Cried,  Hastily Stuffing In A Package Of Clean

Laundry Without Taking Off The Wrapping-Paper,  "I've Got Your

Suit-Case Out. Pack Up Whatever You Can In Five Minutes. We Must

Take The Six O'clock Train For Danbridge."

 

I Did Not Wait To Hear Any More. The Mere Mention Of The Name Of

The Quaint And Quiet Little Connecticut Town Was Sufficient. For

Danbridge Was On Everybody's Lips At That Time. It Was The Scene

Of The Now Famous Danbridge Poisoning Case--A Brutal Case In Which

The Pretty Little Actress,  Vera Lytton,  Had Been The Victim.

 

"I've Been Retained By Senator Adrian Willard," He Called From His

Room,  As I Was Busy Packing In Mine. "The Willard Family Believe

That That Young Dr. Dixon Is The Victim Of A Conspiracy--Or At

Least Alma Willard Does,  Which Comes To The Same Thing,  And--Well,

The Senator Called Me Up On Long-Distance And Offered Me Anything

I Would Name In Reason To Take The Case. Are You Ready? Come On,

Then. We've Simply Got To Make That Train."

 

As We Settled Ourselves In The Smoking-Compartment Of The Pullman,

Which For Some Reason Or Other We Had To Ourselves,  Kennedy Spoke

Again For The First Time Since Our Frantic Dash Across The City To

Catch The Train.

 

"Now Let Us See,  Walter," He Began. "We've Both Read A Good Deal

About This Case In The Papers. Let's Try To Get Our Knowledge In

An Orderly Shape Before We Tackle The Actual Case Itself."

 

"Ever Been In Danbridge?" I Asked.

 

"Never," He Replied. "What Sort Of Place Is It?"

 

"Mighty Interesting," I Answered; "A Combination Of Old New

England And New,  Of Ancestors And Factories,  Of Wealth And

Poverty,  And Above All It Is Interesting For Its Colony Of New-

Yorkers--What Shall I Call It?--A Literary-Artistic-Musical

Combination,  I Guess."

 

"Yes," He Resumed,  "I Thought As Much. Vera Lytton Belonged To The

Colony. A Very Talented Girl,  Too--You Remember Her In 'The Taming

Of The New Woman' Last Season? Well,  To Get Back To The Facts As

We Know Them At Present.

 

"Here Is A Girl With A Brilliant Future On The Stage Discovered By

Her Friend,  Mrs. Boncour,  In Convulsions--Practically Insensible--

With A Bottle Of Headache-Powder And A Jar Of Ammonia On Her

Dressing-Table. Mrs. Boncour Sends The Maid For The Nearest

Doctor,  Who Happens To Be A Dr. Waterworth. Meanwhile She Tries To

Restore Miss Lytton,  But With No Result. She Smells The Ammonia

And Then Just Tastes The Headache-Powder,  A Very Foolish Thing To

Do,  For By The Time Dr. Waterworth Arrives He Has Two Patients."

 

"No?" I Corrected,  "Only One,  For Miss Lytton Was Dead When He

Arrived,  According To His Latest Statement."

 

"Very Well,  Then--One. He Arrives,  Mrs. Boncour Is Ill,  The Maid

Knows Nothing At All About It,  And Vera Lytton Is Dead. He,  Too,

Smells The Ammonia,  Tastes The Headache-Powder--Just The Merest

Trace--And Then He Has Two Patients,  One Of Them Himself. We Must

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 2

See Him,  For His Experience Must Have Been Appalling. How He Ever

Did It I Can't Imagine,  But He Saved Both Himself And Mrs. Boncour

From Poisoning--Cyanide,  The Papers Say,  But Of Course We Can't

Accept That Until We See. It Seems To Me,  Walter,  That Lately The

Papers Have Made The Rule In Murder Cases: When In Doubt,  Call It

Cyanide."

 

Not Relishing Kennedy In The Humour Of Expressing His Real Opinion

Of The Newspapers,  I Hastily Turned The Conversation Back Again By

Asking,  "How About The Note From Dr. Dixon?"

 

"Ah,  There Is The Crux Of The Whole Case--That Note From Dixon.

Let Us See. Dr. Dixon Is,  If I Am Informed Correctly,  Of A Fine

And Aristocratic Family,  Though Not Wealthy. I Believe It Has Been

Established That While He Was An Interne In A City Hospital He

Became Acquainted With Vera Lytton,  After Her Divorce From That

Artist Thurston. Then Comes His Removal To Danbridge And His

Meeting And Later His Engagement With Miss Willard. On The Whole,

Walter,  Judging From The Newspaper Pictures,  Alma Willard Is Quite

The Equal Of Vera Lytton For Looks,  Only Of A Different Style Of

Beauty. Oh,  Well,  We Shall See. Vera Decided To Spend The Spring

And Summer At Danbridge In The Bungalow Of Her Friend,  Mrs.

Boncour,  The Novelist. That's When Things Began To Happen."

 

"Yes," I Put In,  "When You Come To Know Danbridge As I Did After

That Summer When You Were Abroad,  You'll Understand,  Too.

Everybody Knows Everybody Else's Business. It Is The Main

Occupation Of A Certain Set,  And The Per-Capita Output Of Gossip

Is A Record That Would Stagger The Census Bureau. Still,  You Can't

Get Away From The Note,  Craig. There It Is,  In Dixon's Own

Handwriting,  Even If He Does Deny It: 'This Will Cure Your

Headache. Dr. Dixon.' That's A Damning Piece Of Evidence."

 

"Quite Right," He Agreed Hastily; "The Note Was Queer,  Though,

Wasn't It? They Found It Crumpled Up In The Jar Of Ammonia. Oh,

There Are Lots Of Problems The Newspapers Have Failed To See The

Significance Of,  Let Alone Trying To Follow Up."

 

Our First Visit In Danbridge Was To The Prosecuting Attorney,

Whose Office Was Not Far From The Station On The Main Street.

Craig Had Wired Him,  And He Had Kindly Waited To See Us,  For It

Was Evident That Danbridge Respected Senator Willard And Every One

Connected With Him.

 

"Would It Be Too Much To Ask Just To See That Note That Was Found

In The Boncour Bungalow?" Asked Craig.

 

The Prosecutor,  An Energetic Young Man,  Pulled Out Of A Document-

Case A Crumpled Note Which Had Been Pressed Flat Again. On It In

Clear,  Deep Black Letters Were The Words,  Just As Reported:

 

                 This Will Cure Your Headache.

 

                          Dr. Dixon.

 

"How About The Handwriting?" Asked Kennedy.

 

The Lawyer Pulled Out A Number Of Letters. "I'm Afraid They Will

Have To Admit It," He Said With Reluctance,  As If Down In His

Heart He Hated To Prosecute Dixon. "We Have Lots Of These,  And No

Handwriting Expert Could Successfully Deny The Identity Of The

Writing."

 

He Stowed Away The Letters Without Letting Kennedy Get A Hint As

To Their Contents. Kennedy Was Examining The Note Carefully.

 

"May I Count On Having This Note For Further Examination,  Of

Course Always At Such Times And Under Such Conditions As You Agree

To?"

 

The Attorney Nodded. "I Am Perfectly Willing To Do Anything Not

Illegal To Accommodate The Senator," He Said. "But,  On The Other

Hand,  I Am Here To Do My Duty For The State,  Cost Whom It May."

 

The Willard House Was In A Virtual State Of Siege. Newspaper

Reporters From Boston And New York Were Actually Encamped At Every

Gate,  Terrible As An Army,  With Cameras. It Was With Some

Difficulty That We Got In,  Even Though We Were Expected,  For Some

Of The More Enterprising Had Already Fooled The Family By Posing

As Officers Of The Law And Messengers From Dr. Dixon.

 

The House Was A Real,  Old Colonial Mansion With Tall White

Pillars,  A Door With A Glittering Brass Knocker,  Which Gleamed Out

Severely At You As You Approached Through A Hedge Of Faultlessly

Trimmed Boxwoods.

 

Senator,  Or Rather Former Senator,  Willard Met Us In The Library,

And A Moment Later His Daughter Alma Joined Him. She Was Tall,

Like Her Father,  A Girl Of Poise And Self-Control. Yet Even The

Schooling Of Twenty-Two Years In Rigorous New England Self-

Restraint Could Not Hide The Very Human Pallor Of Her Face After

The Sleepless Nights And Nervous Days Since This Trouble Had

Broken On Her Placid Existence. Yet There Was A Mark Of Strength

And Determination On Her Face That Was Fascinating. The Man Who

Would Trifle With This Girl,  I Felt,  Was Playing Fast And Loose

With Her Very Life. I Thought Then,  And I Said To Kennedy

Afterward: "If This Dr. Dixon Is Guilty,  You Have No Right To Hide

It From That Girl. Anything Less Than The Truth Will Only Blacken

The Hideousness Of The Crime That Has Already Been Committed."

 

The Senator Greeted Us Gravely,  And I Could Not But Take It As A

Good Omen When,  In His Pride Of Wealth And Family And Tradition,

He Laid Bare Everything To Us,  For The Sake Of Alma Willard. It

Was Clear That In This Family There Was One Word That Stood Above

All Others,  "Duty."

 

As We Were About To Leave After An Interview Barren Of New Facts,

A Young Man Was Announced,  Mr. Halsey Post. He Bowed Politely To

Us,  But It Was Evident Why He Had Called,  As His Eye Followed Alma

About The Room.

 

"The Son Of The Late Halsey Post,  Of Post & Vance,  Silversmiths,

Who Have The Large Factory In Town,  Which You Perhaps Noticed,"

Explained The Senator. "My Daughter Has Known Him All Her Life. A

Very Fine Young Man."

 

Later,  We Learned That The Senator Had Bent Every Effort Toward

Securing Halsey Post As A Son-In-Law,  But His Daughter Had Had

Views Of Her Own On The Subject.

 

Post Waited Until Alma Had Withdrawn Before He Disclosed The Real

Object Of His Visit. In Almost A Whisper,  Lest She Should Still Be

Listening,  He Said,  "There Is A Story About Town That Vera

Lytton's Former Husband--An Artist Named Thurston--Was Here Just

Before Her Death."

 

Senator Willard Leaned Forward As If Expecting To Hear Dixon

Immediately Acquitted. None Of Us Was Prepared For The Next

Remark.

 

"And The Story Goes On To Say That He Threatened To Make A Scene

Over A Wrong He Says He Has Suffered From Dixon. I Don't Know

Anything More About It,  And I Tell You Only Because I Think You

Ought To Know What Danbridge Is Saying Under Its Breath."

 

We Shook Off The Last Of The Reporters Who Affixed Themselves To

Us,  And For A Moment Kennedy Dropped In At The Little Bungalow To

See Mrs. Boncour. She Was Much Better,  Though She Had Suffered

Much. She Had Taken Only A Pinhead Of The Poison,  But It Had

Proved Very Nearly Fatal.

 

"Had Miss Lytton Any Enemies Whom You Think Of,  People Who Were

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 3

Jealous Of Her Professionally Or Personally?" Asked Craig.

 

"I Should Not Even Have Said Dr. Dixon Was An Enemy," She Replied

Evasively.

 

"But This Mr. Thurston," Put In Kennedy Quickly. "One Is Not

Usually Visited In Perfect Friendship By A Husband Who Has Been

Divorced."

 

She Regarded Him Keenly For A Moment. "Halsey Post Told You That,"

She Said. "No One Else Knew He Was Here. But Halsey Post Was An

Old Friend Of Both Vera And Mr. Thurston Before They Separated. By

Chance He Happened To Drop In The Day Mr. Thurston Was Here,  And

Later In The Day I Gave Him A Letter To Forward To Mr. Thurston,

Which Had Come After The Artist Left. I'm Sure No One Else Knew

The Artist. He Was Here The Morning Of The Day She Died,  And--And-

-That's Every Bit I'm Going To Tell You About Him,  So There. I

Don't Know Why He Came Or Where He Went."

 

"That's A Thing We Must Follow Up Later," Remarked Kennedy As We

Made Our Adieus. "Just Now I Want To Get The Facts In Hand. The

Next Thing On My Programme Is To See This Dr. Waterworth."

 

We Found The Doctor Still In Bed; In Fact,  A Wreck As The Result

Of His Adventure. He Had Little To Correct In The Facts Of The

Story Which Had Been Published So Far. But There Were Many Other

Details Of The Poisoning He Was Quite Willing To Discuss Frankly.

 

"It Was True About The Jar Of Ammonia?" Asked Kennedy.

 

"Yes," He Answered. "It Was Standing On Her Dressing-Table With

The Note Crumpled Up In It,  Just As The Papers Said."

 

"And You Have No Idea Why It Was There?"

 

"I Didn't Say That. I Can Guess. Fumes Of Ammonia Are One Of The

Antidotes For Poisoning Of This Kind."

 

"But Vera Lytton Could Hardly Have Known That," Objected Kennedy.

 

"No,  Of Course Not. But She Probably Did Know That Ammonia Is Good

For Just That Sort Of Faintness Which She Must Have Experienced

After Taking The Powder. Perhaps She Thought Of Sal Volatile,  I

Don't Know. But Most People Know That Ammonia In Some Form Is Good

For Faintness Of This Sort,  Even If They Don't Know Anything About

Cyanides And---"

 

"Then It Was Cyanide?" Interrupted Craig.

 

"Yes," He Replied Slowly. It Was Evident That He Was Suffering

Great Physical And Nervous Anguish As The Result Of His Too

Intimate Acquaintance With The Poisons In Question. "I Will Tell

You Precisely How It Was,  Professor Kennedy. When I Was Called In

To See Miss Lytton I Found Her On The Bed. I Pried Open Her Jaws

And Smelled The Sweetish Odour Of The Cyanogen Gas. I Knew Then

What She Had Taken,  And At The Moment She Was Dead. In The Next

Room I Heard Some One Moaning. The Maid Said That It Was Mrs.

Boncour,  And That She Was Deathly Sick. I Ran Into Her Room,  And

Though She Was Beside Herself With Pain I Managed To Control Her,

Though She Struggled Desperately Against Me. I Was Rushing Her To

The Bathroom,  Passing Through Miss Lytton's Room. 'What's Wrong?'

I Asked As I Carried Her Along. 'I Took Some Of That,' She

Replied,  Pointing To The Bottle On The Dressing-Table.

 

"I Put A Small Quantity Of Its Crystal Contents On My Tongue. Then

I Realised The Most Tragic Truth Of My Life. I Had Taken One Of

The Deadliest Poisons In The World. The Odour Of The Released Gas

Of Cyanogen Was Strong. But More Than That,  The Metallic Taste And

The Horrible Burning Sensation Told Of The Presence Of Some Form

Of Mercury,  Too. In That Terrible Moment My Brain Worked With The

Incredible Swiftness Of Light. In A Flash I Knew That If I Added

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 4

Malic Acid To The Mercury--Perchloride Of Mercury Or Corrosive

Sublimate--I Would Have Calomel Or Subchloride Of Mercury,  The

Only Thing That Would Switch The Poison Out Of My System And Mrs.

Boncour's.

 

"Seizing Her About The Waist,  I Hurried Into The Dining-Room. On A

Sideboard Was A Dish Of Fruit. I Took Two Apples. I Made Her Eat

One,  Core And All. I Ate The Other. The Fruit Contained The Malic

Acid I Needed To Manufacture The Calomel,  And I Made It Right

There In Nature's Own Laboratory. But There Was No Time To Stop. I

Had To Act Just As Quickly To Neutralise That Cyanide,  Too.

Remembering The Ammonia,  I Rushed Back With Mrs. Boncour,  And We

Inhaled The Fumes. Then I Found A Bottle Of Peroxide Of Hydrogen.

I Washed Out Her Stomach With It,  And Then My Own. Then I Injected

Some Of The Peroxide Into Various Parts Of Her Body. The Peroxide

Of Hydrogen And Hydrocyanic Acid,  You Know,  Make Oxamide,  Which Is

A Harmless Compound.

 

"The Maid Put Mrs. Boncour To Bed,  Saved. I Went To My House,  A

Wreck. Since Then I Have Not Left This Bed. With My Legs Paralysed

I Lie Here,  Expecting Each Hour To Be My Last."

 

"Would You Taste An Unknown Drug Again To Discover The Nature Of A

Probable Poison?" Asked Craig.

 

"I Don't Know," He Answered Slowly,  "But I Suppose I Would. In

Such A Case A Conscientious Doctor Has No Thought Of Self. He Is

There To Do Things,  And He Does Them,  According To The Best That

Is In Him. In Spite Of The Fact That I Haven't Had One Hour Of

Unbroken Sleep Since That Fatal Day,  I Suppose I Would Do It

Again."

 

When We Were Leaving,  I Remarked: "That Is A Martyr To Science.

Could Anything Be More Dramatic Than His Willing Penalty For His

Devotion To Medicine?"

 

We Walked Along In Silence. "Walter,  Did You Notice He Said Not A

Word Of Condemnation Of Dixon,  Though The Note Was Before His

Eyes? Surely Dixon Has Some Strong Supporters In Danbridge,  As

Well As Enemies."

 

The Next Morning We Continued Our Investigation. We Found Dixon's

Lawyer,  Leland,  In Consultation With His Client In The Bare Cell

Of The County Jail. Dixon Proved To Be A Clear-Eyed,  Clean-Cut

Young Man. The Thing That Impressed Me Most About Him,  Aside From

The Prepossession In His Favour Due To The Faith Of Alma Willard,

Was The Nerve He Displayed,  Whether Guilty Or Innocent. Even An

Innocent Man Might Well Have Been Staggered By The Circumstantial

Evidence Against Him And The High Tide Of Public Feeling,  In Spite

Of The Support That He Was Receiving. Leland,  We Learned,  Had Been

Very Active. By Prompt Work At The Time Of The Young Doctor's

Arrest He Had Managed To Secure The Greater Part Of Dr. Dixon's

Personal Letters,  Though The Prosecutor Secured Some,  The Contents

Of Which Had Not Been Disclosed.

 

Kennedy Spent Most Of The Day In Tracing Out The Movements Of

Thurston. Nothing That Proved Important Was Turned Up,  And Even

Visits To Near-By Towns Failed To Show Any Sales Of Cyanide Or

Sublimate To Any One Not Entitled To Buy Them. Meanwhile,  In

Turning Over The Gossip Of The Town,  One Of The Newspapermen Ran

Across The Fact That The Boncour Bungalow Was Owned By The Posts,

And That Halsey Post,  As The Executor Of The Estate,  Was A More

Frequent Visitor Than The Mere Collection Of The Rent Would

Warrant. Mrs. Boncour Maintained A Stolid Silence That Covered A

Seething Internal Fury When The Newspaperman In Question Hinted

That The Landlord And Tenant Were On Exceptionally Good Terms.

 

It Was After A Fruitless Day Of Such Search That We Were Sitting

In The Reading-Room Of The Fairfield Hotel. Leland Entered. His

Face Was Positively White. Without A Word He Took Us By The Arm

And Led Us Across Main Street And Up A Flight Of Stairs To His

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 5

Office. Then He Locked The Door.

 

"What's The Matter?" Asked Kennedy.

 

"When I Took This Case," He Said,  "I Believed Down In My Heart

That Dixon Was Innocent. I Still Believe It,  But My Faith Has Been

Rudely Shaken. I Feel That You Should Know About What I Have Just

Found. As I Told You,  We Secured Nearly All Of Dr. Dixon's

Letters. I Had Not Read Them All Then. But I Have Been Going

Through Them To-Night. Here Is A Letter From Vera Lytton Herself.

You Will Notice It Is Dated The Day Of Her Death."

 

He Laid The Letter Before Us. It Was Written In A Curious Greyish-

Black Ink In A Woman's Hand,  And Read:

 

Dear Harris:

 

Since We Agreed To Disagree We Have At Least Been Good Friends,  If

No Longer Lovers. I Am Not Writing In Anger To Reproach You With

Your New Love,  So Soon After The Old. I Suppose Alma Willard Is

Far Better Suited To Be Your Wife Than Is A Poor Little Actress--

Rather Looked Down On In This Puritan Society Here. But There Is

Something I Wish To Warn You About,  For It Concerns Us All

Intimately.

 

We Are In Danger Of An Awful Mix-Up If We Don't Look Out. Mr.

Thurston--I Had Almost Said My Husband,  Though I Don't Know

Whether That Is The Truth Or Not--Who Has Just Come Over From New

York,  Tells Me That There Is Some Doubt About The Validity Of Our

Divorce. You Recall He Was In The South At The Time I Sued Him,

And The Papers Were Served On Him In Georgia,  He Now Says The

Proof Of Service Was Fraudulent And That He Can Set Aside The

Divorce. In That Case You Might Figure In A Suit For Alienating My

Affections.

 

I Do Not Write This With Ill Will,  But Simply To Let You Know How

Things Stand. If We Had Married,  I Suppose I Would Be Guilty Of

Bigamy. At Any Rate,  If He Were Disposed He Could Make A Terrible

Scandal.

 

Oh,  Harris,  Can't You Settle With Him If He Asks Anything? Don't

Forget So Soon That We Once Thought We Were Going To Be The

Happiest Of Mortals--At Least I Did. Don't Desert Me,  Or The Very

Earth Will Cry Out Against You. I Am Frantic And Hardly Know What

I Am Writing. My Head Aches,  But It Is My Heart That Is Breaking.

Harris,  I Am Yours Still,  Down In My Heart,  But Not To Be Cast Off

Like An Old Suit For A New One. You Know The Old Saying About A

Woman Scorned. I Beg You Not To Go Back On

 

                  Your Poor Little Deserted

 

                              Vera.

 

As We Finished Reading,  Leland Exclaimed,  "That Never Must Come

Before The Jury."

 

Kennedy Was Examining The Letter Carefully. "Strange," He

Muttered. "See How It Was Folded. It Was Written On The Wrong Side

Of The Sheet,  Or Rather Folded Up With The Writing Outside. Where

Have These Letters Been?"

 

"Part Of The Time In My Safe,  Part Of The Time This Afternoon On

My Desk By The Window."

 

"The Office Was Locked,  I Suppose?" Asked Kennedy. "There Was No

Way To Slip This Letter In Among The Others Since You Obtained

Them?"

 

"None. The Office Has Been Locked,  And There Is No Evidence Of Any

One Having Entered Or Disturbed A Thing."

 

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 6

He Was Hastily Running Over The Pile Of Letters As If Looking To

See Whether They Were All There. Suddenly He Stopped.

 

"Yes," He Exclaimed Excitedly,  "One Of Them Is Gone." Nervously He

Fumbled Through Them Again. "One Is Gone," He Repeated,  Looking At

Us,  Startled.

 

"What Was It About?" Asked Craig.

 

"It Was A Note From An Artist,  Thurston,  Who Gave The Address Of

Mrs. Boncour's Bungalow--Ah,  I See You Have Heard Of Him. He Asked

Dixon's Recommendation Of A Certain Patent Headache Medicine. I

Thought It Possibly Evidential,  And I Asked Dixon About It. He

Explained It By Saying That He Did Not Have A Copy Of His Reply,

But As Near As He Could Recall,  He Wrote That The Compound Would

Not Cure A Headache Except At The Expense Of Reducing Heart Action

Dangerously. He Says He Sent No Prescription. Indeed,  He Thought

It A Scheme To Extract Advice Without Incurring The Charge For An

Office Call And Answered It Only Because He Thought Vera Had

Become Reconciled To Thurston Again. I Can't Find That Letter Of

Thurston's. It Is Gone."

 

We Looked At Each Other In Amazement.

 

"Why,  If Dixon Contemplated Anything Against Miss Lytton,  Should

He Preserve This Letter From Her?" Mused Kennedy. "Why Didn't He

Destroy It?"

 

"That's What Puzzles Me," Remarked Leland. "Do You Suppose Some

One Has Broken In And Substituted This Lytton Letter For The

Thurston Letter?"

 

Kennedy Was Scrutinising The Letter,  Saying Nothing. "I May Keep

It?" He Asked At Length. Leland Was Quite Willing And Even

Undertook To Obtain Some Specimens Of The Writing Of Vera Lytton.

With These And The Letter Kennedy Was Working Far Into The Night

And Long After I Had Passed Into A Land Troubled With Many Wild

Dreams Of Deadly Poisons And Secret Intrigues Of Artists.

 

The Next Morning A Message From Our Old Friend First Deputy

O'connor In New York Told Briefly Of Locating The Rooms Of An

Artist Named Thurston In One Of The Co-Operative Studio

Apartments. Thurston Himself Had Not Been There For Several Days

And Was Reported To Have Gone To Maine To Sketch. He Had Had A

Number Of Debts,  But Before He Left They Had All Been Paid--

Strange To Say,  By A Notorious Firm Of Shyster Lawyers,  Kerr &

Kimmel. Kennedy Wired Back To Find Out The Facts From Kerr &

Kimmel And To Locate Thurston At Any Cost.

 

Even The Discovery Of The New Letter Did Not Shake The Wonderful

Self-Possession Of Dr. Dixon. He Denied Ever Having Received It

And Repeated His Story Of A Letter From Thurston To Which He Had

Replied By Sending An Answer,  Care Of Mrs. Boncour,  As Requested.

He Insisted That The Engagement Between Miss Lytton And Himself

Had Been Broken Before The Announcement Of His Engagement With

Miss Willard. As For Thurston,  He Said The Man Was Little More

Than A Name To Him. He Had Known Perfectly All The Circumstances

Of The Divorce,  But Had Had No Dealings With Thurston And No Fear

Of Him. Again And Again He Denied Ever Receiving The Letter From

Vera Lytton.

 

Kennedy Did Not Tell The Willards Of The New Letter. The Strain

Had Begun To Tell On Alma,  And Her Father Had Had Her Quietly

Taken To A Farm Of His Up In The Country. To Escape The Curious

Eyes Of Reporters,  Halsey Post Had Driven Up One Night In His

Closed Car. She Had Entered It Quickly With Her Father,  And The

Journey Had Been Made In The Car,  While Halsey Post Had Quietly

Dropped Off On The Outskirts Of The Town,  Where Another Car Was

Waiting To Take Him Back. It Was Evident That The Willard Family

Relied Implicitly On Halsey,  And His Assistance To Them Was Most

Considerate. While He Never Forced Himself Forward,  He Kept In

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 7

Close Touch With The Progress Of The Case,  And Now That Alma Was

Away His Watchfulness Increased Proportionately,  And Twice A Day

He Wrote A Long Report Which Was Sent To Her.

 

Kennedy Was Now Bending Every Effort To Locate The Missing Artist.

When He Left Danbridge,  He Seemed To Have Dropped Out Of Sight

Completely. However,  With O'connor's Aid,  The Police Of All New

England Were On The Lookout.

 

The Thurstons Had Been Friends Of Halsey's Before Vera Lytton Had

Ever Met Dr. Dixon,  We Discovered From The Danbridge Gossips,  And

I,  At Least,  Jumped To The Conclusion That Halsey Was Shielding

The Artist,  Perhaps Through A Sense Of Friendship When He Found

That Kennedy Was Interested In Thurston's Movement. I Must Say I

Rather Liked Halsey,  For He Seemed Very Thoughtful Of The

Willards,  And Was Never Too Busy To Give An Hour Or So To Any

Commission They Wished Carried Out Without Publicity.

 

Two Days Passed With Not A Word From Thurston. Kennedy Was

Obviously Getting Impatient. One Day A Rumour Was Received That He

Was In Bar Harbour; The Next It Was A Report From Nova Scotia. At

Last,  However,  Came The Welcome News That He Had Been Located In

New Hampshire,  Arrested,  And Might Be Expected The Next Day.

 

At Once Kennedy Became All Energy. He Arranged For A Secret

Conference In Senator Willard's House,  The Moment The Artist Was

To Arrive. The Senator And His Daughter Made A Flying Trip Back To

Town. Nothing Was Said To Any One About Thurston,  But Kennedy

Quietly Arranged With The District Attorney To Be Present With The

Note And The Jar Of Ammonia Properly Safeguarded. Leland Of Course

Came,  Although His Client Could Not. Halsey Post Seemed Only Too

Glad To Be With Miss Willard,  Though He Seemed To Have Lost

Interest In The Case As Soon As The Willards Returned To Look

After It Themselves. Mrs. Boncour Was Well Enough To Attend,  And

Even Dr. Waterworth Insisted On Coming In A Private Ambulance

Which Drove Over From A Near-By City Especially For Him. The Time

Was Fixed Just Before The Arrival Of The Train That Was To Bring

Thurston.

 

It Was An Anxious Gathering Of Friends And Foes Of Dr. Dixon Who

Sat Impatiently Waiting For Kennedy To Begin This Momentous

Exposition That Was To Establish The Guilt Or Innocence Of The

Calm Young Physician Who Sat Impassively In The Jail Not Half A

Mile From The Room Where His Life And Death Were Being Debated.

 

"In Many Respects This Is The Most Remarkable Case That It Has

Ever Been My Lot To Handle," Began Kennedy. "Never Before Have I

Felt So Keenly My Sense Of Responsibility. Therefore,  Though This

Is A Somewhat Irregular Proceeding,  Let Me Begin By Setting Forth

The Facts As I See Them.

 

"First,  Let Us Consider The Dead Woman. The Question That Arises

Here Is,  Was She Murdered Or Did She Commit Suicide? I Think You

Will Discover The Answer As I Proceed. Miss Lytton,  As You Know,

Was,  Two Years Ago,  Mrs. Burgess Thurston. The Thurstons Had

Temperament,  And Temperament Is Quite Often The Highway To The

Divorce Court. It Was So In This Case. Mrs. Thurston Discovered

That Her Husband Was Paying Much Attention To Other Women. She

Sued For Divorce In New York,  And He Accepted Service In The

South,  Where He Happened To Be. At Least It Was So Testified By

Mrs. Thurston's Lawyer.

 

"Now Here Comes The Remarkable Feature Of The Case. The Law Firm

Of Kerr & Kimmel,  I Find,  Not Long Ago Began To Investigate The

Legality Of This Divorce. Before A Notary Thurston Made An

Affidavit That He Had Never Been Served By The Lawyer For Miss

Lytton,  As She Was Now Known. Her Lawyer Is Dead,  But His

Representative In The South Who Served The Papers Is Alive. He Was

Brought To New York And Asserted Squarely That He Had Served The

Papers Properly.

 

"Here Is Where The Shrewdness Of Mose Kimmel,  The Shyster Lawyer,

Came In. He Arranged To Have The Southern Attorney Identify The

Man He Had Served The Papers On. For This Purpose He Was Engaged

In Conversation With One Of His Own Clerks When The Lawyer Was Due

To Appear. Kimmel Appeared To Act Confused,  As If He Had Been

Caught Napping. The Southern Lawyer,  Who Had Seen Thurston Only

Once,  Fell Squarely Into The Trap And Identified The Clerk As

Thurston. There Were Plenty Of Witnesses To It,  And It Was Point

Number Two For The Great Mose Kimmel. Papers Were Drawn Up To Set

Aside The Divorce Decree.

 

"In The Meantime,  Miss Lytton,  Or Mrs. Thurston,  Had Become

Acquainted With A Young Doctor In A New York Hospital,  And Had

Become Engaged To Him. It Matters Not That The Engagement Was

Later Broken. The Fact Remains That If The Divorce Were Set Aside

An Action Would Lie Against Dr. Dixon For Alienating Mrs.

Thurston's Affections,  And A Grave Scandal Would Result. I Need

Not Add That In This Quiet Little Town Of Danbridge The Most Could

Be Made Of Such A Suit."

 

Kennedy Was Unfolding A Piece Of Paper. As He Laid It Down,

Leland,  Who Was Sitting Next To Me,  Exclaimed Under His Breath:

 

"My God,  He's Going To Let The Prosecutor Know About That Letter.

Can't You Stop Him?"

 

It Was Too Late. Kennedy Had Already Begun To Read Vera's Letter.

It Was Damning To Dixon,  Added To The Other Note Found In The

Ammonia-Jar.

 

When He Had Finished Reading,  You Could Almost Hear The Hearts

Throbbing In The Room. A Scowl Overspread Senator Willard's

Features. Alma Willard Was Pale And Staring Wildly At Kennedy.

Halsey Post,  Ever Solicitous For Her,  Handed Her A Glass Of Water

From The Table. Dr. Waterworth Had Forgotten His Pain In His

Intense Attention,  And Mrs. Boncour Seemed Stunned With

Astonishment. The Prosecuting Attorney Was Eagerly Taking Notes.

 

"In Some Way," Pursued Kennedy In An Even Voice,  "This Letter Was

Either Overlooked In The Original Correspondence Of Dr. Dixon Or

It Was Added To It Later. I Shall Come Back To That Presently. My

Next Point Is That Dr. Dixon Says He Received A Letter From

Thurston On The Day The Artist Visited The Boncour Bungalow. It

Asked About A Certain Headache Compound,  And His Reply Was Brief

And,  As Nearly As I Can Find Out,  Read,  'This Compound Will Not

Cure Your Headache Except At The Expense Of Reducing Heart Action

Dangerously.'

 

"Next Comes The Tragedy. On The Evening Of The Day That Thurston

Left,  After Presumably Telling Miss Lytton About What Kerr &

Kimmel Had Discovered,  Miss Lytton Is Found Dying With A Bottle

Containing Cyanide And Sublimate Beside Her. You Are All Familiar

With The Circumstances And With The Note Discovered In The Jar Of

Ammonia. Now,  If The Prosecutor Will Be So Kind As To Let Me See

That Note--Thank You,  Sir. This Is The Identical Note. You Have

All Heard The Various Theories Of The Jar And Have Read The Note.

Here It Is In Plain,  Cold Black And White--In Dr. Dixon's Own

Handwriting,  As You Know,  And Reads: 'This Will Cure Your

Headache. Dr. Dixon.'"

 

Alma Willard Seemed As One Paralysed. Was Kennedy,  Who Had Been

Engaged By Her Father To Defend Her Fiance,  About To Convict Him?

 

"Before We Draw The Final Conclusion," Continued Kennedy Gravely,

"There Are One Or Two Points I Wish To Elaborate. Walter,  Will You

Open That Door Into The Main Hall?"

 

I Did So,  And Two Policemen Stepped In With A Prisoner. It Was

Thurston,  But Changed Almost Beyond Recognition. His Clothes Were

Worn,  His Beard Shaved Off,  And He Had A Generally Hunted

Appearance.

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 8

 

Thurston Was Visibly Nervous. Apparently He Had Heard All That

Kennedy Had Said And Intended He Should Hear,  For As He Entered He

Almost Broke Away From The Police Officers In His Eagerness To

Speak.

 

"Before God," He Cried Dramatically,  "I Am As Innocent As You Are

Of This Crime,  Professor Kennedy."

 

"Are You Prepared To Swear Before Me," Almost Shouted Kennedy,  His

Eyes Blazing,  "That You Were Never Served Properly By Your Wife's

Lawyers In That Suit?"

 

The Man Cringed Back As If A Stinging Blow Had Been Delivered

Between His Eyes. As He Met Craig's Fixed Glare He Knew There Was

No Hope. Slowly,  As If The Words Were Being Wrung From Him

Syllable By Syllable,  He Said In A Muffled Voice:

 

"No,  I Perjured Myself. I Was Served In That Suit. But--"

 

"And You Swore Falsely Before Kimmel That You Were Not?" Persisted

Kennedy.

 

"Yes," He Murmured. "But--"

 

"And You Are Prepared Now To Make Another Affidavit To That

Effect?"

 

"Yes," He Replied. "If--"

 

"No Buts Or Ifs,  Thurston," Cried Kennedy Sarcastically. "What Did

You Make That Affidavit For? What Is Your Story?"

 

"Kimmel Sent For Me. I Did Not Go To Him. He Offered To Pay My

Debts If I Would Swear To Such A Statement. I Did Not Ask Why Or

For Whom. I Swore To It And Gave Him A List Of My Creditors. I

Waited Until They Were Paid. Then My Conscience"--I Could Not Help

Revolting At The Thought Of Conscience In Such A Wretch,  And The

Word Itself Seemed To Stick In His Throat As He Went On And Saw

How Feeble An Impression He Was Making On Us--"My Conscience Began

To Trouble Me. I Determined To See Vera,  Tell Her All,  And Find

Out Whether It Was She Who Wanted This Statement. I Saw Her. When

At Last I Told Her,  She Scorned Me. I Can Confirm That,  For As I

Left A Man Entered. I Now Knew How Grossly I Had Sinned,  In

Listening To Mose Kimmel. I Fled. I Disappeared In Maine. I

Travelled. Every Day My Money Grew Less. At Last I Was Overtaken,

Captured,  And Brought Back Here."

 

He Stopped And Sank Wretchedly Down In A Chair And Covered His

Face With His Hands.

 

"A Likely Story," Muttered Leland In My Ear.

 

Kennedy Was Working Quickly. Motioning The Officers To Be Seated

By Thurston,  He Uncovered A Jar Which He Had Placed On The Table.

The Colour Had Now Appeared In Alma's Cheeks,  As If Hope Had Again

Sprung In Her Heart,  And I Fancied That Halsey Post Saw His Claim

On Her Favour Declining Correspondingly.

 

"I Want You To Examine The Letters In This Case With Me,"

Continued Kennedy. "Take The Letter Which I Read From Miss Lytton,

Which Was Found Following The Strange Disappearance Of The Note

From Thurston."

 

He Dipped A Pen Into A Little Bottle,  And Wrote On A Piece Of

Paper:

 

What Is Your Opinion About Cross's Headache Cure? Would You

Recommend It For A Nervous Headache?

Burgess Thurston,  C/O Mrs. S. Boncour.

 

Craig Held Up The Writing So That We Could All See That He Had

Written What Dixon Declared Thurston Wrote In The Note That Had

Disappeared. Then He Dipped Another Pen Into A Second Bottle,  And

For Some Time He Scrawled On Another Sheet Of Paper. He Held It

Up,  But It Was Still Perfectly Blank.

 

"Now," He Added,  "I Am Going To Give A Little Demonstration Which

I Expect To Be Successful Only In A Measure. Here In The Open

Sunshine By This Window I Am Going To Place These Two Sheets Of

Paper Side By Side. It Will Take Longer Than I Care To Wait To

Make My Demonstration Complete,  But I Can Do Enough To Convince

You."

 

For A Quarter Of An Hour We Sat In Silence,  Wondering What He

Would Do Next. At Last He Beckoned Us Over To The Window. As We

Approached He Said,  "On Sheet Number One I Have Written With

Quinoline; On Sheet Number Two I Wrote With A Solution Of Nitrate

Of Silver."

 

We Bent Over. The Writing Signed "Thurston" On Sheet Number One

Was Faint,  Almost Imperceptible,  But On Paper Number Two,  In Black

Letters,  Appeared What Kennedy Had Written: "Dear Harris: Since We

Agreed To Disagree We Have At Least Been Good Friends."

 

"It Is Like The Start Of The Substituted Letter,  And The Other Is

Like The Missing Note," Gasped Leland In A Daze.

 

"Yes," Said Kennedy Quickly. "Leland,  No One Entered Your Office.

No One Stole The Thurston Note. No One Substituted The Lytton

Letter. According To Your Own Story,  You Took Them Out Of The Safe

And Left Them In The Sunlight All Day. The Process That Had Been

Started Earlier In Ordinary Light,  Slowly,  Was Now Quickly

Completed. In Other Words,  There Was Writing Which Would Soon Fade

Away On One Side Of The Paper And Writing Which Was Invisible But

Would Soon Appear On The Other.

 

"For Instance,  Quinoline Rapidly Disappears In Sunlight. Starch

With A Slight Trace Of Iodine Writes A Light Blue,  Which

Disappears In Air. It Was Something Like That Used In The Thurston

Letter. Then,  Too,  Silver Nitrate Dissolved In Ammonia Gradually

Turns Black As It Is Acted On By Light And Air. Or Magenta Treated

With A Bleaching-Agent In Just Sufficient Quantity To Decolourise

It Is Invisible When Used For Writing. But The Original Colour

Reappears As The Oxygen Of The Air Acts Upon The Pigment. I

Haven't A Doubt But That My Analyses Of The Inks Are Correct And

On One Side Quinoline Was Used And On The Other Nitrate Of Silver.

This Explains The Inexplicable Disappearance Of Evidence

Incriminating One Person,  Thurston,  And The Sudden Appearance Of

Evidence Incriminating Another,  Dr. Dixon. Sympathetic Ink Also

Accounts For The Curious Circumstance That The Lytton Letter Was

Folded Up With The Writing Apparently Outside. It Was Outside And

Unseen Until The Sunlight Brought It Out And Destroyed The Other,

Inside,  Writing--A Change,  I Suspect,  That Was Intended For The

Police To See After It Was Completed,  Not For The Defence To

Witness As It Was Taking Place."

 

We Looked At Each Other Aghast. Thurston Was Nervously Opening And

Shutting His Lips And Moistening Them As If He Wanted To Say

Something But Could Not Find The Words.

 

"Lastly," Went On Craig,  Utterly Regardless Of Thurston's Frantic

Efforts To Speak,  "We Come To The Note That Was Discovered So

Queerly Crumpled Up In The Jar Of Ammonia On Vera Lytton's

Dressing-Table. I Have Here A Cylindrical Glass Jar In Which I

Place Some Sal-Ammoniac And Quicklime. I Will Wet It And Heat It A

Little. That Produces The Pungent Gas Of Ammonia.

 

"On One Side Of This Third Piece Of Paper I Myself Write With This

Mercurous Nitrate Solution. You See,  I Leave No Mark On The Paper

As I Write. I Fold It Up And Drop It Into The Jar-And In A Few

Seconds Withdraw It. Here Is A Very Quick Way Of Producing

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 9

Something Like The Slow Result Of Sunlight With Silver Nitrate.

The Fumes Of Ammonia Have Formed The Precipitate Of Black

Mercurous Nitrate,  A Very Distinct Black Writing Which Is Almost

Indelible. That Is What Is Technically Called Invisible Rather

Than Sympathetic Ink."

 

We Leaned Over To Read What He Had Written. It Was The Same As The

Note Incriminating Dixon:

 

     This Will Cure Your Headache.

 

     Dr. Dixon.

 

A Servant Entered With A Telegram From New York. Scarcely Stopping

In His Exposure,  Kennedy Tore It Open,  Read It Hastily,  Stuffed It

Into His Pocket,  And Went On.

 

"Here In This Fourth Bottle I Have An Acid Solution Of Iron

Chloride,  Diluted Until The Writing Is Invisible When Dry," He

Hurried On. "I Will Just Make A Few Scratches On This Fourth Sheet

Of Paper--So. It Leaves No Mark. But It Has The Remarkable

Property Of Becoming Red In Vapour Of Sulpho-Cyanide. Here Is A

Long-Necked Flask Of The Gas,  Made By Sulphuric Acid Acting On

Potassium Sulpho-Cyanide. Keep Back,  Dr. Waterworth,  For It Would

Be Very Dangerous For You To Get Even A Whiff Of This In Your

Condition. Ah! See--The Scratches I Made On The Paper Are Red."

 

Then Hardly Giving Us More Than A Moment To Let The Fact Impress

Itself On Our Minds,  He Seized The Piece Of Paper And Dashed It

Into The Jar Of Ammonia. When He Withdrew It,  It Was Just A Plain

Sheet Of White Paper Again. The Red Marks Which The Gas In The

Flask Had Brought Out Of Nothingness Had Been Effaced By The

Ammonia. They Had Gone And Left No Trace.

 

"In This Way I Can Alternately Make The Marks Appear And Disappear

By Using The Sulpho-Cyanide And The Ammonia. Whoever Wrote This

Note With Dr. Dixon's Name On It Must Have Had The Doctor's Reply

To The Thurston Letter Containing The Words,  'This Will Not Cure

Your Headache.' He Carefully Traced The Words,  Holding The Genuine

Note Up To The Light With A Piece Of Paper Over It,  Leaving Out

The Word 'Not' And Using Only Such Words As He Needed. This Note

Was Then Destroyed.

 

"But He Forgot That After He Had Brought Out The Red Writing By

The Use Of The Sulpho-Cyanide,  And Though He Could Count On Vera

Lytton's Placing The Note In The Jar Of Ammonia And Hence

Obliterating The Writing,  While At The Same Time The Invisible

Writing In The Mercurous Nitrate Involving Dr. Dixon's Name Would

Be Brought Out By The Ammonia Indelibly On The Other Side Of The

Note--He Forgot"--Kennedy Was Now Speaking Eagerly And Loudly--

"That The Sulpho-Cyanide Vapours Could Always Be Made To Bring

Back To Accuse Him The Words That The Ammonia Had Blotted Out."

 

Before The Prosecutor Could Interfere,  Kennedy Had Picked Up The

Note Found In The Ammonia-Jar Beside The Dying Girl And Had Jammed

The State's Evidence Into The Long-Necked Flask Of Sulpho-Cyanide

Vapour.

 

"Don't Fear," He Said,  Trying To Pacify The Now Furious

Prosecutor,  "It Will Do Nothing To The Dixon Writing. That Is

Permanent Now,  Even If It Is Only A Tracing."

 

When He Withdrew The Note,  There Was Writing On Both Sides,  The

Black Of The Original Note And Something In Red On The Other Side.

 

We Crowded Around,  And Craig Read It With As Much Interest As Any

Of Us:

 

"Before Taking The Headache-Powder,  Be Sure To Place The Contents

Of This Paper In A Jar With A Little Warm Water."

 

Part 3 Chapter 1 (The Poisoned Pen) Pg 10

"Hum," Commented Craig,  "This Was Apparently Written On The

Outside Wrapper Of A Paper Folded About Some Sal-Ammoniac And

Quicklime. It Goes On:

 

"'Just Drop The Whole Thing In,  Paper And All. Then If You Feel A

Faintness From The Medicine The Ammonia Will Quickly Restore You.

One Spoonful Of The Headache-Powder Swallowed Quickly Is Enough.'"

 

No Name Was Signed To The Directions,  But They Were Plainly

Written,  And "Paper And All" Was Underscored Heavily.

 

Craig Pulled Out Some Letters. "I Have Here Specimens Of Writing

Of Many Persons Connected With This Case,  But I Can See At A

Glance Which One Corresponds To The Writing On This Red Death-

Warrant By An Almost Inhuman Fiend. I Shall,  However,  Leave That

Part Of It To The Handwriting Experts To Determine At The Trial.

Thurston,  Who Was The Man Whom You Saw Enter The Boncour Bungalow

As You Left--The Constant Visitor?"

 

Thurston Had Not Yet Regained His Self-Control,  But With Trembling

Forefinger He Turned And Pointed To Halsey Post.

 

"Yes,  Ladies And Gentlemen," Cried Kennedy As He Slapped The

Telegram That Had Just Come From New York Down On The Table

Decisively,  "Yes,  The Real Client Of Kerr & Kimmel,  Who Bent

Thurston To His Purposes,  Was Halsey Post,  Once Secret Lover Of

Vera Lytton Till Threatened By Scandal In Danbridge--Halsey Post,

Graduate In Technology,  Student Of Sympathetic Inks,  Forger Of The

Vera Lytton Letter And The Other Notes,  And Dealer In Cyanides In

The Silver-Smithing Business,  Fortune-Hunter For The Willard

Millions With Which To Recoup The Post & Vance Losses,  And Hence

Rival Of Dr. Dixon For The Love Of Alma Willard. That Is The Man

Who Wielded The Poisoned Pen. Dr. Dixon Is Innocent."

 

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 11

 

 

"Hello! Yes,  This Is Professor Kennedy. I Didn't Catch The Name--

Oh,  Yes--President Blake Of The Standard Burglary Insurance

Company. What--Really? The Branford Pearls--Stolen? Maid

Chloroformed? Yes,  I'll Take The Case. You'll Be Up In Half An

Hour? All Right,  I'll Be Here. Goodbye."

 

It Was Through This Brief And Businesslike Conversation Over The

Telephone That Kennedy Became Involved In What Proved To Be One Of

The Most Dangerous Cases He Had Ever Handled.

 

At The Mention Of The Branford Pearls I Involuntarily Stopped

Reading,  And Listened,  Not Because I Wanted To Pry Into Craig's

Affairs,  But Because I Simply Couldn't Help It. This Was News That

Had Not Yet Been Given Out To The Papers,  And My Instinct Told Me

That There Must Be Something More To It Than The Bare Statement Of

The Robbery.

 

"Some One Has Made A Rich Haul," I Commented. "It Was Reported,  I

Remember,  When The Branford Pearls Were Bought In Paris Last Year

That Mrs. Branford Paid Upward Of A Million Francs For The

Collection."

 

"Blake Is Bringing Up His Shrewdest Detective To Co-Operate With

Me In The Case," Added Kennedy. "Blake,  I Understand,  Is The Head

Of The Burglary Insurance Underwriters' Association,  Too. This

Will Be A Big Thing,  Walter,  If We Can Carry It Through."

 

It Was The Longest Half-Hour That I Ever Put In,  Waiting For Blake

To Arrive. When He Did Come,  It Was Quite Evident That My Surmise

Had Been Correct.

 

Blake Was One Of Those Young Old Men Who Are Increasingly Common

In Business Today. There Was An Air Of Dignity And Keenness About

His Manner That Showed Clearly How Important He Regarded The Case.

So Anxious Was He To Get Down To Business That He Barely

Introduced Himself And His Companion,  Special Officer Maloney,  A

Typical Private Detective.

 

"Of Course You Haven't Heard Anything Except What I Have Told You

Over The Wire," He Began,  Going Right To The Point. "We Were

Notified Of It Only This Noon Ourselves,  And We Haven't Given It

Out To The Papers Yet,  Though The Local Police In Jersey Are Now

On The Scene. The New York Police Must Be Notified Tonight,  So

That Whatever We Do Must Be Done Before They Muss Things Up. We've

Got A Clue That We Want To Follow Up Secretly. These Are The

Facts."

 

In The Terse,  Straightforward Language Of The Up-To-Date Man Of

Efficiency,  He Sketched The Situation For Us.

 

"The Branford Estate,  You Know,  Consists Of Several Acres On The

Mountain Back Of Montclair,  Overlooking The Valley,  And Surrounded

By Even Larger Estates. Branford,  I Understand,  Is In The West

With A Party Of Capitalists,  Inspecting A Reported Find Of Potash

Salts. Mrs. Branford Closed Up The House A Few Days Ago And Left

For A Short Stay At Palm Beach. Of Course They Ought To Have Put

Their Valuables In A Safe Deposit Vault. But They Didn't. They

Relied On A Safe That Was Really One Of The Best In The Market--A

Splendid Safe,  I May Say. Well,  It Seems That While The Master And

Mistress Were Both Away The Servants Decided On Having A Good Time

In New York. They Locked Up The House Securely--There's No Doubt

Of That--And Just Went. That Is,  They All Went Except Mrs.

Branford's Maid,  Who Refused To Go For Some Reason Or Other. We've

Got All The Servants,  But There's Not A Clue To Be Had From Any Of

Them. They Just Went Off On A Bust,  That's Clear. They Admit It.

 

"Now,  When They Got Back Early This Morning They Found The Maid In

Bed--Dead. There Was Still A Strong Odor Of Chloroform About The

Room. The Bed Was Disarranged As If There Had Been A Struggle. A

Towel Had Been Wrapped Up In A Sort Of Cone,  Saturated With

Chloroform,  And Forcibly Held Over The Girl's Nose. The Next Thing

They Discovered Was The Safe--Blown Open In A Most Peculiar

Manner. I Won't Dwell On That. We're Going To Take You Out There

And Show It To You After I've Told You The Whole Story.

 

"Here's The Real Point. It Looks All Right,  So Far. The Local

Police Say That The Thief Or Thieves,  Whoever They Were,

Apparently Gained Access By Breaking A Back Window. That's Mistake

Number One. Tell Mr. Kennedy About The Window,  Maloney."

 

"It's Just Simply This," Responded The Detective. "When I Came To

Look At The Broken Window I Found That The Glass Had Fallen

Outside In Such A Way As It Could Not Have Fallen If The Window

Had Been Broken From The Outside. The Thing Was A Blind. Whoever

Did It Got Into The House In Some Other Way And Then Broke The

Glass Later To Give A False Clue."

 

"And," Concluded Blake,  Taking His Cigar Between His Thumb And

Forefinger And Shaking It To Give All Possible Emphasis To His

Words,  "We Have Had Our Agent At Palm Beach On Long-Distance

'Phone Twice This Afternoon. Mrs. Branford Did Not Go To Palm

Beach. She Did Not Engage Rooms In Any Hotel There. And

Furthermore She Never Had Any Intention Of Going There. By A

Fortunate Circumstance Maloney Picked Up A Hint From One Of The

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 12

Servants,  And He Has Located Her At The Grattan Inn In This City.

In Other Words,  Mrs. Branford Has Stolen Her Own Jewels From

Herself In Order To Collect The Burglary Insurance--A Common-

Enough Thing In Itself,  But Never To My Knowledge Done On Such A

Large Scale Before."

 

The Insurance Man Sank Back In His Chair And Surveyed Us Sharply.

 

"But," Interrupted Kennedy Slowly,  "How About--"

 

"I Know--The Maid," Continued Blake. "I Do Not Mean That Mrs.

Branford Did The Actual Stealing. Oh,  No. That Was Done By A

Yeggman Of Experience. He Must Have Been Above The Average,  But

Everything Points To The Work Of A Yeggman. She Hired Him. But He

Overstepped The Mark When He Chloroformed The Maid."

 

For A Moment Kennedy Said Nothing. Then He Remarked: "Let Us Go

Out And See The Safe. There Must Be Some Clue. After That I Want

To Have A Talk With Mrs. Branford. By The Way," He Added,  As We

All Rose To Go Down To Blake's Car,  "I Once Handled A Life

Insurance Case For The Great Eastern. I Made The Condition That I

Was To Handle It In My Own Way,  Whether It Went For Or Against The

Company. That's Understood,  Is It,  Before I Undertake The Case?"

 

"Yes,  Yes," Agreed Blake. "Get At The Truth. We're Not Seeking To

Squirm Out Of Meeting An Honest Liability. Only We Want To Make A

Signal Example If It Is As We Have Every Reason To Believe. There

Has Been Altogether Too Much Of This Sort Of Fake Burglary To

Collect Insurance,  And As President Of The Underwriters It Is My

Duty And Intention To Put A Stop To It. Come On."

 

Maloney Nodded His Head Vigorously In Assent With His Chief.

"Never Fear," He Murmured. "The Truth Is What Will Benefit The

Company,  All Right. She Did It."

 

The Branford Estate Lay Some Distance Back From The Railroad

Station,  So That,  Although It Took Longer To Go By Automobile Than

By Train,  The Car Made Us Independent Of The Rather Fitful Night

Train Service And The Local Cabmen.

 

We Found The House Not Deserted By The Servants,  But Subdued. The

Body Of The Maid Had Been Removed To A Local Morgue,  And A Police

Officer Was Patrolling The Grounds,  Though Of What Use That Could

Be I Was At A Loss To Understand.

 

Kennedy Was Chiefly Interested In The Safe. It Was Of The So-

Called "Burglar-Proof" Variety,  Spherical In Shape,  And Looking

For All The World Like A Miniature Piece Of Electrical Machinery.

 

"I Doubt If Anything Could Have Withstood Such Savage Treatment As

Has Been Given To This Safe," Remarked Craig As He Concluded A

Cursory Examination Of It. "It Shows Great Resistance To High

Explosives,  Chiefly,  I Believe,  As A Result Of Its Rounded Shape.

But Nothing Could Stand Up Against Such Continued Assaults."

 

He Continued To Examine The Safe While We Stood Idly By. "I Like

To Reconstruct My Cases In My Own Mind," Explained Kennedy,  As He

Took His Time In The Examination. "Now,  This Fellow Must Have

Stripped The Safe Of All The Outer Trimmings. His Next Move Was To

Make A Dent In The Manganese Surface Across The Joint Where The

Door Fits The Body. That Must Have Taken A Good Many Minutes Of

Husky Work. In Fact,  I Don't See How He Could Have Done It Without

A Sledge-Hammer And A Hot Chisel. Still,  He Did It And Then--"

 

"But The Maid," Interposed Maloney. "She Was In The House. She

Would Have Heard And Given An Alarm."

 

For Answer,  Craig Simply Went To A Bay-Window And Raised The

Curtain. Pointing To The Lights Of The Next House,  Far Down The

Road,  He Said,  "I'll Buy The Best Cigars In The State If You Can

Make Them Hear You On A Blustery Night Like Last Night. No,  She

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 13

Probably Did Scream. Either At This Point,  Or At The Very Start,

The Burglar Must Have Chloroformed Her. I Don't See Any Other Way

To Explain It. I Doubt If He Expected Such A Tough Proposition As

He Found In This Safe,  But He Was Evidently Prepared To Carry It

Through,  Now That He Was Here And Had Such An Unexpectedly Clear

Field,  Except For The Maid. He Simply Got Her Out Of The Way,  Or

His Confederates Did--In The Easiest Possible Way,  Poor Girl."

 

Returning To The Safe,  He Continued: "Well,  Anyhow,  He Made A

Furrow Perhaps An Inch And A Half Long And A Quarter Of An Inch

Wide And,  I Should Say,  Not Over An Eighth Of An Inch Deep. Then

He Commenced To Burgle In Earnest. Under The Dent He Made A Sort

Of Little Cup Of Red Clay And Poured In The 'Soup'--The

Nitroglycerin--So That It Would Run Into The Depression. Then He

Exploded It In The Regular Way With A Battery And A Fulminate Cap.

I Doubt If It Did Much More Than Discolour The Metal At First.

Still,  With The True Persistency Of His Kind,  He Probably Repeated

The Dose,  Using More And More Of The 'Soup' Until The Joint Was

Stretched A Little,  And More Of An Opening Made So That The 'Soup'

Could Run In.

 

"Again And Again He Must Have Repeated And Increased The Charges.

Perhaps He Used Two Or Three Cups At A Time. By This Time The

Outer Door Must Have Been Stretched So As To Make It Easy To

Introduce The Explosive. No Doubt He Was Able To Use Ten Or Twelve

Ounces Of The Stuff At A Charge. It Must Have Been More Like

Target-Practice Than Safe-Blowing. But The Chance Doesn't Often

Come--An Empty House And Plenty Of Time. Finally The Door Must

Have Bulged A Fraction Of An Inch Or So,  And Then A Good Big

Charge And The Outer Portion Was Ripped Off And The Safe Turned

Over. There Was Still Two Or Three Inches Of Manganese Steel

Protecting The Contents,  Wedged In So Tight That It Must Have

Seemed That Nothing Could Budge It. But He Must Have Kept At It

Until We Have The Wreck That We See Here," And Kennedy Kicked The

Safe With His Foot As He Finished.

 

Blake Was All Attention By This Time,  While Maloney Gasped,  "If I

Was In The Safe-Cracking Business,  I'd Make You The Head Of The

Firm."

 

"And Now," Said Craig,  "Let Us Go Back To New York And See If We

Can Find Mrs. Branford."

 

"Of Course You Understand," Explained Blake As We Were Speeding

Back,  "That Most Of These Cases Of Fake Robberies Are Among Small

People,  Many Of Them On The East Side Among Little Jewellers Or

Other Tradesmen. Still,  They Are Not Limited To Any One Class.

Indeed,  It Is Easier To Foil The Insurance Companies When You Sit

In The Midst Of Finery And Wealth,  Protected By A Self-Assuring

Halo Of Moral Rectitude,  Than Under Less Fortunate Circumstances.

Too Often,  I'm Afraid,  We Have Good-Naturedly Admitted The

Unsolved Burglary And Paid The Insurance Claim. That Has Got To

Stop. Here's A Case Where We Considered The Moral Hazard A Safe

One,  And We Are Mistaken. It's The Last Straw."

 

Our Interview With Mrs. Branford Was About As Awkward An

Undertaking As I Have Ever Been Concerned With. Imagine Yourself

Forced To Question A Perfectly Stunning Woman,  Who Was Suspected

Of Plotting So Daring A Deed And Knew That You Suspected Her.

Resentment Was No Name For Her Feelings. She Scorned Us,  Loathed

Us. It Was Only By What Must Have Been The Utmost Exercise Of Her

Remarkable Will-Power That She Restrained Herself From Calling The

Hotel Porters And Having Us Thrown Out Bodily. That Would Have Put

A Bad Face On It,  So She Tolerated Our Presence. Then,  Of Course,

The Insurance Company Had Reserved The Right To Examine Everybody

In The Household,  Under Oath If Necessary,  Before Passing On The

Claim.

 

"This Is An Outrage," She Exclaimed,  Her Eyes Flashing And Her

Breast Rising And Falling With Suppressed Emotion,  "An Outrage.

When My Husband Returns I Intend To Have Him Place The Whole

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 14

Matter In The Hands Of The Best Attorney In The City. Not Only

Will I Have The Full Amount Of The Insurance,  But I Will Have

Damages And Costs And Everything The Law Allows. Spying On My

Every Movement In This Way--It Is An Outrage! One Would Think We

Were In St. Petersburg Instead Of New York."

 

"One Moment,  Mrs. Branford," Put In Kennedy,  As Politely As He

Could. "Suppose--"

 

"Suppose Nothing," She Cried Angrily. "I Shall Explain Nothing,

Say Nothing. What If I Do Choose To Close Up That Lonely Big House

In The Suburbs And Come To The City To Live For A Few Days--Is It

Anybody's Business Except Mine?"

 

"And Your Husband's?" Added Kennedy,  Nettled At Her Treatment Of

Him.

 

She Shot Him A Scornful Glance. "I Suppose Mr. Branford Went Out

To Arizona For The Express Purpose Of Collecting Insurance On My

Jewels," She Added Sarcastically With Eyes That Snapped Fire.

 

"I Was About To Say," Remarked Kennedy As Imperturbably As If He

Were An Automaton,  "That Supposing Some One Took Advantage Of Your

Absence To Rob Your Safe,  Don't You Think The Wisest Course Would

Be To Be Perfectly Frank About It?"

 

"And Give Just One Plausible Reason Why You Wished So Much To Have

It Known That You Were Going To Palm Beach When In Reality You

Were In New York?" Pursued Maloney,  While Kennedy Frowned At His

Tactless Attempt At A Third Degree.

 

If She Had Resented Kennedy,  She Positively Flew Up In The Air And

Commenced To Aviate At Maloney's Questioning. Tossing Her Head,

She Said Icily: "I Do Not Know That You Have Been Appointed My

Guardian,  Sir. Let Us Consider This Interview At An End. Good-

Night," And With That She Swept Out Of The Room,  Ignoring Maloney

And Bestowing One Biting Glance On Blake,  Who Actually Winced,  So

Little Relish Did He Have For This Ticklish Part Of The

Proceedings.

 

I Think We All Felt Like Schoolboys Who Had Been Detected Robbing

A Melon-Patch Or In Some Other Heinous Offence,  As We Slowly Filed

Down The Hall To The Elevator. A Woman Of Mrs. Branford's Stamp So

Readily And Successfully Puts One In The Wrong That I Could Easily

Comprehend Why Blake Wanted To Call On Kennedy For Help In What

Otherwise Seemed A Plain Case.

 

Blake And Maloney Were Some Distance Ahead Of Us,  As Craig Leaned

Over To Me And Whispered. "That Maloney Is Impossible. I'll Have

To Shake Him Loose In Some Way. Either We Handle This Case Alone

Or We Quit."

 

"Right-O," I Agreed Emphatically. "He's Put His Foot In It Badly

At The Very Start. Only,  Be Decent About It,  Craig. The Case Is

Too Big For You To Let It Slip By."

 

"Trust Me,  Walter. I'll Do It Tactfully," He Whispered,  Then To

Blake He Added As We Overtook Them: "Maloney Is Right. The Case Is

Simple Enough,  After All. But We Must Find Out Some Way To Fasten

The Thing More Closely On Mrs. Branford. Let Me Think Out A Scheme

To-Night. I'll See You Tomorrow."

 

As Blake And Maloney Disappeared Down The Street In The Car,

Kennedy Wheeled About And Walked Deliberately Back Into The

Grattan Inn Again. It Was Quite Late. People Were Coming In From

The Theatres,  Laughing And Chatting Gaily. Kennedy Selected A

Table That Commanded A View Of The Parlour As Well As Of The

Dining-Room Itself.

 

"She Was Dressed To Receive Some One--Did You Notice?" He Remarked

As We Sat Down And Cast Our Eyes Over The Dizzy Array Of Inedibles

On The Card Before Us. "I Think It Is Worth Waiting A While To See

Who It Is."

 

Having Ordered What I Did Not Want,  I Glanced About Until My Eye

Rested On A Large Pier-Glass At The Other End Of The Dining-Room.

 

"Craig," I Whispered Excitedly,  "Mrs. B. Is In The Writing-Room--I

Can See Her In That Glass At The End Of The Room,  Behind You."

 

"Get Up And Change Places With Me As Quietly As You Can,  Walter,"

He Said Quickly. "I Want To See Her When She Can't See Me."

 

Kennedy Was Staring In Rapt Attention At The Mirror. "There's A

Man With Her,  Walter," He Said Under His Breath. "He Came In While

We Were Changing Places--A Fine-Looking Chap. By Jove,  I've Seen

Him Before Somewhere. His Face And His Manner Are Familiar To Me.

But I Simply Can't Place Him. Did You See Her Wraps In The Chair?

No? Well,  He's Helping Her On With Them. They're Going Out.

Garcon,  L'addition--Vite"

 

We Were Too Late,  However,  For Just As We Reached The Door We

Caught A Fleeting Glimpse Of A Huge New Limousine.

 

"Who Was That Man Who Just Went Out With The Lady?" Asked Craig Of

The Negro Who Turned The Revolving-Door At The Carriage Entrance.

 

"Jack Delarue,  Sah--In 'The Grass Widower,' Sah," Replied The

Doorman. "Yes,  Sah,  He Stays Here Once In A While. Thank You,

Sah," As Kennedy Dropped A Quarter Into The Man's Hand.

 

"That Complicates Things Considerably," He Mused As We Walked

Slowly Down To The Subway Station. "Jack Delarue--I Wonder If He

Is Mixed Up In This Thing Also."

 

"I've Heard That 'The Grass Widower' Isn't Such A Howling Success

As A Money-Maker," I Volunteered. "Delarue Has A Host Of

Creditors,  No Doubt. By The Way,  Craig," I Exclaimed,  "Don't You

Think It Would Be A Good Plan To Drop Down And See O'connor? The

Police Will Have To Be Informed In A Few Hours Now,  Anyhow. Maybe

Delarue Has A Criminal Record."

 

"A Good Idea,  Walter," Agreed Craig,  Turning Into A Drug-Store

Which Had A Telephone Booth. "I'll Just Call O'connor Up,  And

We'll See If He Does Know Anything About It."

 

O'connor Was Not At Headquarters,  But We Finally Found Him At His

Home,  And It Was Well Into The Small Hours When We Arrived There.

Trusting To The First Deputy's Honour,  Which Had Stood Many A

Test,  Craig Began To Unfold The Story. He Had Scarcely Got As Far

As Describing The Work Of The Suspected Hired Yeggman,  When

O'connor Raised Both Hands And Brought Them Down Hard On The Arms

Of His Chair.

 

"Say," He Ejaculated,  "That Explains It!"

 

"What?" We Asked In Chorus.

 

"Why,  One Of My Best Stool-Pigeons Told Me To-Day That There Was

Something Doing At A House In The Chatham Square District That We

Have Been Watching For A Long Time. It's Full Of Crooks,  And To-

Day They've All Been As Drunk As Lords,  A Sure Sign Some One Has

Made A Haul And Been Generous With The Rest,  And One Or Two Of The

Professional 'Fences' Have Been Acting Suspiciously,  Too. Oh,  That

Explains It All Right."

 

I Looked At Craig As Much As To Say,  "I Told You So," But He Was

Engrossed In What O'connor Was Saying.

 

"You Know," Continued The Police Officer,  "There Is One Particular

'Fence' Who Runs His Business Under The Guise Of A Loan-Shark's

Office. He Probably Has A Wider Acquaintance Among The Big

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 15

Criminals Than Any Other Man In The City. From Him Crooks Can

Obtain Anything From A Jimmy To A Safe-Cracking Outfit. I Know

That This Man Has Been Trying To Dispose Of Some Unmounted Pearls

To-Day Among Jewellers In Maiden Lane. I'll Bet He Has Been

Disposing Of Some Of The Branford Pearls,  One By One. I'll Follow

That Up. I'll Arrest This 'Fence' And Hold Him Till He Tells Me

What Yeggman Came To Him With The Pearls."

 

"And If You Find Out,  Will You Go With Me To That House Near

Chatham Square,  Providing It Was Some One In That Gang?" Asked

Craig Eagerly.

 

O'connor Shook His Head. "I'd Better Keep Out Of It. They Know Me

Too Well. Go Alone. I'll Get That Stool-Pigeon--The Gay Cat Is His

Name--To Go With You. I'll Help You In Any Way. I'll Have Any

Number Of Plain-Clothes Men You Want Ready To Raid The Place The

Moment You Get The Evidence. But You'll Never Get Any Evidence If

They Know I'm In The Neighbourhood."

 

The Next Morning Craig Scarcely Ate Any Breakfast Himself And Made

Me Bolt My Food Most Unceremoniously. We Were Out In Montclair

Again Before The Commuters Had Started To Go To New York,  And That

In Spite Of The Fact That We Had Stopped At His Laboratory On The

Way And Had Got A Package Which He Carried Carefully.

 

Kennedy Instituted A Most Thorough Search Of The House From Cellar

To Attic In Daylight. What He Expected To Find,  I Did Not Know,

But I Am Quite Sure Nothing Escaped Him.

 

"Now,  Walter," He Said After He Had Ransacked The House,  "There

Remains Just One Place. Here Is This Little Wall Safe In Mrs.

Branford's Room. We Must Open It."

 

For An Hour If Not Longer He Worked Over The Combination,

Listening To The Fall Of The Tumblers In The Lock. It Was A Simple

Little Thing And One Of The Old-Timers In The Industry Would No

Doubt Have Opened It In Short Order. The Perspiration Stood Out On

His Forehead,  So Intent Was He In Working The Thing. At Last It

Yielded. Except For Some Of The Family Silver,  The Safe Was Empty.

 

Carefully Noting How The Light Shone On The Wall Safe,  Craig

Unwrapped The Package He Had Brought And Disclosed A Camera. He

Placed It On A Writing-Desk Opposite The Safe,  In Such A Way That

It Was Not At All Conspicuous,  And Focused It On The Safe.

 

"This Is A Camera With A Newly-Invented Between-Lens Shutter Of

Great Illumination And Efficiency," He Explained. "It Has Always

Been Practically Impossible To Get Such Pictures,  But This New

Shutter Has So Much Greater Speed Than Anything Ever Invented

Before That It Is Possible To Use It In Detective Work. I'll Just

Run These Fine Wires Like A Burglar Alarm,  Only Instead Of Having

An Alarm I'll Attach Them To The Camera So That We Can Get A

Picture. I've Proved Its Speed Up To One Two-Thousandth Of A

Second. It May Or It May Not Work. If It Does We'll Catch

Somebody,  Right In The Act."

 

About Noon We Went Down To Liberty Street,  Home Of Burglary

Insurance. I Don't Think Blake Liked It Very Much Because Kennedy

Insisted On Playing The Lone Hand,  But He Said Nothing,  For It Was

Part Of The Agreement. Maloney Seemed Rather Glad Than Otherwise.

He Had Been Combing Out Some Tangled Clues Of His Own About Mrs.

Branford. Still,  Kennedy Smoothed Things Over By Complimenting The

Detective On His Activity,  And Indeed He Had Shown Remarkable

Ability In The First Place In Locating Mrs. Branford.

 

"I Started Out With The Assumption That The Branfords Must Have

Needed Money For Some Reason Or Other," Said Maloney. "So I Went

To The Commercial Agencies To-Day And Looked Up Branford. I Can't

Say He Has Been Prosperous; Nobody Has Been In Wall Street These

Days,  And That's Just The Thing That Causes An Increase In Fake

Burglaries. Then There Is Another Possibility," He Continued

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 16

Triumphantly. "I Had A Man Up At The Grattan Inn,  And He Reports

To Me That Mrs. Stanford Was Seen With The Actor Jack Delarue Last

Night,  I Imagine They Quarrelled,  For She Returned Alone,  Much

Agitated,  In A Taxi-Cab. Any Way You Look At It,  The Clues Are

Promising--Whether She Needed Money For Branford's Speculations Or

For The Financing Of That Rake Delarue."

 

Maloney Regarded Craig With The Air Of An Expert Who Could Afford

To Patronise A Good Amateur--But After All An Amateur. Kennedy

Said Nothing,  And Of Course I Took The Cue.

 

"Yes," Agreed Blake,  "You See,  Our Original Hypothesis Was A

Pretty Good One. Meanwhile,  Of Course,  The Police Are Floundering

Around In A Bog Of False Scents."

 

"It Would Make Our Case A Good Deal Stronger," Remarked Kennedy

Quietly,  "If We Could Discover Some Of The Stolen Jewellery Hidden

Somewhere By Mrs. Branford Herself." He Said Nothing Of His Own

Unsuccessful Search Through The House,  But Continued: "What Do You

Suppose She Has Done With The Jewels? She Must Have Put Them

Somewhere Before She Got The Yeggman To Break The Safe. She'd

Hardly Trust Them In His Hands. But She Might Have Been Foolish

Enough For That. Of Course It's Another Possibility That He Really

Got Away With Them. I Doubt If She Has Them At Grattan Inn,  Or

Even If She Would Personally Put Them In A Safe Deposit Vault.

Perhaps Delarue Figures In That End Of It. We Must Let No Stone Go

Unturned."

 

"That's Right," Meditated Maloney,  Apparently Turning Something

Over In His Mind As If It Were A New Idea. "If We Only Had Some

Evidence,  Even Part Of The Jewels That She Had Hidden,  It Would

Clinch The Case. That's A Good Idea,  Kennedy."

 

Craig Said Nothing,  But I Could See,  Or Fancied I Saw,  That He Was

Gratified At The Thought That He Had Started Maloney Off On

Another Trail,  Leaving Us To Follow Ours Unhampered. The Interview

With Blake Was Soon Over,  And As We Left I Looked Inquiringly At

Craig.

 

"I Want To See Mrs. Branford Again," He Said. "I Think We Can Do

Better Alone Today Than We Did Last Night."

 

I Must Say I Half Expected That She Would Refuse To See Us And Was

Quite Surprised When The Page Returned With The Request That We Go

Up To Her Suite. It Was Evident That Her Attitude Toward Us Was

Very Different From That Of The First Interview. Whether She Was

Ruffled By The Official Presence Of Blake Or The Officious

Presence Of Maloney,  She Was At Least Politely Tolerant Of Us. Or

Was It That She At Last Began To Realise That The Toils Were

Closing About Her And That Things Began To Look Unmistakably

Black?

 

Kennedy Was Quick To See His Advantage. "Mrs. Branford," He Began,

"Since Last Night I Have Come Into The Possession Of Some Facts

That Are Very Important. I Have Heard That Several Loose Pearls

Which May Or May Not Be Yours Have Been Offered For Sale By A Man

On The Bowery Who Is What The Yeggmen Call A 'Fence.'"

 

"Yeggmen--'Fence'?" She Repeated. "Mr. Kennedy,  Really I Do Not

Care To Discuss The Pearls Any Longer. It Is Immaterial To Me What

Becomes Of Them. My First Desire Is To Collect The Insurance. If

Anything Is Recovered I Am Quite Willing To Deduct That Amount

From The Total. But I Must Insist On The Full Insurance Or The

Return Of The Pearls. As Soon As Mr. Branford Arrives I Shall Take

Other Steps To Secure Redress."

 

A Boy Rapped At The Door And Brought In A Telegram Which She Tore

Open Nervously. "He Will Be Here In Four Days," She Said,  Tearing

The Telegram Petulantly,  And Not At All As If She Were Glad To

Receive It. "Is There Anything Else That You Wish To Say?"

 

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 17

She Was Tapping Her Foot On The Rug As If Anxious To Conclude The

Interview. Kennedy Leaned Forward Earnestly And Played His Trump

Card Boldly.

 

"Do You Remember That Scene In 'The Grass Widower,'" He Said

Slowly,  "Where Jack Delarue Meets His Runaway Wife At The

Masquerade Ball?"

 

She Coloured Slightly,  But Instantly Regained Her Composure.

"Vaguely," She Murmured,  Toying With The Flowers In Her Dress.

 

"In Real Life," Said Kennedy,  His Voice Purposely Betraying That

He Meant It To Have A Personal Application,  "Husbands Do Not

Forgive Even Rumours Of--Ah--Shall We Say Affinities?--Much Less

The Fact."

 

"In Real Life," She Replied,  "Wives Do Not Have Affinities As

Often As Some Newspapers And Plays Would Have Us Believe." "I Saw

Delarue After The Performance Last Night," Went On Kennedy

Inexorably. "I Was Not Seen,  But I Saw,  And He Was With----"

 

She Was Pacing The Room Now In Unsuppressed Excitement. "Will You

Never Stop Spying On Me?" She Cried. "Must My Every Act Be Watched

And Misrepresented? I Suppose A Distorted Version Of The Facts

Will Be Given To My Husband. Have You No Chivalry,  Or Justice,  Or-

-Or Mercy?" She Pleaded,  Stopping In Front Of Kennedy.

 

"Mrs. Branford," He Replied Coldly,  "I Cannot Promise What I Shall

Do. My Duty Is Simply To Get At The Truth About The Pearls. If It

Involves Some Other Person,  It Is Still My Duty To Get At The

Truth. Why Not Tell Me All That You Really Know About The Pearls

And Trust Me To Bring It Out All Right?"

 

She Faced Him,  Pale And Haggard. "I Have Told," She Repeated

Steadily. "I Cannot Tell Any More--I Know Nothing More."

 

Was She Lying? I Was Not Expert Enough In Feminine Psychology To

Judge,  But Down In My Heart I Knew That The Woman Was Hiding

Something Behind That Forced Steadiness. What Was It She Was

Battling For? We Had Reached An Impasse.

 

It Was After Dinner When I Met Craig At The Laboratory. He Had

Made A Trip To Montclair Again,  Where His Stay Had Been Protracted

Because Maloney Was There And He Wished To Avoid Him. He Had

Brought Back The Camera,  And Had Had Another Talk With O'connor,

At Which He Had Mapped Out A Plan Of Battle.

 

"We Are To Meet The Gay Cat At The City Hall At Nine O'clock,"

Explained Craig Laconically. "We Are Going To Visit A Haunt Of

Yeggmen,  Walter,  That Few Outsiders Have Ever Seen. Are You Game?

O'connor And His Men Will Be Close By--Hiding,  Of Course."

 

"I Suppose So," I Replied Slowly. "But What Excuse Are You Going

To Have For Getting Into This Yegg-Resort?"

 

"Simply That We Are Two Newspaper Men Looking For An Article,

Without Names,  Dates,  Or Places--Just A Good Story Of Yeggmen And

Tramps. I've Got A Little--Well,  We'll Call It A Little Camera

Outfit That I'm Going To Sling Over My Shoulder. You Are The

Reporter,  Remember,  And I'm The Newspaper Photographer. They Won't

Pose For Us,  Of Course,  But That Will Be All Right. Speaking About

Photographs,  I Got One Out At Montclair That Is Interesting. I'll

Show It To You Later In The Evening--And In Case Anything Should

Happen To Me,  Walter,  You'll Find The Original Plate Locked Here

In The Top Drawer Of My Desk. I Guess We'd Better Be Getting

Downtown."

 

The House To Which We Were Guided By The Gay Cat Was On A Cross

Street Within A Block Or Two Of Chatham Square. If We Had Passed

It Casually In The Daytime There Would Have Been Nothing To

Distinguish It Above The Other Ramshackle Buildings On The Street,

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 18

Except That The Other Houses Were Cluttered With Children And

Baby-Carriages,  While This One Was Vacant,  The Front Door Closed,

And The Blinds Tightly Drawn. As We Approached,  A Furtive Figure

Shambled From The Basement Areaway And Slunk Off Into The Crowd

For The Night's Business Of Pocket-Picking Or Second-Story Work.

 

I Had Had Misgivings As To Whether We Would Be Admitted At All--I

Might Almost Say Hopes--But The Gay Cat Succeeded In Getting A

Ready Response At The Basement Door. The House Itself Was The

Dilapidated Ruin Of What Had Once Been A Fashionable Residence In

The Days When Society Lived In The Then Suburban Bowery. The Iron

Handrail On The Steps Was Still Graceful,  Though Rusted And

Insecure. The Stones Of The Steps Were Decayed And Eaten Away By

Time,  And The Front Door Was Never Opened.

 

As We Entered The Low Basement Door,  I Felt That Those Who Entered

Here Did Indeed Abandon Hope. Inside,  The Evidences Of The Past

Grandeur Were Still More Striking. What Had Once Been A Drawing-

Room Was Now The General Assembly Room Of The Resort. Broken-Down

Chairs Lined The Walls,  And The Floor Was Generously Sprinkled

With Sawdust. A Huge Pot-Bellied Stove Occupied The Centre Of The

Room,  And By It Stood A Box Of Sawdust Plentifully Discoloured

With Tobacco-Juice.

 

Three Or Four Of The "Guests"--There Was No "Register" In This

Yeggman's Hotel--Were Seated About The Stove Discussing Something

In A Language That Was English,  To Be Sure,  But Of A Variation

That Only A Yegg Could Understand. I Noted The Once Handsome White

Marble Mantel,  Now Stained By Age,  Standing Above The Unused

Grate. Double Folding-Doors Led To What,  I Imagine,  Was Once A

Library. Dirt And Grime Indescribable Were Everywhere. There Was

The Smell Of Old Clothes And Old Cooking,  The Race Odours Of Every

Nationality Known To The Metropolis. I Recalled A Night I Once

Spent In A Bowery Lodging-House For "Local Colour." Only This Was

Infinitely Worse. No Law Regulated This House. There Was An

Atmosphere Of Cheerlessness That A Half-Blackened Welsbach Mantle

Turned Into Positive Ghastliness.

 

Our Guide Introduced Us. There Was A Dead Silence As Eight Eyes

Were Craftily Fixed On Us,  Sizing Us Up. What Should I Say? Craig

Came To The Rescue. To Him The Adventure Was A Lark. It Was Novel,

And That Was Merit Enough.

 

"Ask About The Slang," He Suggested. "That Makes A Picturesque

Story."

 

It Seemed To Me Innocuous Enough,  So I Engaged In Conversation

With A Man Whom The Gay Cat Had Introduced As The Proprietor. Much

Of The Slang I Already Knew By Hearsay,  Such As "Bulls" For

Policemen,  A "Mouthpiece" For A Lawyer To Defend One When He Is

"Ditched" Or Arrested; In Fact,  As I Busily Scribbled Away I Must

Have Collected A Lexicon Of A Hundred Words Or So For Future

Reference.

 

"And Names?" I Queried. "You Have Some Queer Nicknames."

 

"Oh,  Yes," Replied The Man. "Now Here's The Gay Cat--That's What

We Call A Fellow Who Is The Finder,  Who Enters A Town Ahead Of The

Gang. Then There's Chi Fat--That Means He's From Chicago And Fat.

And Pitts Slim--He's From Pittsburgh And--"

 

"Aw,  Cut It," Broke In One Of The Others. "Pitts Slim'll Be Here

To-Night. He'll Give You The Devil If He Hears You Talking To

Reporters About Him."

 

The Proprietor Began To Talk Of Less Dangerous Subjects. Craig

Succeeded In Drawing Out From Him The Yegg Recipe For Making

"Soup." "It's Here In This Cipher," Said The Man,  Drawing Out A

Dirty Piece Of Paper. "It's Well Known,  And You Can Have This.

Here's The Key. It Was Written By 'Deafy' Smith,  And The Police

Pinched It."

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 19

 

Craig Busily Translated The Curious Document:

 

Take Ten Or A Dozen Sticks Of Dynamite,  Crumble It Up Fine,  And

Put It In A Pan Or Washbowl,  Then Pour Over It Enough Alcohol,

Wood Or Pure,  To Cover It Well. Stir It Up Well With Your Hands,

Being Careful To Break All The Lumps. Leave It Set For A Few

Minutes. Then Get A Few Yards Of Cheesecloth And Tear It Up In

Pieces And Strain The Mixture Through The Cloth Into Another

Vessel. Wring The Sawdust Dry And Throw It Away. The Remains Will

Be The Soup And Alcohol Mixed. Next Take The Same Amount Of Water

As You Used Of Alcohol And Pour It In. Leave The Whole Set For A

Few Minutes.

 

"Very Interesting," Commented Craig. "Safeblowing In One Lesson By

Correspondence School. The Rest Of This Tells How To Attack

Various Makes,  Doesn't It?"

 

Just Then A Thin Man In A Huge,  Worn Ulster Came Stamping Upstairs

From The Basement,  His Collar Up And His Hat Down Over His Eyes.

There Was Something Indefinably Familiar About Him,  But As His

Face And Figure Were So Well Concealed,  I Could Not Tell Just Why

I Thought So.

 

Catching A Glimpse Of Us,  He Beat A Retreat Across The Opposite

End Of The Room,  Beckoning To The Proprietor,  Who Joined Him

Outside The Door. I Thought I Heard Him Ask: "Who Are Those Men?

Who Let Them In?" But I Could Not Catch The Reply.

 

One By One The Other Occupants Of The Room Rose And Sidled Out,

Leaving Us Alone With The Gay Cat. Kennedy Reached Over To Get A

Cigarette From My Case And Light It From One That I Was Smoking.

 

"That's Our Man,  I Think," He Whispered--"Pitts Slim."

 

I Said Nothing,  But I Would Have Been Willing To Part With A Large

Section Of My Bank-Account To Be Up On The Chatham Square Station

Of The Elevated Just Then.

 

There Was A Rush From The Half-Open Door Behind Us. Suddenly

Everything Turned Black Before Me; My Eyes Swam; I Felt A Stinging

Sensation On My Head And A Weak Feeling About The Stomach; I Sank

Half-Conscious To The Floor. All Was Blank,  But,  Dimly,  I Seemed

To Be Dragged And Dropped Down Hard.

 

How Long I Lay There I Don't Know. Kennedy Says It Was Not Over

Five Minutes. It May Have Been So,  But To Me It Seemed An Age.

When I Opened My Eyes I Was Lying On My Back On A Very Dirty Sofa

In Another Room. Kennedy Was Bending Over Me With Blood Streaming

From A Long Deep Gash On His Head. Another Figure Was Groaning In

The Semi-Darkness Opposite; It Was The Gay Cat.

 

"They Blackjacked Us," Whispered Kennedy To Me As I Staggered To

My Feet. "Then They Dragged Us Through A Secret Passage Into

Another House. How Do You Feel?"

 

"All Right," I Answered,  Bracing Myself Against A Chair,  For I Was

Weak From The Loss Of Blood,  And Dizzy. I Was Sore In Every Joint

And Muscle. I Looked About,  Only Half Comprehending. Then My

Recollection Flooded Back With A Rush. We Had Been Locked In

Another Room After The Attack,  And Left To Be Dealt With Later. I

Felt In My Pocket. I Had Left My Watch At The Laboratory,  But Even

The Dollar Watch I Had Taken And The Small Sum Of Money In My

Pocketbook Were Gone.

 

Kennedy Still Had His Camera Slung Over His Shoulder,  Where He Had

Fastened It Securely.

 

Here We Were,  Imprisoned,  While Pitts Slim,  The Man We Had Come

After,  Whoever He Was,  Was Making His Escape. Somewhere Across The

Street Was O'connor,  Waiting In A Room As We Had Agreed. There Was

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 20

Only One Window In Our Room,  And It Opened On A Miserable Little

Dumbwaiter Air-Shaft. It Would Be Hours Yet Before His Suspicions

Would Be Aroused And He Would Discover Which Of The Houses We Were

Held In. Meanwhile What Might Not Happen To Us?

 

Kennedy Calmly Set Up His Tripod. One Leg Had Been Broken In The

Rough-House,  But He Tied It Together With His Handkerchief,  Now

Wet With Blood. I Wondered How He Could Think Of Taking A Picture.

His Very Deliberation Set Me Fretting And Fuming,  And I Swore At

Him Under My Breath. Still,  He Worked Calmly Ahead. I Saw Him Take

The Black Box And Set It On The Tripod. It Was Indistinct In The

Darkness. It Looked Like A Camera,  And Yet It Had Some Attachment

At The Side That Was Queer,  Including A Little Lamp. Craig Bent

And Attached Some Wires About The Box.

 

At Last He Seemed Ready. "Walter," He Whispered,  "Roll That Sofa

Quietly Over Against The Door. There,  Now The Table And That

Bureau,  And Wedge The Chairs In. Keep That Door Shut At Any Cost.

It's Now Or Never--Here Goes."

 

He Stopped A Moment And Tinkered With The Box On The Tripod.

"Hello! Hello! Hello! Is That You,  O'connor?" He Shouted.

 

I Watched Him In Amazement. Was The Man Crazy? Had The Blow

Affected His Brain? Here He Was,  Trying To Talk Into A Camera. A

Little Signalling-Bell In The Box Commenced To Ring,  As If By

Spirit Hands.

 

"Shut Up In That Room," Growled A Voice From Outside The Door. "By

God,  They've Barricaded The Door. Come On,  Pals,  We'll Kill The

Spies."

 

A Smile Of Triumph Lighted Up Kennedy's Pale Face. "It Works,  It

Works," He Cried As The Little Bell Continued To Buzz. "This Is A

Wireless Telephone You Perhaps Have Seen Announced Recently--Good

For Several Hundred Feet--Through Walls And Everything. The

Inventor Placed It In A Box Easily Carried By A Man,  Including A

Battery,  And Mounted On An Ordinary Camera Tripod So That The User

Might Well Be Taken For A Travelling Photographer. It Is Good In

One Direction Only,  But I Have A Signalling-Bell Here That Can Be

Rung From The Other End By Hertzian Waves. Thank Heaven,  It's

Compact And Simple.

 

"O'connor," He Went On,  "It Is As I Told You. It Was Pitts Slim.

He Left Here Ten Or Fifteen Minutes Ago--I Don't Know By What

Exit,  But I Heard Them Say They Would Meet At The Central

Freightyards At Midnight. Start Your Plain-Clothes Men Out And

Send Some One Here,  Quick,  To Release Us. We Are Locked In A Room

In The Fourth Or Fifth House From The Corner. There's A Secret

Passage To The Yegg-House. The Gay Cat Is Still Unconscious,

Jameson Is Groggy,  And I Have A Bad Scalp Wound. They Are Trying

To Beat In Our Barricade. Hurry."

 

I Think I Shall Never Get Straight In My Mind The Fearful Five

Minutes That Followed,  The Battering At The Door,  The Oaths,  The

Scuffle Outside,  The Crash As The Sofa,  Bureau,  Table,  And Chairs

All Yielded At Once--And My Relief When I Saw The Square-Set,

Honest Face Of O'connor And Half A Dozen Plainclothes Men Holding

The Yeggs Who Would Certainly Have Murdered Us This Time To

Protect Their Pal In His Getaway. The Fact Is I Didn't Think

Straight Until We Were Halfway Uptown,  Speeding Toward The

Railroad Freight-Yards In O'connor's Car. The Fresh Air At Last

Revived Me,  And I Began To Forget My Cute And Bruises In The

Renewed Excitement.

 

We Entered The Yards Carefully,  Accompanied By Several Of The

Railroad's Detectives,  Who Met Us With A Couple Of Police Dogs.

Skulking In The Shadow Under The High Embankment That Separated

The Yards With Their Interminable Lines Of Full And Empty Cars On

One Side And The San Juan Hill District Of New York Up On The

Bluff On The Other Side,  We Came Upon A Party Of Three Men Who

Part 3 Chapter 2 (The Yeggman) Pg 21

Were Waiting To Catch The Midnight "Side-Door Pullman"--The Fast

Freight Out Of New York.

 

The Fight Was Brief,  For We Outnumbered Them More Than Three To

One. O'connor Himself Snapped A Pair Of Steel Bracelets On The

Thin Man,  Who Seemed To Be Leader Of The Party.

 

"It's All Up,  Pitts Slim," He Ground Out From His Set Teeth.

 

One Of Our Men Flashed His Bull's-Eye On The Three Prisoners. I

Caught Myself As In A Dream.

 

Pitts Slim Was Maloney,  The Detective.

 

An Hour Later,  At Headquarters,  After The Pedigrees Had Been

Taken,  The "Mugging" Done,  And The Jewels Found On The Three Yeggs

Checked Off From The List Of The Branford Pearls,  Leaving A Few

Thousand Dollars' Worth Unaccounted For,  O'connor Led The Way Into

His Private Office. There Were Mrs. Branford And Blake,  Waiting.

 

Maloney Sullenly Refused To Look At His Former Employer,  As Blake

Rushed Over And Grasped Kennedy's Hand,  Asking Eagerly: "How Did

You Do It,  Kennedy? This Is The Last Thing I Expected."

 

Craig Said Nothing,  But Slowly Opened A Now Crumpled Envelope,

Which Contained An Untoned Print Of A Photograph. He Laid It On

The Desk. "There Is Your Yeggman--At Work," He Said.

 

We Bent Over To Look. It Was A Photograph Of Maloney In The Act Of

Putting Something In The Little Wall Safe In Mrs. Branford's Room.

In A Flash It Dawned On Me--The Quick-Shutter Camera,  The Wire

Connected With The Wall Safe,  Craig's Hint To Maloney That If Some

Of The Jewels Were Found Hidden In A Likely Place In The House,  It

Would Furnish The Last Link In The Chain Against Her,  Maloney's

Eager Acceptance Of The Suggestion,  And His Visit To Montclair

During Which Craig Had Had Hard Work To Avoid Him.

 

"Pitts Slim,  Alias Maloney," Added Kennedy,  Turning To Blake,

"Your Shrewdest Private Detective,  Was Posing In Two Characters At

Once Very Successfully. He Was Your Trusted Agent In Possession Of

The Most Valuable Secrets Of Your Clients,  At The Same Time

Engineering All The Robberies That You Thought Were Fakes,  And

Then Working Up The Evidence Incriminating The Victims Themselves.

He Got Into The Branford House With A Skeleton Key,  And Killed The

Maid. The Picture Shows Him Putting This Shield-Shaped Brooch In

The Safe This Afternoon--Here's The Brooch. And All This Time He

Was The Leader Of The Most Dangerous Band Of Yeggmen In The

Country."

 

"Mrs. Branford," Exclaimed Blake,  Advancing And Bowing Most

Profoundly,  "I Trust That You Understand My Awkward Position? My

Apologies Cannot Be Too Humble. It Will Give Me Great Pleasure To

Hand You A Certified Check For The Missing Gems The First Thing In

The Morning."

 

Mrs. Branford Bit Her Lip Nervously. The Return Of The Pearls Did

Not Seem To Interest Her In The Least.

 

"And I,  Too,  Must Apologise For The False Suspicion I Had Of You

And--And--Depend On Me,  It Is Already Forgotten," Said Kennedy,

Emphasising The "False" And Looking Her Straight In The Eyes.

 

She Read His Meaning And A Look Of Relief Crossed Her Face. "Thank

You," She Murmured Simply,  Then Dropping Her Eyes She Added In A

Lower Tone Which No One Heard Except Craig: "Mr. Kennedy,  How Can

I Ever Thank You? Another Night,  And It Would Have Been Too Late

To Save Me From Myself."

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 22

 

 

By This Time I Was Becoming Used To Kennedy's Strange Visitors

And,  In Fact,  Had Begun To Enjoy Keenly The Uncertainty Of Not

Knowing Just What To Expect From Them Next. Still,  I Was Hardly

Prepared One Evening To See A Tall,  Nervous Foreigner Stalk

Noiselessly And Unannounced Into Our Apartment And Hand His Card

To Kennedy Without Saying A Word.

 

"Dr. Nicholas Kharkoff--Hum--Er,  Jameson,  You Must Have Forgotten

To Latch The Door. Well,  Dr. Kharkoff,  What Can I Do For You? It

Is Evident Something Has Upset You."

 

The Tall Russian Put His Forefinger To His Lips And,  Taking One Of

Our Good Chairs,  Placed It By The Door. Then He Stood On It And

Peered Cautiously Through The Transom Into The Hallway. "I Think I

Eluded Him This Time," He Exclaimed,  As He Nervously Took A Seat.

"Professor Kennedy,  I Am Being Followed. Every Step That I Take

Somebody Shadows Me,  From The Moment I Leave My Office Until I

Return. It Is Enough To Drive Me Mad. But That Is Only One Reason

Why I Have Come Here To-Night. I Believe That I Can Trust You As A

Friend Of Justice--A Friend Of Russian Freedom?"

 

He Had Included Me In His Earnest But Somewhat Vague Query,  So

That I Did Not Withdraw. Somehow. Apparently,  He Had Heard Of

Kennedy's Rather Liberal Political Views.

 

"It Is About Vassili Saratovsky,  The Father Of The Russian

Revolution,  As We Call Him,  That I Have Come To Consult You," He

Continued Quickly. "Just Two Weeks Ago He Was Taken Ill. It Came

On Suddenly,  A Violent Fever Which Continued For A Week. Then He

Seemed To Grow Better,  After The Crisis Had Passed,  And Even

Attended A Meeting Of Our Central Committee The Other Night. But

In The Meantime Olga Samarova,  The Little Russian Dancer,  Whom Yon

Have Perhaps Seen,  Fell Ill In The Same Way. Samarova Is An Ardent

Revolutionist,  You Know. This Morning The Servant At My Own Home

On East Broadway Was Also Stricken,  And--Who Knows?--Perhaps It

Will Be My Turn Next. For To-Night Saratovsky Had An Even More

Violent Return Of The Fever,  With Intense Shivering,  Excruciating

Pains In The Limbs,  And Delirious Headache. It Is Not Like

Anything I Ever Saw Before. Can You Look Into The Case Before It

Grows Any Worse,  Professor?"

 

Again The Russian Got On The Chair And Looked Over The Transom To

Be Sure That He Was Not Being Overheard.

 

"I Shall Be Only Too Glad To Help You In Any Way I Can," Returned

Kennedy,  His Manner Expressing The Genuine Interest That He Never

Feigned Over A Particularly Knotty Problem In Science And Crime.

"I Had The Pleasure Of Meeting Saratovsky Once In London. I Shall

Try To See Him The First Thing In The Morning."

 

Dr. Kharkov's Face Fell. "I Had Hoped You Would See Him To-Night.

If Anything Should Happen----"

 

"Is It As Urgent As That?"

 

"I Believe It Is," Whispered Kharkoff,  Leaning Forward Earnestly.

"We Can Call A Taxicab--It Will Not Take Long,  Sir. Consider,

There Are Many Lives Possibly At Stake," He Pleaded.

 

"Very Well,  I Will Go," Consented Kennedy.

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 23

 

At The Street Door Kharkoff Stopped Short And Drew Kennedy Back.

"Look--Across The Street In The Shadow. There Is The Man. If I

Start Toward Him He Will Disappear; He Is Very Clever. He Followed

Me From Saratovsky's Here,  And Has Been Waiting For Me To Come

Out."

 

"There Are Two Taxicabs Waiting At The Stand," Suggested Kennedy.

"Doctor,  You Jump In The First,  And Jameson And I Will Take The

Second. Then He Can't Follow Us."

 

It Was Done In A Moment,  And We Were Whisked Away,  To The Chagrin

Of The Figure,  Which Glided Impotently Out Of The Shadow In Vain

Pursuit,  Too Late Even To Catch The Number Of The Cab.

 

"A Promising Adventure," Commented Kennedy,  As We Bumped Along

Over New York's Uneven Asphalt. "Have You Ever Met Saratovsky?"

 

"No," I Replied Dubiously. "Will You Guarantee That He Will Not

Blow Us Up With A Bomb?"

 

"Grandmother!" Replied Craig. "Why,  Walter,  He Is The Most Gentle,

Engaging Old Philosopher----"

 

"That Ever Cut A Throat Or Scuttled A Ship?" I Interrupted.

 

"On The Contrary," Insisted Kennedy,  Somewhat Nettled,  "He Is A

Patriarch,  Respected By Every Faction Of The Revolutionists,  From

The Fighting Organisation To The Believers In Non-Resistance And

Tolstoy. I Tell You,  Walter,  The Nation That Can Produce A Man

Such As Saratovsky Deserves And Some Day Will Win Political

Freedom. I Have Heard Of This Dr. Kharkoff Before,  Too. His Life

Would Be A Short One If He Were In Russia. A Remarkable Man,  Who

Fled After Those Unfortunate Uprisings In 1905. Ah,  We Are On

Fifth Avenue. I Suspect That He Is Taking Us To A Club On The

Lower Part Of The Avenue,  Where A Number Of The Russian Reformers

Live,  Patiently Waiting And Planning For The Great 'Awakening' In

Their Native Land."

 

Kharkoff's Cab Had Stopped. Our Quest Had Indeed Brought Us Almost

To Washington Square. Here We Entered An Old House Of The Past

Generation. As We Passed Through The Wide Hall,  I Noted The High

Ceilings,  The Old-Fashioned Marble Mantels Stained By Time,  The

Long,  Narrow Rooms And Dirty-White Woodwork,  And The Threadbare

Furniture Of Black Walnut And Horsehair.

 

Upstairs In A Small Back Room We Found The Venerable Saratovsky,

Tossing,  Half-Delirious With The Fever,  On A Disordered Bed. His

Was A Striking Figure In This Sordid Setting,  With A High

Intellectual Forehead And Deep-Set,  Glowing Coals Of Eyes Which

Gave A Hint At The Things Which Had Made His Life One Of The

Strangest Among All The Revolutionists Of Russia And The Works He

Had Done Among The Most Daring. The Brown Dye Was Scarcely Yet Out

Of His Flowing White Beard--A Relic Of His Last Trip Back To His

Fatherland,  Where He Had Eluded The Secret Police In The Disguise

Of A German Gymnasium Professor.

 

Saratovsky Extended A Thin,  Hot,  Emaciated Hand To Us,  And We

Remained Standing. Kennedy Said Nothing For The Moment. The Sick

Man Motioned Feebly To Us To Come Closer.

 

"Professor Kennedy," He Whispered,  "There Is Some Deviltry Afoot.

The Russian Autocracy Would Stop At Nothing. Kharkoff Has Probably

Told You Of It. I Am So Weak----"

 

He Groaned And Sank Back,  Overcome By A Chill That Seemed To Rack

His Poor Gaunt Form.

 

"Kazanovitch Can Tell Professor Kennedy Something,  Doctor. I Am

Too Weak To Talk,  Even At This Critical Time. Take Him To See

Boris And Ekaterina."

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 24

 

Almost Reverently We Withdrew,  And Kharkoff Led Us Down The Hall

To Another Room. The Door Was Ajar,  And A Light Disclosed A Man In

A Russian Peasant's Blouse,  Bending Laboriously Over A Writing-

Desk. So Absorbed Was He That Not Until Kharkoff Spoke Did He Look

Up. His Figure Was Somewhat Slight And His Face Pointed And Of An

Ascetic Mould.

 

"Ah!" He Exclaimed. "You Have Recalled Me From A Dream. I Fancied

I Was On The Old Mir With Ivan,  One Of My Characters. Welcome,

Comrades."

 

It Flashed Over Me At Once That This Was The Famous Russian

Novelist,  Boris Kazanovitch. I Had Not At First Connected The Name

With That Of The Author Of Those Gloomy Tales Of Peasant Life.

Kazanovitch Stood With His Hands Tucked Under His Blouse.

 

"Night Is My Favourite Time For Writing," He Explained. "It Is

Then That The Imagination Works At Its Best."

 

I Gazed Curiously About The Room. There Seemed To Be A Marked

Touch Of A Woman's Hand Here And There; It Was Unmistakable. At

Last My Eye Rested On A Careless Heap Of Dainty Wearing Apparel On

A Chair In The Corner. "Where Is Nevsky?" Asked Dr. Kharkoff,

Apparently Missing The Person Who Owned The Garments.

 

"Ekaterina Has Gone To A Rehearsal Of The Little Play Of

Gershuni's Escape From Siberia And Betrayal By Rosenberg. She Will

Stay With Friends On East Broadway To-Night. She Has Deserted Me,

And Here I Am All Alone,  Finishing A Story For One Of The American

Magazines."

 

"Ah,  Professor Kennedy,  That Is Unfortunate," Commented Kharkoff.

"A Brilliant Woman Is Mademoiselle Nevsky--Devoted To The Cause. I

Know Only One Who Equals Her,  And That Is My Patient Downstairs,

The Little Dancer,  Samarova."

 

"Samarova Is Faithful--Nevsky Is A Genius," Put In Kazanovitch.

Kharkoff Said Nothing For A Time,  Though It Was Easy To See He

Regarded The Actress Highly.

 

"Samarova," He Said At Length To Us,  "Was Arrested For Her Part In

The Assassination Of Grand Duke Sergius And Thrown Into Solitary

Confinement In The Fortress Of St. Peter And St. Paul. They

Tortured Her,  The Beasts--Burned Her Body With Their Cigarettes.

It Was Unspeakable. But She Would Not Confess,  And Finally They

Had To Let Her Go. Nevsky,  Who Was A Student Of Biology At The

University Of St. Petersburg When Von Plehve Was Assassinated,  Was

Arrested,  But Her Relatives Had Sufficient Influence To Secure Her

Release. They Met In Paris,  And Nevsky Persuaded Olga To Go On The

Stage And Come To New York."

 

"Next To Ekaterina's Devotion To The Cause Is Her Devotion To

Science," Said Kazanovitch,  Opening A Door To A Little Room. Then

He Added: "If She Were Not A Woman,  Or If Your Universities Were

Less Prejudiced,  She Would Be Welcome Anywhere As A Professor.

See,  Here Is Her Laboratory. It Is The Best We--She Can Afford.

Organic Chemistry,  As You Call It In English,  Interests Me Too,

But Of Course I Am Not A Trained Scientist--I Am A Novelist."

 

The Laboratory Was Simple,  Almost Bare. Photographs Of Koch,

Ehrlich,  Metchnikoff,  And A Number Of Other Scientists Adorned The

Walls. The Deeply Stained Deal Table Was Littered With Beakers And

Test-Tubes.

 

"How Is Saratovsky?" Asked The Writer Of The Doctor,  Aside,  As We

Gazed Curiously About.

 

Kharkoff Shook His Head Gravely. "We Have Just Come From His Room.

He Was Too Weak To Talk,  But He Asked That You Tell Mr. Kennedy

Anything That It Is Necessary He Should Know About Our

Suspicions."

 

"It Is That We Are Living With The Sword Of Damocles Constantly

Dangling Over Our Heads,  Gentlemen," Cried Kazanovitch

Passionately,  Turning Toward Us. "You Will Excuse Me If I Get Some

Cigarettes Downstairs? Over Them I Will Tell You What We Fear."

 

A Call From Saratovsky Took The Doctor Away Also At The Same

Moment,  And We Were Left Alone.

 

"A Queer Situation,  Craig," I Remarked,  Glancing Involuntarily At

The Heap Of Feminine Finery On The Chair,  As I Sat Down Before

Kazanovitch's Desk.

 

"Queer For New York; Not For St. Petersburg," Was His Laconic

Reply,  As He Looked Around For Another Chair. Everything Was

Littered With Books,  And Papers,  And At Last He Leaned Over And

Lifted The Dress From The Chair To Place It On The Bed,  As The

Easiest Way Of Securing A Seat In The Scantily Furnished Room.

 

A Pocketbook And A Letter Fell To The Floor From The Folds Of The

Dress. He Stooped To Pick Them Up,  And I Saw A Strange Look Of

Surprise On His Face. Without A Moment's Hesitation He Shoved The

Letter Into His Pocket And Replaced The Other Things As He Had

Found Them.

 

A Moment Later Kazanovitch Returned With A Large Box Of Russian

Cigarettes. "Be Seated,  Sir," He Said To Kennedy,  Sweeping A Mass

Of Books And Papers Off A Large Divan. "When Nevsky Is Not Here

The Room Gets Sadly Disarranged. I Have No Genius For Order."

 

Amid The Clouds Of Fragrant Light Smoke We Waited For Kazanovitch

To Break The Silence.

 

"Perhaps You Think That The Iron Hand Of The Russian Prime

Minister Has Broken The Backbone Of Revolution In Russia," He

Began At Length. "But Because The Duma Is Subservient,  It Does Not

Mean That All Is Over. Not At All. We Are Not Asleep. Revolution

Is Smouldering,  Ready To Break Forth At Any Moment. The Agents Of

The Government Know It. They Are Desperate. There Is No Means They

Would Not Use To Crush Us. Their Long Arm Reaches Even To New

York,  In This Land Of Freedom."

 

He Rose And Excitedly Paced The Room. Somehow Or Other,  This Man

Did Not Prepossess Me. Was It That I Was Prejudiced By A

Puritanical Disapproval Of The Things That Pass Current In Old

World Morality? Or Was It Merely That I Found The Great Writer Of

Fiction Seeking The Dramatic Effect Always At The Cost Of

Sincerity?

 

"Just What Is It That You Suspect?" Asked Craig,  Anxious To

Dispense With The Rhetoric And To Get Down To Facts. "Surely,  When

Three Persons Are Stricken,  You Must Suspect Something."

 

"Poison," Replied Kazanovitch Quickly. "Poison,  And Of A Kind That

Even The Poison Doctors Of St. Petersburg Have Never Employed. Dr.

Kharkoff Is Completely Baffled. Your American Doctors--Two Were

Called In To See Saratovsky--Say It Is The Typhus Fever. But

Kharkoff Knows Better. There Is No Typhus Rash. Besides"--And He

Leaned Forward To Emphasise His Words--"One Does Not Get Over

Typhus In A Week And Have It Again As Saratovsky Has."

 

I Could See That Kennedy Was Growing Impatient. An Idea Had

Occurred To Him,  And Only Politeness Kept Him Listening To

Kazanovitch Longer.

 

"Doctor," He Said,  As Kharkoff Entered The Room Again,  "Do You

Suppose You Could Get Some Perfectly Clean Test-Tubes And Sterile

Bouillon From Miss Nevsky's Laboratory? I Think I Saw A Rack Of

Tubes On The Table."

 

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 25

"Surely," Answered Kharkoff.

 

"You Will Excuse Us,  Mr. Kazanovitch," Apologised Kennedy Briskly,

"But I Feel That I Am Going To Have A Hard Day To-Morrow And--By

The Way,  Would You Be So Kind As To Come Up To My Laboratory Some

Time During The Day,  And Continue Your Story."

 

On The Way Out Craig Took The Doctor Aside For A Moment,  And They

Talked Earnestly. At Last Craig Motioned To Me.

 

"Walter," He Explained,  "Dr. Kharkoff Is Going To Prepare Some

Cultures In The Test-Tubes To-Night So That I Can Make A

Microscopic Examination Of The Blood Of Saratovsky,  Samarova,  And

Later Of His Servant. The Tubes Will Be Ready Early In The

Morning,  And I Have Arranged With The Doctor For You To Call And

Get Them If You Have No Objection."

 

I Assented,  And We Started Downstairs. As We Passed A Door On The

Second Floor,  A Woman's Voice Called Out,  "Is That You,  Boris?"

 

"No,  Olga,  This Is Nicholas," Replied The Doctor. "It Is

Samarova," He Said To Us As He Entered.

 

In A Few Moments He Rejoined Us. "She Is No Better," He Continued,

As We Again Started Away. "I May As Well Tell You,  Professor

Kennedy,  Just How Matters Stand Here. Samarova Is Head Over Heels

In Love With Kazanovitch--You Heard Her Call For Him Just Now?

Before They Left Paris,  Kazanovitch Showed Some Partiality For

Olga,  But Now Nevsky Has Captured Him. She Is Indeed A Fascinating

Woman,  But As For Me,  If Olga Would Consent To Become Madame

Kharkoff,  It Should Be Done Tomorrow,  And She Need Worry No Longer

Over Her Broken Contract With The American Theatre Managers. But

Women Are Not That Way. She Prefers The Hopeless Love. Ah,  Well,  I

Shall Let You Know If Anything New Happens. Good-Night,  And A

Thou-Sand Thanks For Your Help,  Gentlemen."

 

Nothing Was Said By Either Of Us On Our Journey Uptown,  For It Was

Late And I,  At Least,  Was Tired.

 

But Kennedy Had No Intention Of Going To Bed,  I Found. Instead,  He

Sat Down In His Easy Chair And Shaded His Eyes,  Apparently In Deep

Thought. As I Stood By The Table To Fill My Pipe For A Last Smoke,

I Saw That He Was Carefully Regarding The Letter He Had Picked Up,

Turning It Over And Over,  And Apparently Debating With Himself

What To Do With It.

 

"Some Kinds Of Paper Can Be Steamed Open Without Leaving Any

Trace," He Remarked In Answer To My Unspoken Question,  Laying The

Letter Down Before Me.

 

I Read The Address: "M. Alexander Alexandrovitch Orloff,--Rue De--

--,  Paris,  France."

 

"Letter-Opening Has Been Raised To A Fine Art By The Secret

Service Agents Of Foreign Countries," He Continued. "Why Not Take

A Chance? The Simple Operation Of Steaming A Letter Open Is

Followed By Reburnishing The Flap With A Bone Instrument,  And No

Trace Is Left. I Can't Do That,  For This Letter Is Sealed With

Wax. One Way Would Be To Take A Matrix Of The Seal Before Breaking

The Wax And Then Replace A Duplicate Of It. No,  I Won't Risk It.

I'll Try A Scientific Way."

 

Between Two Pieces Of Smooth Wood,  Craig Laid The Letter Flat,  So

That The Edges Projected About A Thirty-Second Of An Inch. He

Flattened The Projecting Edge Of The Envelope,  Then Roughened It,

And Finally Slit It Open.

 

"You See,  Walter,  Later I Will Place The Letter Back,  Apply A Hair

Line Of Strong White Gum,  And Unite The Edges Of The Envelope

Under Pressure. Let Us See What We Have Here."

 

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 26

He Drew Out What Seemed To Be A Manuscript On Very Thin Paper,  And

Spread It Out Flat On The Table Before Us. Apparently It Was A

Scientific Paper On A Rather Unusual Subject,  "Spontaneous

Generation Of Life." It Was In Longhand And Read:

 

Many Thanks For The Copy Of The Paper By Prof. Betaillon Of Dijon

On The Artificial Fertilization Of The Eggs Of Frogs. I Consider

It A Most Important Advance In The Artificial Generation Of Life.

 

I Will Not Attempt To Reproduce In Facsimile The Entire

Manuscript,  For It Is Unnecessary,  And,  In Fact,  I Merely Set Down

Part Of Its Contents Here Because It Seemed So Utterly Valueless

To Me At The Time. It Went On To Say:

 

While Betaillon Punctured The Eggs With A Platinum Needle And

Developed Them By Means Of Electric Discharges,  Loeb In America

Placed Eggs Of The Sea-Urchin In A Strong Solution Of Sea Water,

Then In A Bath Where They Were Subjected To The Action Of Butyric

Acid. Finally They Were Placed In Ordinary Sea Water Again,  Where

They Developed In The Natural Manner. Delage At Roscorf Used A

Liquid Containing Salts Of Magnesia And Tannate Of Ammonia To

Produce The Same Result.

 

In His Latest Book On The Origin Of Life Dr. Charlton Bastian

Tells Of Using Two Solutions. One Consisted Of Two Or Three Drops

Of Dilute Sodium Silicate With Eight Drops Of Liquor Ferri

Pernitratis To One Ounce Of Distilled Water. The Other Was

Composed Of The Same Amount Of The Silicate With Six Drops Of

Dilute Phosphoric Acid And Six Grains Of Ammonium Phosphate. He

Filled Sterilised Tubes,  Sealed Them Hermetically,  And Heated Them

To 125 Or 145 Degrees,  Centigrade,  Although 60 Or 70 Degrees Would

Have Killed Any Bacteria Remaining In Them.

 

Next He Exposed Them To Sunlight In A South Window For From Two To

Four Months. When The Tubes Were Opened Dr. Bastian Found

Organisms In Them Which Differed In No Way From Real Bacteria.

They Grew And Multiplied. He Contends That He Has Proved The

Possibility Of Spontaneous Generation Of Life.

 

Then There Were The Experiments Of John Butler Burke Of Cambridge,

Who Claimed That He Had Developed "Radiobes" In Tubes Of

Sterilised Bouillon By Means Of Radium Emanations. Daniel

Berthelot In France Last Year Announced That He Had Used The

Ultra-Violet Rays To Duplicate Nature's Own Process Of Chlorophyll

Assimilation. He Has Broken Up Carbon Dioxide And Water-Vapour In

The Air In Precisely The Same Way That The Green Cells Of Plants

Do It.

 

Leduc At Nantes Has Made Crystals Grow From An Artificial "Egg"

Composed Of Certain Chemicals. These Crystals Show All The

Apparent Vital Phenomena Without Being Actually Alive. His Work Is

Interesting,  For It Shows The Physical Forces That Probably

Control Minute Life Cells,  Once They Are Created.

 

"What Do You Make Of It?" Asked Kennedy,  Noting The Puzzled Look

On My Face As I Finished Reading.

 

"Well,  Recent Research In The Problem Of The Origin Of Life May Be

Very Interesting," I Replied. "There Are A Good Many Chemicals

Mentioned Here--I Wonder If Any Of Them Is Poisonous? But I Am Of

The Opinion That There Is Something More To This Manuscript Than A

Mere Scientific Paper."

 

"Exactly,  Walter," Said Kennedy In Half Raillery. "What I Wanted

To Know Was How You Would Suggest Getting At That Something."

 

Study As I Might,  I Could Make Nothing Out Of It. Meanwhile Craig

Was Busily Figuring With A Piece Of Paper And A Pencil.

 

"I Give It Up,  Craig," I Said At Last. "It Is Late. Perhaps We Had

Better Both Turn In,  And We May Have Some Ideas On It In The

Morning."

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 27

For Answer He Merely Shook His Head And Continued To Scribble And

Figure On The Paper. With A Reluctant Good-Night I Shut My Door,

Determined To Be Up Early In The Morning And Go For The Tubes That

Kharkoff Was To Prepare.

 

But In The Morning Kennedy Was Gone. I Dressed Hastily,  And Was

Just About To Go Out When He Hurried In,  Showing Plainly The

Effects Of Having Spent A Sleepless Night. He Flung An Early

Edition Of A Newspaper On The Table.

 

"Too Late," He Exclaimed. "I Tried To Reach Kharkoff,  But It Was

Too Late."

 

"Another East Side Bomb Outrage," I Read. "While Returning At A

Late Hour Last Night From A Patient,  Dr. Nicholas Kharkoff,  Of--

East Broadway,  Was Severely Injured By A Bomb Which Had Been

Placed In His Hallway Earlier In The Evening. Dr. Kharkoff,  Who Is

A Well-Known Physician On The East Side,  States That He Has Been

Constantly Shadowed By Some One Unknown For The Past Week Or Two.

He Attributes His Escape With His Life To The Fact That Since He

Was Shadowed He Has Observed Extreme Caution. Yesterday His Cook

Was Poisoned And Is Now Dangerously Ill. Dr. Kharkoff Stands High

In The Russian Community,  And It Is Thought By The Police That The

Bomb Was Placed By A Russian Political Agent,  As Kharkoff Has Been

Active In The Ranks Of The Revolutionists."

 

"But What Made You Anticipate It?" I Asked Of Kennedy,

Considerably Mystified.

 

"The Manuscript," He Replied.

 

"The Manuscript? How? Where Is It?"

 

"After I Found That It Was Too Late To Save Kharkoff And That He

Was Well Cared For At The Hospital,  I Hurried To Saratovsky's.

Kharkoff Had Fortunately Left The Tubes There,  And I Got Them.

Here They Are. As For The Manuscript In The Letter,  I Was Going To

Ask You To Slip Upstairs By Some Strategy And Return It Where I

Found It,  When You Went For The Tubes This Morning. Kazanovitch

Was Out,  And I Have Returned It Myself,  So You Need Not Go,  Now."

 

"He's Coming To See You Today,  Isn't He?"

 

"I Hope So. I Left A Note Asking Him To Bring Miss Nevsky,  If

Possible,  Too. Come,  Let Us Breakfast And Go Over To The

Laboratory. They May Arrive At Any Moment. Besides,  I'm Interested

To See What The Tubes Disclose."

 

Instead Of Kazanovitch Awaiting Us At The Laboratory,  However,  We

Found Miss Nevsky,  Haggard And Worn. She Was A Tall,  Striking Girl

With More Of The Gaul Than The Slav In Her Appearance. There Was A

Slightly Sensuous Curve To Her Mouth,  But On The Whole Her Face

Was Striking And Intellectual. I Felt That If She Chose She Could

Fascinate A Man So That He Would Dare Anything. I Never Before

Understood Why The Russian Police Feared The Women Revolutionists

So Much. It Was Because They Were Themselves,  Plus Every Man They

Could Influence.

 

Nevsky Appeared Very Excited. She Talked Rapidly,  And Fire Flashed

From Her Grey Eyes. "They Tell Me At The Club," She Began,  "That

You Are Investigating The Terrible Things That Are Happening To

Us. Oh,  Professor Kennedy,  It Is Awful! Last Night I Was Staying

With Some Friends On East Broadway. Suddenly We Heard A Terrific

Explosion Up The Street. It Was In Front Of Dr. Kharkoff's House.

Thank Heaven,  He Is Still Alive I But I Was So Unnerved I Could

Not Sleep. I Fancied I Might Be The Next To Go.

 

"Early This Morning I Hastened To Return To Fifth Avenue. As I

Entered The Door Of My Room I Could Not Help Thinking Of The

Horrible Fate Of Dr. Kharkoff. For Some Unknown Reason,  Just As I

Was About To Push The Door Farther Open,  I Hesitated And Looked--I

Almost Fainted. There Stood Another Bomb Just Inside. If I Had

Moved The Door A Fraction Of An Inch It Would Have Exploded. I

Screamed,  And Olga,  Sick As She Was,  Ran To My Assistance--Or

Perhaps She Thought Something Had Happened To Boris. It Is

Standing There Yet. None Of Us Dares Touch It. Oh,  Professor

Kennedy,  It Is Dreadful,  Dreadful. And I Cannot Find Boris--Mr.

Kazanovitch,  I Mean. Saratovsky,  Who Is Like A Father To Us All,

Is Scarcely Able To Speak. Dr. Kharkoff Is Helpless In The

Hospital. Oh,  What Are We To Do,  What Are We To Do?"

 

She Stood Trembling Before Us,  Imploring.

 

"Calm Yourself,  Miss Nevsky," Said Kennedy In A Reassuring Tone.

"Sit Down And Let Us Plan. I Take It That It Was A Chemical Bomb

And Not One With A Fuse,  Or You Would Have A Different Story To

Tell. First Of All,  We Must Remove It. That Is Easily Done."

 

He Called Up A Near-By Garage And Ordered An Automobile. "I Will

Drive It Myself," He Ordered,  "Only Send A Man Around With It

Immediately."

 

"No,  No,  No," She Cried,  Running Toward Him,  "You Must Not Risk

It. It Is Bad Enough That We Should Risk Our Lives. But Strangers

Must Not. Think,  Professor Kennedy. Suppose The Bomb Should

Explode At A Touch! Had We Not Better Call The Police And Let Them

Take The Risk,  Even If It Does Get Into The Papers?"

 

"No," Replied Kennedy Firmly. "Miss Nevsky,  I Am Quite Willing To

Take The Risk. Besides,  Here Comes The Automobile."

 

"You Are Too Kind," She Exclaimed. "Kazanovitch Himself Could Do

No More. How Am I Ever To Thank You?"

 

On The Back Of The Automobile Kennedy Placed A Peculiar Oblong

Box,  Swung On Two Concentric Rings Balanced On Pivots,  Like A Most

Delicate Compass.

 

We Rode Quickly Downtown,  And Kennedy Hurried Into The House,

Bidding Us Stand Back. With A Long Pair Of Tongs He Seized The

Bomb Firmly. It Was A Tense Moment. Suppose His Hand Should

Unnecessarily Tremble,  Or He Should Tip It Just A Bit--It Might

Explode And Blow Him To Atoms. Keeping It Perfectly Horizontal He

Carried It Carefully Out To The Waiting Automobile And Placed It

Gingerly In The Box.

 

"Wouldn't It Be A Good Thing To Fill The Box With Water?" I

Suggested,  Having Read Somewhere That That Was The Usual Way Of

Opening A Bomb,  Under Water.

 

"No," He Replied,  As He Closed The Lid,  "That Wouldn't Do Any Good

With A Bomb Of This Sort. It Would Explode Under Water Just As

Well As In Air. This Is A Safety Bomb-Carrier. It Is Known As The

Cardan Suspension. It Was Invented By Professor Cardono,  An

Italian. You See,  It Is Always Held In A Perfectly Horizontal

Position,  No Matter How You Jar It. I Am Now Going To Take The

Bomb To Some Safe And Convenient Place Where I Can Examine It At

My Leisure. Meanwhile,  Miss Nevsky,  I Will Leave You In Charge Of

Mr. Jameson."

 

"Thank You So Much," She Said. "I Feel Better Now. I Didn't Dare

Go Into My Own Room With That Bomb At The Door. If Mr. Jameson Can

Only Find Out What Has Become Of Mr. Kazanovitch,  That Is All I

Want. What Do You Suppose Has Happened To Him? Is He,  Too,  Hurt Or

Ill?"

 

"Very Well,  Then," Craig Replied. "I Will Commission You,  Walter,

To Find Kazanovitch. I Shall Be Back Again Shortly Before Noon To

Examine The Wreck Of Kharkoff's Office. Meet Me There. Goodbye,

Miss Nevsky."

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 28

 

It Was Not The First Time That I Had Had A Roving Commission To

Find Some One Who Had Disappeared In New York. I Started By

Inquiring For Every Possible Place That He Might Be Found. No One

At The Fifth Avenue House Could Tell Me Anything Definite,  Though

They Were Able To Give Me A Number Of Places Where He Was Known. I

Consumed Practically The Whole Morning Going From One Place To

Another On The East Side. Some Of The Picturesque Haunts Of The

Revolutionists Would Have Furnished Material For A Story In

Themselves. But Nowhere Had They Any Word Of Kazanovitch,  Until I

Visited A Polish Artist Who Was Illustrating His Stories. He Had

Been There,  Looking Very Worn And Tired,  And Had Talked Vacantly

About The Sketches Which The Artist Had Showed Him. After That I

Lost All Trace Of Him Again. It Was Nearly Noon As I Hurried To

Meet Craig At Kharkoff's.

 

Imagine My Surprise To See Kazanovitch Already There,  Seated In

The Wrecked Office,  Furiously Smoking Cigarettes And Showing

Evident Signs Of Having Something Very Disturbing On His Mind. The

Moment He Caught Sight Of Me,  He Hurried Forward.

 

"Is Professor Kennedy Coming Soon?" He Inquired Eagerly. "I Was

Going Up To His Laboratory,  But I Called Up Nevsky,  And She Said

He Would Be Here At Noon." Then He Put His Hand Up To My Ear And

Whispered,  "I Have Found Out Who It Was Who Shadowed Kharkoff."

 

"Who?" I Asked,  Saying Nothing Of My Long Search Of The Morning.

 

"His Name Is Revalenko--Feodor Revalenko. I Saw Him Standing

Across The Street In Front Of The House Last Night After You Had

Gone. When Kharkoff Left,  He Followed Him. I Hurried Out Quietly

And Followed Both Of Them. Then The Explosion Came. This Man

Slipped Down A Narrow Street As Soon As He Saw Kharkoff Fall. As

People Were Running To Kharkoff's Assistance,  I Did The Same. He

Saw Me Following Him And Ran,  And I Ran,  Too,  And Overtook Him.

Mr. Jameson,  When I Looked Into His Face I Could Not Believe It.

Revalenko--He Is One Of The Most Ardent Members Of Our

Organisation. He Would Not Tell Me Why He Had Followed Kharkoff. I

Could Make Him Confess Nothing. But I Am Sure He Is An Agent

Provocateur Of The Russian Government,  That He Is Secretly Giving

Away The Plans That We Are Making,  Everything. We Have A Plot On

Now--Perhaps He Has Informed Them Of That. Of Course He Denied

Setting The Bomb Or Trying To Poison Any Of Us,  But He Was Very

Frightened. I Shall Denounce Him At The First Opportunity."

 

I Said Nothing. Kazanovitch Regarded Me Keenly To See What

Impression The Story Made On Me,  But I Did Not Let My Looks Betray

Anything,  Except Proper Surprise,  And He Seemed Satisfied.

 

It Might Be True,  After All,  I Reasoned,  The More I Thought Of It.

I Had Heard That The Russian Consul-General Had A Very Extensive

Spy System In The City. In Fact,  Even That Morning I Had Had

Pointed Out To Me Some Spies At Work In The Public Libraries,

Watching What Young Russians Were Reading. I Did Not Doubt That

There Were Spies In The Very Inner Circle Of The Revolutionists

Themselves.

 

At Last Kennedy Appeared. While Kazanovitch Poured Forth His

Story,  With Here And There,  I Fancied,  An Elaboration Of A

Particularly Dramatic Point,  Kennedy Quickly Examined The Walls

And Floor Of The Wrecked Office With His Magnifying-Glass. When He

Had Concluded His Search,  He Turned To Kazanovitch.

 

"Would It Be Possible," He Asked,  "To Let This Revalenko Believe

That He Could Trust You,  That It Would Be Safe For Him To Visit

You To-Night At Saratovsky's? Surely You Can Find Some Way Of

Reassuring Him."

 

"Yes,  I Think That Can Be Arranged," Said Kazanovitch. "I Will Go

To Him,  Will Make Him Think I Have Misunderstood Him,  That I Have

Not Lost Faith In Him,  Provided He Can Explain All. He Will Come.

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 29

Trust Me."

 

"Very Well,  Then. To-Night At Eight I Shall Be There," Promised

Kennedy,  As The Novelist And He Shook Hands.

 

"What Do You Think Of The Revalenko Story?" I Asked Of Craig,  As

We Started Uptown Again.

 

"Anything Is Possible In This Case," He Answered Sententiously.

 

"Well," I Exclaimed,  "This All Is Truly Russian. For Intrigue They

Are Certainly The Leaders Of The World To-Day. There Is Only One

Person That I Have Any Real Confidence In,  And That Is Old

Saratovsky Himself. Somebody Is Playing Traitor,  Craig. Who Is

It?"

 

"That Is What Science Will Tell Us To-Night," Was His Brief Reply.

There Was No Getting Anything Out Of Craig Until He Was Absolutely

Sure That His Proofs Had Piled Up Irresistibly.

 

Promptly At Eight We Met At The Old House On Fifth Avenue.

Kharkoff's Wounds Had Proved Less Severe Than Had At First Been

Suspected,  And,  Having Recovered From The Shock,  He Insisted On

Being Transferred From The Hospital In A Private Ambulance So That

He Could Be Near His Friends. Saratovsky,  In Spite Of His High

Fever,  Ordered That The Door To His Room Be Left Open And His Bed

Moved So That He Could Hear And See What Passed In The Room Down

The Hall. Nevsky Was There And Kazanovitch,  And Even Brave Olga

Samarova,  Her Pretty Face Burning With The Fever,  Would Not Be

Content Until She Was Carried Upstairs,  Although Dr. Kharkoff

Protested Vigorously That It Might Have Fatal Consequences.

Revalenko,  An Enigma Of A Man,  Sat Stolidly. The Only Thing I

Noticed About Him Was An Occasional Look Of Malignity At Nevsky

And Kazanovitch When He Thought He Was Unobserved.

 

It Was Indeed A Strange Gathering,  The Like Of Which The Old House

Had Never Before Harboured In All Its Varied History. Every One

Was On The Qui Vive,  As Kennedy Placed On The Table A Small Wire

Basket Containing Some Test-Tubes,  Each Tube Corked With A Small

Wadding Of Cotton. There Was Also A Receptacle Holding A Dozen

Glass-Handled Platinum Wires,  A Microscope,  And A Number Of

Slides. The Bomb,  Now Rendered Innocuous By Having Been Crushed In

A Huge Hydraulic Press,  Lay In Fragments In The Box.

 

"First,  I Want You To Consider The Evidence Of The Bomb," Began

Kennedy." No Crime,  I Firmly Believe,  Is Ever Perpetrated Without

Leaving Some Clue. The Slightest Trace,  Even A Drop Of Blood No

Larger Than A Pin-Head,  May Suffice To Convict A Murderer. The

Impression Made On A Cartridge By The Hammer Of A Pistol,  Or A

Single Hair Found On The Clothing Of A Suspected Person,  May Serve

As Valid Proof Of Crime.

 

"Until Lately,  However,  Science Was Powerless Against The Bomb-

Thrower. A Bomb Explodes Into A Thousand Parts,  And Its Contents

Suddenly Become Gaseous. You Can't Collect And Investigate The

Gases. Still,  The Bomb-Thrower Is Sadly Deceived If He Believes

The Bomb Leaves No Trace For The Scientific Detective. It Is

Difficult For The Chemist To Find Out The Secrets Of A Shattered

Bomb. But It Can Be Done.

 

"I Examined The Walls Of Dr. Kharkoff's House,  And Fortunately Was

Able To Pick Out A Few Small Fragments Of The Contents Of The Bomb

Which Had Been Thrown Out Before The Flame Ignited Them. I Have

Analysed Them,  And Find Them To Be A Peculiar Species Of Blasting-

Gelatine. It Is Made At Only One Factory In This Country,  And I

Have A List Of Purchasers For Some Time Back. One Name,  Or Rather

The Description Of An Assumed Name,  In The List Agrees With Other

Evidence I Have Been Able To Collect. Moreover,  The Explosive Was

Placed In A Lead Tube. Lead Tubes Are Common Enough. However,

There Is No Need Of Further Evidence."

 

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 30

He Paused,  And The Revolutionists Stared Fixedly At The Fragments

Of The Now Harmless Bomb Before Them.

 

"The Exploded Bomb," Concluded Craig,  "Was Composed Of The Same

Materials As This,  Which I Found Unexploded At The Door Of Miss

Nevsky's Room--The Same Sort Of Lead Tube,  The Same Blasting-

Gelatine. The Fuse,  A Long Cord Saturated In Sulphur,  Was Merely A

Blind. The Real Method Of Explosion Was By Means Of A Chemical

Contained In A Glass Tube Which Was Inserted After The Bomb Was

Put In Place. The Least Jar,  Such As Opening A Door,  Which Would

Tip The Bomb Ever So Little Out Of The Horizontal,  Was All That

Was Necessary To Explode It. The Exploded Bomb And The Unexploded

Were In All Respects Identical--The Same Hand Set Both."

 

A Gasp Of Astonishment Ran Through The Circle. Could It Be That

One Of Their Own Number Was Playing False? In At Least This

Instance In The Warfare Of The Chemist And The Dynamiter The

Chemist Had Come Out Ahead.

 

"But," Kennedy Hurried Along,  "The Thing That Interests Me Most

About This Case Is Not The Evidence Of The Bombs. Bombs Are Common

Enough Weapons,  After All. It Is The Evidence Of Almost Diabolical

Cunning That Has Been Shown In The Effort To Get Rid Of The Father

Of The Revolution,  As You Like To Call Him."

 

Craig Cleared His Throat And Played With Our Feelings As A Cat

Does With A Mouse. "Strange To Say,  The Most Deadly,  The Most

Insidious,  The Most Elusive Agency For Committing Murder Is One

That Can Be Obtained And Distributed With Practically No Legal

Restrictions. Any Doctor Can Purchase Disease Germs In Quantities

Sufficient To Cause Thousands And Thousands Of Deaths Without

Giving Any Adequate Explanation For What Purpose He Requires Them.

More Than That,  Any Person Claiming To Be A Scientist Or Having

Some Acquaintance With Science And Scientists Can Usually Obtain

Germs Without Difficulty. Every Pathological Laboratory Contains

Stores Of Disease Germs,  Neatly Sealed Up In Test-Tubes,

Sufficient To Depopulate Whole Cities And Even Nations. With

Almost No Effort,  I Myself Have Actually Cultivated Enough Germs

To Kill Every Person Within A Radius Of A Mile Of The Washington

Arch Down The Street. They Are Here In These Test-Tubes."

 

We Scarcely Breathed. Suppose Kennedy Should Let Loose This Deadly

Foe,  These Germs Of Death,  Whatever They Were? Yet That Was

Precisely What Some Fiend Incarnate Had Done,  And That Fiend Was

Sitting In The Room With Us.

 

"Here I Have One Of The Most Modern Dark-Field Microscopes," He

Resumed. "On This Slide I Have Placed A Little Pin-Point Of A

Culture Made From The Blood Of Saratovsky. I Will Stain The

Culture. Now--Er--Walter,  Look Through The Microscope Under This

Powerful Light And Tell Us What You See On The Slide."

 

I Bent Over. "In The Darkened Field I See A Number Of Germs Like

Dancing Points Of Coloured Light," I Said. "They Are Wriggling

About With A Peculiar Twisting Motion."

 

"Like A Corkscrew," Interrupted Kennedy,  Impatient To Go On. "They

Are Of The Species Known As Spirilla. Here Is Another Slide,  A

Culture From The Blood Of Samarova."

 

"I See Them There,  Too," I Exclaimed.

 

Every One Was Now Crowding About For A Glimpse,  As I Raised My

Head.

 

"What Is This Germ?" Asked A Hollow Voice From The Doorway.

 

We Looked,  Startled. There Stood Saratovsky,  More Like A Ghost

Than A Living Being. Kennedy Sprang Forward And Caught Him As He

Swayed,  And I Moved Up An Armchair For Him.

 

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 31

"It Is The Spirillum Obermeieri," Said Kennedy,  "The Germ Of The

Relapsing Fever,  But Of The Most Virulent Asiatic Strain.

Obermeyer,  Who Discovered It,  Caught The Disease And Died Of It,  A

Martyr To Science."

 

A Shriek Of Consternation Rang Forth From Samarova. The Rest Of Us

Paled,  But Repressed Our Feelings.

 

"One Moment," Added Kennedy Hastily. "Don't Be Unnecessarily

Alarmed. I Have Something More To Say. Be Calm For A Moment

Longer."

 

He Unrolled A Blue-Print And Placed It On The Table.

 

"This," He Continued,  "Is The Photographic Copy Of A Message

Which,  I Suppose,  Is Now On Its Way To The Russian Minister To

France In Paris. Some One In This Room Besides Mr. Jameson And

Myself Has Seen This Letter Before. I Will Hold It Up As I Pass

Around And Let Each One See It."

 

In Intense Silence Kennedy Passed Before Each Of Us,  Holding Up

The Blue-Print And Searchingly Scanning The Faces. No One Betrayed

By Any Sign That He Recognised It. At Last It Came To Revalenko

Himself.

 

"The Checkerboard,  The Checkerboard!" He Cried,  His Eyes Half

Starting From Their Sockets As He Gazed At It.

 

"Yes," Said Kennedy In A Low Tone,  "The Checkerboard. It Took Me

Some Time To Figure It Out. It Is A Cipher That Would Have Baffled

Poe. In Fact,  There Is No Means Of Deciphering It Unless You

Chance To Know Its Secret. I Happened To Have Heard Of It A Long

Time Ago Abroad,  Yet My Recollection Was Vague,  And I Had To

Reconstruct It With Much Difficulty. It Took Me All Night To Do

It. It Is A Cipher,  However,  That Is Well Known Among The Official

Classes Of Russia.

 

"Fortunately I Remember The Crucial Point,  Without Which I Should

Still Be Puzzling Over It. It Is That A Perfectly Innocent

Message,  On Its Face,  May Be Used To Carry A Secret,  Hidden

Message. The Letters Which Compose The Words,  Instead Of Being

Written Continuously Along,  As We Ordinarily Write,  Have,  As You

Will Observe If You Look Twice,  Breaks,  Here And There. These

Breaks In The Letters Stand For Numbers.

 

"Thus The First Words Are 'Many Thanks.' The First Break Is At The

End Of The Letter 'N,' Between It And The 'Y.' There Are Three

Letters Before This Break. That Stands For The Number 3.

 

"When You Come To The End Of A Word,  If The Stroke Is Down At The

End Of The Last Letter,  That Means No Break; If It Is Up,  It Means

A Break. The Stroke At The End Of The 'Y' Is Plainly Down.

Therefore There Is No Break Until After The 'T.' That Gives Us The

Number 2. So We Get 1 Next,  And Again 1,  And Still Again 1; Then

5; Then 5; Then 1; And So On.

 

"Now,  Take These Numbers In Pairs,  Thus 3-2; 1-1; 1-5; 5-1. By

Consulting This Table You Can Arrive At The Hidden Message."

 

He Held Up A Cardboard Bearing The Following Arrangement Of The

Letters Of The Alphabet:

 

   1  2  3  4  5

 1 A  B  C  D  E

 2 F  G  H  Ij K

 3 L  M  N  O  P

 4 Q  R  S  T  U

 5 V  W  X  Y  Z

 

"Thus," He Continued,  "3-2 Means The Third Column And Second Line.

That Is 'H.' Then 1-1 Is 'A '; 1-5 Is 'V '; 5-1 Is 'E'--And We Get

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 32

The Word 'Have.'"

 

Not A Soul Stirred As Kennedy Unfolded The Cipher. What Was The

Terrible Secret In That Scientific Essay I Had Puzzled So

Unsuccessfully Over,  The Night Before?

 

"Even This Can Be Complicated By Choosing A Series Of Fixed

Numbers To Be Added To The Real Numbers Over And Over Again. Or

The Order Of The Alphabet Can Be Changed. However,  We Have The

Straight Cipher Only To Deal With Here."

 

"And What For Heaven's Sake Does It Reveal?" Asked Saratovsky,

Leaning Forward,  Forgetful Of The Fever That Was Consuming Him.

 

Kennedy Pulled Out A Piece Of Paper On Which He Had Written The

Hidden Message And Read:

 

"Have Successfully Inoculated S. With Fever. Public Opinion

America Would Condemn Violence. Think Best Death Should Appear

Natural. Samarova Infected Also. Cook Unfortunately Took Dose In

Food Intended Kharkoff. Now Have Three Cases. Shall Stop There At

Present. Dangerous Excite Further Suspicion Health Authorities."

 

Rapidly I Eliminated In My Mind The Persons Mentioned,  As Craig

Read. Saratovsky Of Course Was Not Guilty,  For The Plot Had

Centred About Him. Nor Was Little Samarova,  Nor Dr. Kharkoff. I

Noted Revalenko And Kazanovitch Glaring At Each Other And Hastily

Tried To Decide Which I More Strongly Suspected.

 

"Will Get K.," Continued Kennedy. "Think Bomb Perhaps All Right.

K. Case Different From S. No Public Sentiment."

 

"So Kharkoff Had Been Marked For Slaughter," I Thought. Or Was

"K." Kazanovitch? I Regarded Revalenko More Closely. He Was

Suspiciously Sullen.

 

"Must Have More Money. Cable Ten Thousand Rubles At Once Russian

Consul-General. Will Advise You Plot Against Czar As Details

Perfected Here. Expect Break Up New York Band With Death Of S."

 

If Kennedy Himself Had Thrown A Bomb Or Scattered Broadcast The

Contents Of The Test-Tubes,  The Effect Could Not Have Been More

Startling Than His Last Quiet Sentence--And Sentence It Was In Two

Senses.

 

"Signed," He Said,  Folding The Paper Up Deliberately,  "Ekaterina

Nevsky."

 

It Was As If A Cable Had Snapped And A Weight Had Fallen.

Revalenko Sprang Up And Grasped Kazanovitch By The Hand. "Forgive

Me,  Comrade,  For Ever Suspecting You," He Cried.

 

"And Forgive Me For Suspecting You," Replied Kazanovitch,  "But How

Did You Come To Shadow Kharkoff?"

 

"I Ordered Him To Follow Kharkoff Secretly And Protect Him,"

Explained Saratovsky.

 

Olga And Ekaterina Faced Each Other Fiercely. Olga Was Trembling

With Emotion. Nevsky Stood Coldly,  Defiantly. If Ever There Was A

Consummate Actress It Was She,  Who Had Put The Bomb At Her Own

Door And Had Rushed Off To Start Kennedy On A Blind Trail.

 

"You Traitress," Cried Olga Passionately,  Forgetting All In Her

Outraged Love. "You Won His Affections From Me By Your False

Beauty--Yet All The Time You Would Have Killed Him Like A Dog For

The Czar's Gold. At Last You Are Unmasked--You Azeff In Skirts.

False Friend--You Would Have Killed Us All--Saratovsky,  Kharkoff--

"

 

"Be Still,  Little Fool," Exclaimed Nevsky Contemptuously. "The

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 33

Spirilla Fever Has Affected Your Brains. Bah! I Will Not Stay With

Those Who Are So Ready To Suspect An Old Comrade On The Mere Word

Of A Charlatan. Boris Kazanovitch,  Do You Stand There Silent And

Let This Insult Be Heaped Upon Me?"

 

For Answer,  Kazanovitch Deliberately Turned His Back On His Lover

Of A Moment Ago And Crossed The Room. "Olga," He Pleaded,  "I Have

Been A Fool. Some Day I May Be Worthy Of Your Love. Fever Or Not,

I Must Beg Your Forgiveness."

 

With A Cry Of Delight The Actress Flung Her Arms About Boris,  As

He Imprinted A Penitent Kiss On Her Warm Lips.

 

"Simpleton," Hissed Nevsky With Curling Lips. "Now You,  Too,  Will

Die."

 

"One Moment,  Ekaterina Nevsky," Interposed Kennedy,  As He Picked

Up Some Vacuum Tubes Full Of A Golden-Yellow Powder,  That Lay On

The Table. "The Spirilla,  As Scientists Now Know,  Belong To The

Same Family As Those Which Cause What We Call,  Euphemistically,

The 'Black Plague.' It Is The Same Species As That Of The African

Sleeping Sickness And The Philippine Yaws. Last Year A Famous

Doctor Whose Photograph I See In The Next Room,  Dr. Ehrlich Of

Frankfort,  Discovered A Cure For All These Diseases. It Will Rid

The Blood Of Your Victims Of The Asiatic Relapsing Fever Germs In

Forty-Eight Hours. In These Tubes I Have The Now Famous

Salvarsan."

 

With A Piercing Shriek Of Rage At Seeing Her Deadly Work So

Quickly And Completely Undone,  Nevsky Flung Herself Into The

Little Laboratory Behind Her And Bolted The Door.

 

Her Face Still Wore The Same Cold,  Contemptuous Smile,  As Kennedy

Gently Withdrew A Sharp Scalpel From Her Breast.

 

"Perhaps It Is Best This Way,  After All," He Said Simply.

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 34

 

A Big,  Powerful,  Red Touring-Car,  With A Shining Brass Bell On The

Front Of It,  Was Standing At The Curb Before Our Apartment Late

One Afternoon As I Entered. It Was Such A Machine As One

Frequently Sees Threading Its Reckless Course In And Out Among The

Trucks And Street-Cars,  Breaking All Rules And Regulations,

Stopping At Nothing,  The Bell Clanging With Excitement,  Policemen

Holding Back Traffic Instead Of Trying To Arrest The Driver--In

Other Words,  A Fire Department Automobile.

 

I Regarded It Curiously For A Moment,  For Everything Connected

With Modern Fire-Fighting Is Interesting. Then I Forgot About It

As I Was Whisked Up In The Elevator,  Only To Have It Recalled

Sharply By The Sight Of A Strongly Built,  Grizzled Man In A Blue

Uniform With Red Lining. He Was Leaning Forward,  Earnestly Pouring

Forth A Story Into Kennedy's Ear.

 

"And Back Of The Whole Thing,  Sir," I Heard Him Say As He Brought

His Large Fist Down On The Table,  "Is A Firebug--Mark My Words."

 

Before I Could Close The Door,  Craig Caught My Eye,  And I Read In

His Look That He Had A New Case--One That Interested Him Greatly.

"Walter," He Cried,  "This Is Fire Marshal Mccormick. It's All

Right,  Mccormick. Mr. Jameson Is An Accessory Both Before And

After The Fact In My Detective Cases."

 

A Firebug!--One Of The Most Dangerous Of Criminals. The Word

Excited My Imagination At Once,  For The Newspapers Had Lately Been

Making Much Of The Strange And Appalling Succession Of Apparently

Incendiary Fires That Had Terrorised The Business Section Of The

City.

 

"Just What Makes You Think That There Is A Firebug--One Firebug,  I

Mean--Back Of This Curious Epidemic Of Fires?" Asked Kennedy,

Leaning Back In His Morrischair With His Finger-Tips Together And

His Eyes Half Closed As If Expecting A Revelation From Some

Subconscious Train Of Thought While The Fire Marshal Presented His

Case.

 

"Well,  Usually There Is No Rhyme Or Reason About The Firebug,"

Replied Mccormick,  Measuring His Words,  "But This Time I Think

There Is Some Method In His Madness. You Know The Stacey

Department-Stores And Their Allied Dry-Goods And Garment-Trade

Interests?"

 

Craig Nodded. Of Course We Knew Of The Gigantic Dry-Goods

Combination. It Had Been The Talk Of The Press At The Time Of Its

Formation,  A Few Months Ago,  Especially As It Included Among Its

Organisers One Very Clever Business Woman,  Miss Rebecca Wend.

There Had Been Considerable Opposition To The Combination In The

Trade,  But Stacey Had Shattered It By The Sheer Force Of His

Personality.

 

Mccormick Leaned Forward And,  Shaking His Forefinger To Emphasise

His Point,  Replied Slowly,  "Practically Every One Of These Fires

Has Been Directed Against A Stacey Subsidiary Or A Corporation

Controlled By Them."

 

"But If It Has Gone As Far As That," Put In Kennedy,  "Surely The

Regular Police Ought To Be Of More Assistance To You Than I."

 

"I Have Called In The Police," Answered Mccormick Wearily,  "But

They Haven't Even Made Up Their Minds Whether It Is A Single

Firebug Or A Gang. And In The Meantime,  My God,  Kennedy,  The

Firebug May Start A Fire That Will Get Beyond Control!"

 

"You Say The Police Haven't A Single Clue To Any One Who Might Be

Responsible For The Fires?" I Asked,  Hoping That Perhaps The

Marshal Might Talk More Freely Of His Suspicions To Us Than He Had

Already Expressed Himself In The Newspaper Interviews I Had Read.

 

"Absolutely Not A Clue--Except Such As Are Ridiculous," Replied

Mccormick,  Twisting His Cap Viciously.

 

No One Spoke. We Were Waiting For Mccormick To Go On.

 

"The First Fire," He Began,  Repeating His Story For My Benefit,

Although Craig Listened Quite As Attentively As If He Had Not

Heard It Already,  "Was At The Big Store Of Jones,  Green Leaders

Have Been Arrested,  But I Can't Say We Have Anything Against Any

Of Them. Still,  Max Bloom,  The Manager Of This Company,  Insists

That The Fire Was Set For Revenge,  And Indeed It Looks As Much

Like A Fire For Revenge As The Jones-Green Fire Does"--Here He

Lowered His Voice Confidentially--"For The Purpose Of Collecting

Insurance.

 

"Then Came The Fire In The Slawson Building,  A New Loft-Building

That Had Been Erected Just Off Fourth Avenue. Other Than The Fact

That The Stacey Interests Put Up The Money For Financing This

Building There Seemed To Be No Reason For That Fire At All. The

Building Was Reputed To Be Earning A Good Return On The

Investment,  And I Was At A Loss To Account For The Fire. I Have

Made No Arrests For It--Just Set It Down As The Work Of A Pure

Pyromaniac,  A Man Who Burns Buildings For Fun,  A Man With An

Inordinate Desire To Hear The Fire-Engines Screech Through The

Streets And Perhaps Get A Chance To Show A Little Heroism In

'Rescuing' Tenants. However,  The Adjuster For The Insurance

Company,  Lazard,  And The Adjuster For The Insured,  Hartstein,  Have

Reached An Agreement,  And I Believe The Insurance Is To Be Paid."

 

"But," Interposed Kennedy,  "I See No Evidence Of Organised Arson

So Far."

 

"Wait," Replied The Fire Marshal. "That Was Only The Beginning,

You Understand. A Little Later Came A Fire That Looked Quite Like

An Attempt To Mask A Robbery By Burning The Building Afterward.

That Was In A Silk-House Near Spring Street. But After A

Controversy The Adjusters Have Reached An Agreement On That Case.

I Mention These Fires Because They Show Practically All The Types

Of Work Of The Various Kinds Of Firebug--Insurance,  Revenge,

Robbery,  And Plain Insanity. But Since The Spring Street Fire,  The

Character Of The Fires Has Been More Uniform. They Have All Been

In Business Places,  Or Nearly All."

 

Here The Fire Marshal Launched Forth Into A Catalogue Of Fires Of

Suspected Incendiary Origin,  At Least Eight In All. I Took Them

Down Hastily,  Intending To Use The List Some Time In A Box Head

With An Article In The Star. When He Had Finished His List I

Hastily Counted Up The Number Of Killed. There Were Six,  Two Of

Them Firemen,  And Four Employees. The Money Loss Ranged Into The

Millions.

 

Mccormick Passed His Hand Over His Forehead To Brush Off The

Perspiration. "I Guess This Thing Has Got On My Nerves," He

Muttered Hoarsely. "Everywhere I Go They Talk About Nothing Else.

If I Drop Into The Restaurant For Lunch,  My Waiter Talks Of It. If

I Meet A Newspaper Man,  He Talks Of It. My Barber Talks Of It--

Everybody. Sometimes I Dream Of It; Other Times I Lie Awake

Thinking About It. I Tell You,  Gentlemen,  I've Sweated Blood Over

This Problem."

 

"But," Insisted Kennedy,  "I Still Can't See Why You Link All These

Fires As Due To One Firebug. I Admit There Is An Epidemic Of

Fires. But What Makes You So Positive That It Is All The Work Of

One Man?"

 

"I Was Coming To That. For One Thing,  He Isn't Like The Usual

Firebug At All. Ordinarily They Start Their Fires With Excelsior

And Petroleum,  Or They Smear The Wood With Paraffin Or They Use

Gasoline,  Benzine,  Or Something Of That Sort. This Fellow

Apparently Scorns Such Crude Methods. I Can't Say How He Starts

His Fires,  But In Every Case I Have Mentioned We Have Found The

Remains Of A Wire. It Has Something To Do With Electricity--But

What,  I Don't Know. That's One Reason Why I Think These Fires Are

All Connected. Here's Another."

 

Mccormick Pulled A Dirty Note Out Of His Pocket And Laid It On The

Table. We Read It Eagerly:

 

Hello,  Chief! Haven't Found The Firebug Yet,  Have You? You Will

Know Who He Is Only When I Am Dead And The Fires Stop. I Don't

Suppose You Even Realise That The Firebug Talks With You Almost

Every Day About Catching The Firebug. That's Me. I Am The Real

Firebug,  That Is Writing This Letter. I Am Going To Tell You Why I

Am Starting These Fires. There's Money In It--An Easy Living. They

Never Caught Me In Chicago Or Anywhere,  So You Might As Well Quit

Looking For Me And Take Your Medicine.

                       A. Spark.

 

"Humph!" Ejaculated Kennedy,  "He Has A Sense Of Humour,  Anyhow--A.

Spark!"

 

"Queer Sense Of Humour," Growled Mccormick,  Gritting His Teeth.

"Here's Another I Got To-Day:

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 35

Say,  Chief: We Are Going To Get Busy Again And Fire A Big

Department-Store Next. How Does That Suit Your Majesty? Wait Till

The Fun Begins When The Firebug Gets To Work Again.

                       A. Spark.

 

"Well,  Sir,  When I Got That Letter," Cried Mccormick,  "I Was

Almost Ready To Ring In A Double-Nine Alarm At Once--They Have Me

That Bluffed Out. But I Said To Myself,  'There's Only One Thing To

Do--See This Man Kennedy.' So Here I Am. You See What I Am Driving

At? I Believe That Firebug Is An Artist At The Thing,  Does It For

The Mere Fun Of It And The Ready Money In It. But More Than That,

There Must Be Some One Back Of Him. Who Is The Man Higher Up--We

Must Catch Him. See?"

 

"A Big Department-Store," Mused Kennedy. "That's Definite--There

Are Only A Score Or So Of Them,  And The Stacey Interests Control

Several. Mac,  I'll Tell You What I'll Do. Let Me Sit Up With You

To-Night At Headquarters Until We Get An Alarm. By George,  I'll

See This Case Through To A Finish!"

 

The Fire Marshal Leaped To His Feet And Bounded Over To Where

Kennedy Was Seated. With One Hand On Craig's Shoulder And The

Other Grasping Craig's Hand,  He Started To Speak,  But His Voice

Choked.

 

"Thanks," He Blurted Out Huskily At Last. "My Reputation In The

Department Is At Stake,  My Promotion,  My Position Itself,  My--My

Family--Er--Er--"

 

"Not A Word,  Sir," Said Kennedy,  His Features Working

Sympathetically. "To-Night At Eight I Will Go On Watch With You.

By The Way,  Leave Me Those A. Spark Notes."

 

Mccormick Had So Far Regained His Composure As To Say A Hearty

Farewell. He Left The Room As If Ten Years Had Been Lifted Off His

Shoulders. A Moment Later He Stuck His Head In The Door Again.

"I'll Have One Of The Department Machines Call For You,

Gentlemen," He Said.

 

After The Marshal Had Gone,  We Sat For Several Minutes In Silence.

Kennedy Was Reading And Rereading The Notes,  Scowling To Himself

As If They Presented A Particularly Perplexing Problem. I Said

Nothing,  Though My Mind Was Teeming With Speculations. At Length

He Placed The Notes Very Decisively On The Table And Snapped Out

The Remark,

 

"Yes,  It Must Be So."

 

"What?" I Queried,  Still Drumming Away At My Typewriter,  Copying

The List Of Incendiary Fires Against The Moment When The Case

Should Be Complete And The Story "Released For Publication," As It

Were.

 

"This Note," He Explained,  Picking Up The First One And Speaking

Slowly,  "Was Written By A Woman."

 

I Swung Around In My Chair Quickly. "Get Out!" I Exclaimed

Sceptically. "No Woman Ever Used Such Phrases."

 

"I Didn't Say Composed By A Woman--I Said Written By A Woman," He

Replied.

 

"Oh," I Said,  Rather Chagrined.

 

"It Is Possible To Determine Sex From Handwriting In Perhaps

Eighty Cases Out Of A Hundred," Kennedy Went On,  Enjoying My

Discomfiture. "Once I Examined Several Hundred Specimens Of

Writing To Decide That Point To My Satisfaction. Just To Test My

Conclusions I Submitted The Specimens To Two Professional

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 36

Graphologists. I Found That Our Results Were Slightly Different,

But I Averaged The Thing Up To Four Cases Out Of Five Correct. The

So-Called Sex Signs Are Found To Be Largely Influenced By The

Amount Of Writing Done,  By Age,  And To A Certain Extent By

Practice And Professional Requirements,  As In The Conventional

Writing Of Teachers And The Rapid Hand Of Bookkeepers. Now In This

Case The Person Who Wrote The First Note Was Only An Indifferent

Writer. Therefore The Sex Signs Are Pretty Likely To Be Accurate.

Yes,  I'm Ready To Go On The Stand And Swear That This Note Was

Written By A Woman And The Second By A Man."

 

"Then There's A Woman In The Case,  And She Wrote The First Note

For The Firebug--Is That What You Mean?" I Asked.

 

"Exactly. There Nearly Always Is A Woman In The Case,  Somehow Or

Other. This Woman Is Closely Connected With The Firebug. As For

The Firebug,  Whoever It May Be,  He Performs His Crimes With Cold

Premeditation And,  As De Quincey Said,  In A Spirit Of Pure

Artistry. The Lust Of Fire Propels Him,  And He Uses His Art To

Secure Wealth. The Man May Be A Tool In The Hands Of Others,

However. It's Unsafe To Generalise On The Meagre Facts We Now

Have. Oh,  Well,  There Is Nothing We Can Do Just Yet. Let's Take A

Walk,  Get An Early Dinner,  And Be Back Here Before The Automobile

Arrives."

 

Not A Word More Did Kennedy Say About The Case During Our Stroll

Or Even On The Way Downtown To Fire Headquarters.

 

We Found Mccormick Anxiously Waiting For Us. High Up In The

Sandstone Tower At Headquarters,  We Sat With Him In The Maze Of

Delicate Machinery With Which The Fire Game Is Played In New York.

In Great Glass Cases Were Glistening Brass And Nickel Machines

With Discs And Levers And Bells,  Tickers,  Sheets Of Paper,  And

Annunciators Without Number. This Was The Fire-Alarm Telegraph,

The "Roulettewheel Of The Fire Demon," As Some One Has Aptly

Called It.

 

"All The Alarms For Fire From All The Boroughs,  Both From The

Regular Alarm-Boxes And The Auxiliary Systems,  Come Here First

Over The Network Of Three Thousand Miles Or More Of Wire Nerves

That Stretch Out Through The City," Mccormick Was Explaining To

Us.

 

A Buzzer Hissed.

 

"Here's An Alarm Now," He Exclaimed,  All Attention.

 

"Three," "Six," "Seven," The Numbers Appeared On The Annunciator.

The Clerks In The Office Moved As If They Were Part Of The

Mechanism. Twice The Alarm Was Repeated,  Being Sent Out All Over

The City. Mccormick Relapsed From His Air Of Attention.

 

"That Alarm Was Not In The Shopping District," He Explained,  Much

Relieved. "Now The Fire-Houses In The Particular District Where

That Fire Is Have Received The Alarm Instantly. Four Engines,  Two

Hook-And-Ladders,  A Water-Tower,  The Battalion Chief,  And A Deputy

Are Hurrying To That Fire. Hello,  Here Comes Another."

 

Again The Buzzer Sounded. "One," "Four," "Five" Showed In The

Annunciator.

 

Even Before The Clerks Could Respond,  Mccormick Had Dragged Us To

The Door. In Another Instant We Were Wildly Speeding Uptown,  The

Bell On The Front Of The Automobile Clanging Like A Fire-Engine,

The Siren Horn Going Continuously,  The Engine Of The Machine

Throbbing With Energy Until The Water Boiled In The Radiator.

 

"Let Her Out,  Frank," Called Mccormick To His Chauffeur,  As We

Rounded Into A Broad And Now Almost Deserted Thoroughfare.

 

Like A Red Streak In The Night We Flew Up That Avenue,  Turned Into

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 37

Fourteenth Street On Two Wheels,  And At Last Were On Sixth Avenue.

With A Jerk And A Skid We Stopped. There Were The Engines,  The

Hose-Carts,  The Hook-And-Ladders,  The Salvage Corps,  The Police

Establishing Fire Lines--Everything. But Where Was The Fire?

 

The Crowd Indicated Where It Ought To Be--It Was Stacey's. Firemen

And Policemen Were Entering The Huge Building. Mccormick

Shouldered In After Them,  And We Followed.

 

"Who Turned In The Alarm?" He Asked As We Mounted The Stairs With

The Others.

 

"I Did," Replied A Night Watchman On The Third Landing. "Saw A

Light In The Office On The Third Floor Back--Something Blazing.

But It Seems To Be Out Now."

 

We Had At Last Come To The Office. It Was Dark And Deserted,  Yet

With The Lanterns We Could See The Floor Of The Largest Room

Littered With Torn Books And Ledgers.

 

Kennedy Caught His Foot In Something. It Was A Loose Wire On The

Floor. He Followed It. It Led To An Electric-Light Socket,  Where

It Was Attached.

 

"Can't You Turn On The Lights?" Shouted Mccormick To The Watchman.

 

"Not Here. They're Turned On From Downstairs,  And They're Off For

The Night. I'll Go Down If You Want Me To And--"

 

"No," Roared Kennedy. "Stay Where You Are Until I Follow The Wire

To The Other End."

 

At Last We Came To A Little Office Partitioned Off From The Main

Room. Kennedy Carefully Opened The Door. One Whiff Of The Air From

It Was Sufficient. He Banged The Door Shut Again.

 

"Stand Back With Those Lanterns,  Boys," He Ordered.

 

I Sniffed,  Expecting To Smell Illuminating-Gas. Instead,  A

Peculiar,  Sweetish Odour Pervaded The Air. For A Moment It Made Me

Think Of A Hospital Operating-Room.

 

"Ether," Exclaimed Kennedy. "Stand Back Farther With Those Lights

And Hold Them Up From The Floor."

 

For A Moment He Seemed To Hesitate As If At Loss What To Do Next.

Should He Open The Door And Let This Highly Inflammable Gas Out Or

Should He Wait Patiently Until The Natural Ventilation Of The

Little Office Had Dispelled It?

 

While He Was Debating He Happened To Glance Out Of The Window And

Catch Sight Of A Drug-Store Across The Street.

 

"Walter," He Said To Me,  "Hurry Across There And Get All The

Saltpeter And Sulphur The Man Has In The Shop."

 

I Lost No Time In Doing So. Kennedy Dumped The Two Chemicals Into

A Pan In The Middle Of The Main Office,  About Three-Fifths

Saltpeter And Two-Fifths Sulphur,  I Should Say. Then He Lighted

It. The Mass Burned With A Bright Flame But Without Explosion. We

Could Smell The Suffocating Fumes From It,  And We Retreated. For A

Moment Or Two We Watched It Curiously At A Distance.

 

"That's Very Good Extinguishing-Powder," Explained Craig As We

Sniffed At The Odour. "It Yields A Large Amount Of Carbon Dioxide

And Sulphur Dioxide. Now--Before It Gets Any Worse--I Guess It's

Safe To Open The Door And Let The Ether Out. You See This Is As

Good A Way As Any To Render Safe A Room Full Of Inflammable

Vapour. Come,  We'll Wait Outside The Main Office For A Few Minutes

Until The Gases Mix."

 

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 38

It Seemed Hours Before Kennedy Deemed It Safe To Enter The Office

Again With A Light. When We Did So,  We Made A Rush For The Little

Cubby-Hole Of An Office At The Other End. On The Floor Was A

Little Can Of Ether,  Evaporated Of Course,  And Beside It A Small

Apparatus Apparently Used For Producing Electric Sparks.

 

"So,  That's How He Does It," Mused Kennedy,  Fingering The Can

Contemplatively. "He Lets The Ether Evaporate In A Room For A

While And Then Causes An Explosion From A Safe Distance With This

Little Electric Spark. There's Where Your Wire Comes In,

Mccormick. Say,  My Man,  You Can Switch On The Lights From

Downstairs,  Now."

 

As We Waited For The Watchman To Turn On The Lights I Exclaimed,

"He Failed This Time Because The Electricity Was Shut Off."

 

"Precisely,  Walter," Assented Kennedy.

 

"But The Flames Which The Night Watchman Saw,  What Of Them?" Put

In Mccormick,  Considerably Mystified." He Must Have Seen

Something."

 

Just Then The Lights Winked Up.

 

"Oh,  That Was Before The Fellow Tried To Touch Off The Ether

Vapour," Explained Kennedy. "He Had To Make Sure Of His Work Of

Destruction First--And,  Judging By The Charred Papers About,  He

Did It Well. See,  He Tore Leaves From The Ledgers And Lighted Them

On The Floor. There Was An Object In All That. What Was It? Hello!

Look At This Mass Of Charred Paper In The Corner."

 

He Bent Down And Examined It Carefully.

 

"Memoranda Of Some Kind,  I Guess. I'll Save This Burnt Paper And

Look It Over Later. Don't Disturb It. I'll Take It Away Myself."

 

Search As We Might,  We Could Find No Other Trace Of The Firebug,

And At Last We Left. Kennedy Carried The Charred Paper Carefully

In A Large Hat-Box.

 

"There'll Be No More Fires To-Night,  Mccormick," He Said. "But

I'll Watch With You Every Night Until We Get This Incendiary.

Meanwhile I'll See What I Can Decipher,  If Anything,  In This Burnt

Paper."

 

Next Day Mccormick Dropped In To See Us Again. This Time He Had

Another Note,  A Disguised Scrawl Which Read:

 

Chief: I'm Not Through. Watch Me Get Another Store Yet. I Won't

Fall Down This Time.

                       A. Spark.

 

Craig Scowled As He Read The Note And Handed It To Me. "The Man's

Writing This Time--Like The Second Note," Was All He Said.

"Mccormick,  Since We Know Where The Lightning Is Going To Strike,

Don't You Think It Would Be Wiser To Make Our Headquarters In One

Of The Engine-Houses In That District?"

 

The Fire Marshal Agreed,  And That Night Saw Us Watching At The

Fire-House Nearest The Department-Store Region.

 

Kennedy And I Were Assigned To Places On The Hose-Cart And Engine,

Respectively,  Kennedy Being In The Hose-Cart So That He Could Be

With Mccormick. We Were Taught To Descend One Of The Four Brass

Poles Hand Under Elbow,  From The Dormitory On The Second Floor.

They Showed Us How To Jump Into The "Turn-Outs"--A Pair Of

Trousers Opened Out Over The High Top Boots. We Were Given Helmets

Which We Placed In Regulation Fashion On Our Rubber Coats,  Turned

Inside Out With The Right Armhole Up. Thus It Came About That

Craig And I Joined The Fire Department Temporarily. It Was A Novel

Experience For Us Both.

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 39

 

"Now,  Walter," Said Kennedy,  "As Long As We Have Gone So Far,

We'll 'Roll' To Every Fire,  Just Like The Regulars. We Won't Take

Any Chances Of Missing The Firebug At Any Time Of Night Or Day."

 

It Proved To Be A Remarkably Quiet Evening With Only One Little

Blaze In A Candy-Shop On Seventh Avenue. Most Of The Time We Sat

Around Trying To Draw The Men Out About Their Thrilling

Experiences At Fires. But If There Is One Thing The Fireman

Doesn't Know It Is The English Language When Talking About

Himself. It Was Quite Late When We Turned Into The Neat White Cots

Upstairs.

 

We Had Scarcely Fallen Into A Half Doze In Our Strange

Surroundings When The Gong Downstairs Sounded. It Was Our Signal.

 

We Could Hear The Rapid Clatter Of The Horses' Hoofs As They Were

Automatically Released From Their Stalls And The Collars And

Harness Mechanically Locked About Them. All Was Stir,  And Motion,

And Shouts. Craig And I Had Bounded Awkwardly Into Our

Paraphernalia At The First Sound. We Slid Ungracefully Down The

Pole And Were Pushed And Shoved Into Our Places,  For Scientific

Management In A New York Fire-House Has Reached One Hundred Per

Cent. Efficiency,  And We Were Not To Be Allowed To Delay The Game.

 

The Oil-Torch Had Been Applied To The Engine,  And It Rolled Forth,

Belching Flames. I Was Hanging On For Dear Life,  Now And Then

Catching Sight Of The Driver Urging His Plunging Horses Onward

Like A Charioteer In A Modern Ben Hur Race. The Tender With Craig

And Mccormick Was Lost In The Clouds Of Smoke And Sparks That

Trailed Behind Us. On We Dashed Until We Turned Into Sixth Avenue.

The Glare Of The Sky Told Us That This Time The Firebug Had Made

Good.

 

"I'll Be Hanged If It Isn't The Stacey Store Again," Shouted The

Man Next Me On The Engine As The Horses Lunged Up The Avenue And

Stopped At The Allotted Hydrant. It Was Like A War Game. Every

Move Had Been Planned Out By The Fire-Strategists,  Even Down To

The Hydrants That The Engines Should Take At A Given Fire.

 

Already Several Floors Were Aflame,  The Windows Glowing Like Open-

Hearth Furnaces,  The Glass Bulging And Cracking And The Flames

Licking Upward And Shooting Out In Long Streamers. The Hose Was

Coupled Up In An Instant,  The Water Turned On,  And The Limp Rubber

And Canvas Became As Rigid As A Post With The High Pressure Of The

Water Being Forced Through It. Company After Company Dashed Into

The Blazing "Fireproof" Building,  Urged By The Hoarse Profanity Of

The Chief.

 

Twenty Or Thirty Men Must Have Disappeared Into The Stifle From

Which The Police Retreated. There Was No Haste,  No Hesitation.

Everything Moved As Smoothly As If By Clockwork. Yet We Could Not

See One Of The Men Who Had Disappeared Into The Burning Building.

They Had Been Swallowed Up,  As It Were. For That Is The Way With

The New York Firemen. They Go Straight To The Heart Of The Fire.

Now And Then A Stream Of A Hose Spat Out Of A Window,  Showing That

The Men Were Still Alive And Working. About The Ground Floors The

Red-Helmeted Salvage Corps Were Busy Covering Up What They Could

Of The Goods With Rubber Sheets To Protect Them From Water.

Doctors With Black Bags And White Trousers Were Working Over The

Injured. Kennedy And I Were Busy About The Engine,  And There Was

Plenty For Us To Do.

 

Above The Shrill Whistle For More Coal I Heard A Voice Shout,

"Began With An Explosion--It's The Firebug,  All Right." I Looked

Up. It Was Mccormick,  Dripping And Grimy,  In A High State Of

Excitement,  Talking To Kennedy.

 

I Had Been So Busy Trying To Make Myself Believe That I Was Really

Of Some Assistance About The Engine That I Had Not Taken Time To

Watch The Fire Itself. It Was Now Under Control. The Sharp And

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 40

Scientific Attack Had Nipped What Might Have Been One Of New

York's Historic Conflagrations.

 

"Are You Game To Go Inside?" I Heard Mccormick Ask.

 

For Answer Kennedy Simply Nodded. As For Me,  Where Craig Went I

Went.

 

The Three Of Us Drove Through The Scorching Door,  Past Twisted

Masses Of Iron Still Glowing Dull Red In The Smoke And Steam,

While The Water Hissed And Spattered And Slopped. The Smoke Was

Still Suffocating,  And Every Once In A While We Were Forced To

Find Air Close To The Floor And Near The Wall. My Hands And Arms

And Legs Felt Like Lead,  Yet On We Drove.

 

Coughing And Choking,  We Followed Mccormick To What Had Been The

Heart Of The Fire,  The Office. Men With Picks And Axes And All

Manner Of Cunningly Devised Instruments Were Hacking And Tearing

At The Walls And Woodwork,  Putting Out The Last Smouldering Sparks

While A Thousand Gallons Of Water Were Pouring In At Various Parts

Of The Building Where The Fire Still Showed Spirit.

 

There On The Floor Of The Office Lay A Charred,  Shapeless,

Unrecognisable Mass. What Was That Gruesome Odour In The Room?

Burned Human Flesh? I Recoiled From What Had Once Been The Form Of

A Woman.

 

Mccormick Uttered A Cry,  And As I Turned My Eyes Away,  I Saw Him

Holding A Wire With The Insulation Burned Off. He Had Picked It Up

From The Wreckage Of The Floor. It Led To A Bent And Blackened

Can--That Had Once Been A Can Of Ether.

 

My Mind Worked Rapidly,  But Mccormick Blurted Out The Words Before

I Could Form Them,  "Caught In Her Own Trap At Last!"

 

Kennedy Said Nothing,  But As One Of The Firemen Roughly But

Reverently Covered The Remains With A Rubber Sheet,  He Stooped

Down And Withdrew From The Breast Of The Woman A Long Letter-File.

"Come,  Let Us Go," He Said.

 

Back In Our Apartment Again We Bathed Our Racking Heads,  Gargled

Our Parched Throats,  And Washed Out Our Bloodshot Eyes,  In

Silence. The Whole Adventure,  Though Still Fresh And Vivid In My

Mind,  Seemed Unreal,  Like A Dream. The Choking Air,  The Hissing

Steam,  The Ghastly Object Under The Tarpaulin--What Did It All

Mean? Who Was She? I Strove To Reason It Out,  But Could Find No

Answer.

 

It Was Nearly Dawn When The Door Opened And Mccormick Came In And

Dropped Wearily Into A Chair. "Do You Know Who That Woman Was?" He

Gasped. "It Was Miss Wend Herself."

 

"Who Identified Her?" Asked Kennedy Calmly.

 

"Oh,  Several People. Stacey Recognised Her At Once. Then

Hartstein,  The Adjuster For The Insured,  And Lazard,  The Adjuster

For The Company,  Both Of Whom Had Had More Or Less To Do With Her

In Connection With Settling Up For Other Fires,  Recognised Her.

She Was A Very Clever Woman,  Was Miss Wend,  And A Very Important

Cog In The Stacey Enterprises. And To Think She Was The Firebug,

After All. I Can Hardly Believe It."

 

"Why Believe It?" Asked Kennedy Quietly.

 

"Why Believe It?" Echoed Mccormick. "Stacey Has Found Shortages In

His Books Due To The Operation Of Her Departments. The Bookkeeper

Who Had Charge Of The Accounts In Her Department,  A Man Named

Douglas,  Is Missing. She Must Have Tried To Cover Up Her

Operations By Fires And Juggling The Accounts. Failing In That She

Tried To Destroy Stacey's Store Itself,  Twice. She Was One Of The

Few That Could Get Into The Office Unobserved. Oh,  It's A Clear

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 41

Case Now. To My Mind,  The Heavy Vapours Of Ether--They Are Heavier

Than Air,  You Know--Must Have Escaped Along The Surface Of The

Floor Last Night And Become Ignited At A Considerable Distance

From Where She Expected. She Was Caught In A Back-Draught,  Or

Something Of The Sort. Well,  Thank God,  We've Seen The Last Of

This Firebug Business. What's That?"

 

Kennedy Had Laid The Letter-File On The Table. "Nothing. Only I

Found This Embedded In Miss Wend's Breast Right Over Her Heart."

 

"Then She Was Murdered?" Exclaimed Mccormick.

 

"We Haven't Come To The End Of This Case Yet," Replied Craig

Evasively. "On The Contrary,  We Have Just Got Our First Good Clue.

No,  Mccormick,  Your Theory Will Not Hold Water. The Real Point Is

To Find This Missing Bookkeeper At Any Cost. You Must Persuade Him

To Confess What He Knows. Offer Him Immunity--He Was Only A Pawn

In The Hands Of Those Higher Up."

 

Mccormick Was Not Hard To Convince. Tired As He Was,  He Grabbed Up

His Hat And Started Off To Put The Final Machinery In Motion To

Wind Up The Long Chase For The Firebug.

 

"I Must Get A Couple Of Hours' Sleep," He Yawned As He Left Us,

"But First I Want To Start Something Toward Finding Douglas. I

Shall Try To See You About Noon."

 

I Was Too Exhausted To Go To The Office. In Fact,  I Doubt If I

Could Have Written A Line. But I Telephoned In A Story Of Personal

Experiences At The Stacey Fire And Told Them They Could Fix It Up

As They Chose And Even Sign My Name To It.

 

About Noon Mccormick Came In Again,  Looking As Fresh As If Nothing

Had Happened. He Was Used To It.

 

"I Know Where Douglas Is," He Announced Breathlessly.

 

"Fine," Said Kennedy,  "And Can You Produce Him At Any Time When It

Is Necessary?"

 

"Let Me Tell You What I Have Done. I Went Down To The District

Attorney From Here--Routed Him Out Of Bed. He Has Promised To Turn

Loose His Accountants To Audit The Reports Of The Adjusters,

Hartstein And Lazard,  As Well As To Make A Cursory Examination Of

What Stacey Books There Are Left. He Says He Will Have A

Preliminary Report Ready To-Night,  But The Detailed Report Will

Take Days,  Of Course.

 

"It's The Douglas Problem That Is Difficult,  Though. I Haven't

Seen Him,  But One Of The Central-Office Men,  By Shadowing His

Wife,  Has Found That He Is In Hiding Down On The East Side. He's

Safe There; He Can't Make A Move To Get Away Without Being

Arrested. The Trouble Is That If I Arrest Him,  The People Higher

Up Will Know It And Will Escape Before I Can Get His Confession

And The Warrants. I'd Much Rather Have The Whole Thing Done At

Once. Isn't There Some Way We Can Get The Whole Stacey Crowd

Together,  Make The Arrest Of Douglas And Nab The Guilty Ones In

The Case,  All Together Without Giving Them A Chance To Escape Or

To Shield The Real Firebug?"

 

Kennedy Thought A Moment. "Yes," He Answered Slowly. "There Is. If

You Can Get Them All Together At My Laboratory To-Night At,  Say,

Eight O'clock,  I'll Give You Two Clear Hours To Make The Arrest Of

Douglas,  Get The Confession,  And Swear Out The Warrants. All That

You'll Need To Do Is To Let Me Talk A Few Minutes This Afternoon

With The Judge Who Will Sit In The Night Court To-Night. I Shall

Install A Little Machine On His Desk In The Court,  And We'll Catch

The Real Criminal--He'll Never Get A Chance To Cross The State

Line Or Disappear In Any Way. You See,  My Laboratory Will Be

Neutral Ground. I Think You Can Get Them To Come,  Inasmuch As They

Know The Bookkeeper Is Safe And That Dead Women Tell No Tales."

 

When Next I Saw Kennedy It Was Late In The Afternoon,  In The

Laboratory. He Was Arranging Something In The Top Drawer Of A

Flat-Top Desk. It Seemed To Be Two Instruments Composed Of Many

Levers And Discs And Magnets,  Each Instrument With A Roll Of Paper

About Five Inches Wide. On One Was A Sort Of Stylus With Two Silk

Cords Attached At Right Angles To Each Other Near The Point. On

The Other Was A Capillary Glass Tube At The Junction Of Two

Aluminum Arms,  Also At Right Angles To Each Other.

 

It Was Quite Like Old Times To See Kennedy At Work In His

Laboratory Preparing For A "Seance." He Said Nothing As I Watched

Him Curiously,  And I Asked Nothing. Two Sets Of Wires Were

Attached To Each Of The Instruments,  And These He Carefully

Concealed And Led Out The Window. Then He Arranged The Chairs On

The Opposite Side Of The Desk From His Own.

 

"Walter," He Said,  "When Our Guests Begin To Arrive I Want You To

Be Master Of Ceremonies. Simply Keep Them On The Opposite Side Of

The Desk From Me. Don't Let Them Move Their Chairs Around To The

Right Or Left. And,  Above All,  Leave The Doors Open. I Don't Want

Any One To Be Suspicious Or To Feel That He Is Shut In In Any Way.

Create The Impression That They Are Free To Go And Come When They

Please."

 

Stacey Arrived First In A Limousine Which He Left Standing At The

Door Of The Chemistry Building. Bloom And Warren Came Together In

The Latter's Car. Lazard Came In A Taxicab Which He Dismissed,  And

Hartstein Came Up By The Subway,  Being The Last To Arrive. Every

One Seemed To Be In Good Humour.

 

I Seated Them As Kennedy Had Directed. Kennedy Pulled Out The

Extension On The Left Of His Desk And Leaned His Elbow On It As He

Began To Apologise For Taking Up Their Time At Such A Critical

Moment. As Near As I Could Make Out,  He Had Quietly Pulled Out The

Top Drawer Of His Desk On The Right,  The Drawer In Which I Had

Seen Him Place The Complicated Apparatus. But As Nothing Further

Happened I Almost Forgot About It In Listening To Him. He Began By

Referring To The Burned Papers He Had Found In The Office.

 

"It Is Sometimes Possible," He Continued,  "To Decipher Writing On

Burned Papers If One Is Careful. The Processes Of Colour

Photography Have Recently Been Applied To Obtain A Legible

Photograph Of The Writing On Burned Manuscripts Which Are

Unreadable By Any Other Known Means. As Long As The Sheet Has Not

Been Entirely Disintegrated Positive Results Can Be Obtained Every

Time. The Charred Manuscript Is Carefully Arranged In As Near Its

Original Shape As Possible,  On A Sheet Of Glass And Covered With A

Drying Varnish,  After Which It Is Backed By Another Sheet Of

Glass.

 

"By Using Carefully Selected Colour Screens And Orthochromatic

Plates A Perfectly Legible Photograph Of The Writing May Be Taken,

Although There May Be No Marks On The Charred Remains That Are

Visible To The Eye. This Is The Only Known Method In Many Cases. I

Have Here Some Burned Fragments Of Paper Which I Gathered Up After

The First Attempt To Fire Your Store,  Mr. Stacey."

 

Stacey Coughed In Acknowledgment. As For Craig,  He Did Not Mince

Matters In Telling What He Had Found.

 

"Some Were Notes Given In Favour Of Rebecca Wend And Signed By

Joseph Stacey," He Said Quietly. "They Represent A Large Sum Of

Money In The Aggregate. Others Were Memoranda Of Miss Wend's,  And

Still Others Were Autograph Letters To Miss Wend Of A Very

Incriminating Nature In Connection With The Fires By Another

Person."

 

Here He Laid The "A. Spark" Letters On The Desk Before Him. "Now,"

He Added "Some One,  In A Spirit Of Bravado,  Sent These Notes To

The Fire Marshal At Various Times. Curiously Enough,  I Find That

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 42

The Handwriting Of The First One Bears A Peculiar Resemblance To

That Of Miss Wend,  While The Second And Third,  Though Disguised

Also,  Greatly Suggest The Handwriting Of Miss Wend's

Correspondent."

 

No One Moved. But I Sat Aghast. She Had Been A Part Of The

Conspiracy,  After All,  Not A Pawn. Had They Played Fair?

 

"Taking Up Next The Remarkable Succession Of Fires," Resumed

Kennedy,  "This Case Presents Some Unique Features. In Short,  It Is

A Clear Case Of What Is Known As A 'Firebug Trust.' Now Just What

Is A Firebug Trust? Well,  It Is,  As Near As I Can Make Out,  A

Combination Of Dishonest Merchants And Insurance Adjusters Engaged

In The Business Of Deliberately Setting Fires For Profit. These

Arson Trusts Are Not The Ordinary Kind Of Firebugs Whom The

Firemen Plentifully Damn In The Fixed Belief That One-Fourth Of

All Fires Are Kindled By Incendiaries. Such 'Trusts' Exist All

Over The Country. They Have Operated In Chicago,  Where They Are

Said To Have Made Seven Hundred And Fifty Thousand Dollars In One

Year. Another Group Is Said To Have Its Headquarters In Kansas

City. Others Have Worked In St. Louis,  Pittsburgh,  Cleveland,  And

Buffalo. The Fire Marshals Of Illinois,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  And

Ohio Have Investigated Their Work. But Until Recently New York Has

Been Singularly Free From The Organised Work Of This Sort. Of

Course We Have Plenty Of Firebugs And Pyromaniacs In A Small Way,

But The Big Conspiracy Has Never Come To My Personal Attention

Before.

 

"Now,  The Jones-Green Fire,  The Quadrangle Fire,  The Slawson

Building Fire,  And The Rest,  Have All Been Set For One Purpose--To

Collect Insurance. I May As Well Say Right Here That Some People

Are In Bad In This Case,  But That Others Are In Worse. Miss Wend

Was Originally A Party To The Scheme. Only The Trouble With Miss

Wend Was That She Was Too Shrewd To Be Fooled. She Insisted That

She Have Her Full Share Of The Pickings. In That Case It Seems To

Have Been The Whole Field Against Miss Wend,  Not A Very Gallant

Thing,  Nor Yet According To The Adage About Honour Among Thieves.

 

"A Certain Person Whose Name I Am Frank To Say I Do Not Know--Yet-

-Conceived The Idea Of Destroying The Obligations Of The Stacey

Companies To Miss Wend As Well As The Incriminating Evidence Which

She Held Of The 'Firebug Trust,' Of Which She Was A Member Up To

This Time. The Plan Only Partly Succeeded. The Chief Coup,  Which

Was To Destroy The Stacey Store Into The Bargain,  Miscarried.

 

"What Was The Result? Miss Wend,  Who Had Been Hand In Glove With

The 'Trust,' Was Now A Bitter Enemy,  Perhaps Would Turn State's

Evidence. What More Natural Than To Complete The Conspiracy By

Carrying Out The Coup And At The Same Time Get Rid Of The

Dangerous Enemy Of The Conspirators? I Believe That Miss Wend Was

Lured Under Some Pretext Or Other To The Stacey Store On The Night

Of The Big Fire. The Person Who Wrote The Second And Third 'A.

Spark' Letters Did It. She Was Murdered With This Deadly

Instrument"--Craig Laid The Letter-File On The Table--"And It Was

Planned To Throw The Entire Burden Of Suspicion On Her By

Asserting That There Was A Shortage In The Books Of Her

Department."

 

"Pooh!" Exclaimed Stacey,  Smoking Complacently At His Cigar. "We

Have Been Victimised In Those Fires By People Who Have Grudges

Against Us,  Labour Unions And Others. This Talk Of An Arson Trust

Is Bosh--Yellow Journalism. More Than That,  We Have Been

Systematically Robbed By A Trusted Head Of A Department,  And The

Fire At Stacey's Was The Way The Thief Took To Cover--Er--Her

Stealings. At The Proper Time We Shall Produce The Bookkeeper

Douglas And Prove It."

 

Kennedy Fumbled In The Drawer Of The Desk,  Then Drew Forth A Long

Strip Of Paper Covered With Figures. "All The Stacey Companies,"

He Said,  "Have Been Suffering From The Depression That Exists In

The Trade At Present. They Are Insolvent. Glance Over That,

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 43

Stacey. It Is A Summary Of The Preliminary Report Of The

Accountants Of The District Attorney Who Have Been Going Over Your

Books To-Day."

 

Stacey Gasped. "How Did You Get It? The Report Was Not To Be Ready

Until Nine O'clock,  And It Is Scarcely A Quarter Past Now."

 

"Never Mind How I Got It. Go Over It With The Adjusters,  Anybody.

I Think You Will Find That There Was No Shortage In Miss Wend's

Department,  That You Were Losing Money,  That You Were In Debt To

Miss Wend,  And That She Would Have Received The Lion's Share Of

The Proceeds Of The Insurance If The Firebug Scheme Had Turned Out

As Planned."

 

"We Absolutely Repudiate These Figures As Fiction," Said Stacey,

Angrily Turning Toward Kennedy After A Hurried Consultation.

 

"Perhaps,  Then,  You'll Appreciate This," Replied Craig,  Pulling

Another Piece Of Paper From The Desk. "I'll Read It. 'Henry

Douglas,  Being Duly Sworn,  Deposes And Says That One'--We'll Call

Him 'Blank' For The Present--'With Force And Arms Did Feloniously,

Wilfully,  And Intentionally Kill Rebecca Wend Whilst Said Blank

Was Wilfully Burning And Setting On Fire--'"

 

"One Moment," Interrupted Stacey. "Let Me See That Paper."

 

Kennedy Laid It Down So That Only The Signature Showed. The Name

Was Signed In A Full Round Hand,  "Henry Douglas."

 

"It's A Forgery," Cried Stacey In Rage. "Not An Hour Before I Came

Into This Place I Saw Henry Douglas. He Had Signed No Such Paper

Then. He Could Not Have Signed It Since,  And You Could Not Have

Received It. I Brand That Document As A Forgery."

 

Kennedy Stood Up And Reached Down Into The Open Drawer On The

Right Of His Desk. From It He Lifted The Two Machines I Had Seen

Him Place There Early In The Evening.

 

"Gentlemen," He Said,  "This Is The Last Scene Of The Play You Are

Enacting. You See Here On The Desk An Instrument That Was Invented

Many Years Ago,  But Has Only Recently Become Really Practical. It

Is The Telautograph--The Long-Distance Writer. In This New Form It

Can Be Introduced Into The Drawer Of A Desk For The Use Of Any One

Who May Wish To Make Inquiries,  Say,  Of Clerks Without The

Knowledge Of A Caller. It Makes It Possible To Write A Message

Under These Conditions And Receive An Answer Concerning The

Personality Or Business Of The Individual Seated At One's Elbow

Without Leaving The Desk Or Seeming To Make Inquiries.

 

"With An Ordinary Pencil I Have Written On The Paper Of The

Transmitter. The Silk Cord Attached To The Pencil Regulates The

Current Which Controls A Pencil At The Other End Of The Line. The

Receiving Pencil Moves Simultaneously With My Pencil. It Is The

Principle Of The Pantagraph Cut In Half,  One Half Here,  The Other

Half At The End Of The Line,  Two Telephone Wires In This Case

Connecting The Halves.

 

"While We Have Been Sitting Here I Have Had My Right Hand In The

Half-Open Drawer Of My Desk Writing With This Pencil Notes Of What

Has Transpired In This Room. These Notes,  With Other Evidence,

Have Been Simultaneously Placed Before Magistrate Brenner In The

Night Court. At The Same Time,  On This Other,  The Receiving,

Instrument The Figures Of The Accountants Written In Court Have

Been Reproduced Here. You Have Seen Them. Meanwhile,  Douglas Was

Arrested,  Taken Before The Magistrate,  And The Information For A

Charge Of Murder In The First Degree Perpetrated In Committing

Arson Has Been Obtained. You Have Seen It. It Came In While You

Were Reading The Figures."

 

The Conspirators Seemed Dazed.

 

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 44

"And Now," Continued Kennedy,  "I See That The Pencil Of The

Receiving Instrument Is Writing Again. Let Us See What It Is."

 

We Bent Over. The Writing Started: "County Of New York. In The

Name Of The People Of The State Of New York--"

 

Kennedy Did Not Wait For Us To Finish Reading. He Tore The Writing

From The Telautograph And Waved It Over His Head.

 

"It Is A Warrant. You Are All Under Arrest For Arson. But You,

Samuel Lazard,  Are Also Under Arrest For The Murder Of Rebecca

Wend And Six Other Persons In Fires Which You Have Set. You Are

The Real Firebug,  The Tool Of Joseph Stacey,  Perhaps,  But That

Will All Come Out In The Trial. Mccormick,  Mccormick," Called

Craig,  "It's All Right. I Have The Warrant. Are The Police There?"

 

There Was No Answer.

 

Lazard And Stacey Made A Sudden Dash For The Door,  And In An

Instant They Were In Stacey's Waiting Car. The Chauffeur Took Off

The Brake And Pulled The Lever. Suddenly Craig's Pistol Flashed,

And The Chauffeur's Arms Hung Limp And Useless On The Steering-

Wheel.

 

As Mccormick With The Police Loomed Up,  A Moment Late,  Out Of The

Darkness And After A Short Struggle Clapped The Irons On Stacey

And Lazard In Stacey's Own Magnificently Upholstered Car,  I

Remarked Reproachfully To Kennedy: "But,  Craig,  You Have Shot The

Innocent Chauffeur. Aren't You Going To Attend To Him?"

 

"Oh," Replied Kennedy Nonchalantly,  "Don't Worry About That. They

Were Only Rock-Salt Bullets. They Didn't Penetrate Far. They'll

Sting For Some Time,  But They're Antiseptic,  And They'll Dissolve

And Absorb Quickly."

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 45

 

 

"Shake Hands With Mr. Burke Of The Secret Service,  Professor

Kennedy."

 

It Was Our Old Friend First Deputy O'connor Who Thus In His Bluff

Way Introduced A Well-Groomed And Prosperous-Looking Man Whom He

Brought Up To Our Apartment One Evening.

 

The Formalities Were Quickly Over. "Mr. Burke And I Are Old

Friends," Explained O'connor. "We Try To Work Together When We

Can,  And Very Often The City Department Can Give The Government

Service A Lift,  And Then Again It's The Other Way--As It Was In

The Trunk-Murder Mystery. Show Professor Kennedy The 'Queer,'

Tom."

 

Burke Drew A Wallet Out Of His Pocket,  And From It Slowly And

Deliberately Selected A Crisp,  Yellow-Backed Hundred-Dollar Bill.

He Laid It Flat On The Table Before Us. Diagonally Across Its Face

From The Upper Left-To The Lower Right-Hand Corner Extended Two

Parallel Scorings In Indelible Ink.

 

Not Being Initiated Into The Secrets Of The Gentle Art Of "Shoving

The Queer," Otherwise Known As Passing Counterfeit Money,  I

Suppose My Questioning Look Betrayed Me.

 

"A Counterfeit,  Walter," Explained Kennedy. "That's What They Do

With Bills When They Wish To Preserve Them As Records In The

Secret Service And Yet Render Them Valueless."

 

Without A Word Burke Handed Kennedy A Pocket Magnifying-Glass,  And

Kennedy Carefully Studied The Bill. He Was About To Say Something

When Burke Opened His Capacious Wallet Again And Laid Down A Bank

Of England Five-Pound Note Which Had Been Similarly Treated.

 

Again Kennedy Looked Through The Glass With Growing Amazement

Written On His Face,  But Before He Could Say Anything,  Burke Laid

Down An Express Money-Order On The International Express Company.

 

"I Say," Exclaimed Kennedy,  Putting Down The Glass,  "Stop! How

Many More Of These Are There?"

 

Burke Smiled. "That's All," He Replied,  "But It's Not The Worst."

 

"Not The Worst? Good Heavens,  Man,  Next You'll Tell Me That The

Government Is Counterfeiting Its Own Notes! How Much Of This Stuff

Do You Suppose Has Been Put Into Circulation?"

 

Burke Chewed A Pencil Thoughtfully,  Jotted Down Some Figures On A

Piece Of Paper,  And Thought Some More. "Of Course I Can't Say

Exactly,  But From Hints I Have Received Here And There I Should

Think That A Safe Bet Would Be That Some One Has Cashed In Upward

Of Half A Million Dollars Already."

 

"Whew," Whistled Kennedy,  "That's Going Some. And I Suppose It Is

All Salted Away In Some Portable Form. What An Inventory It Must

Be--Good Bills,  Gold,  Diamonds,  And Jewellery. This Is A Stake

Worth Playing For."

 

"Yes," Broke In O'connor,  "But From My Standpoint,  Professionally,

I Mean,  The Case Is Even Worse Than That. It's Not The

Counterfeits That Bother Us. We Understand That,  All Right. But,"

And He Leaned Forward Earnestly And Brought His Fist Down Hard On

The Table With A Resounding Irish Oath,  "The Finger-Print System,

The Infallible Finger-Print System,  Has Gone To Pieces. We've Just

Imported This New 'Portrait Parle' Fresh From Paris And London,

Invented By Bertillon And All That Sort Of Thing--It Has Gone To

Pieces,  Too. It's A Fine Case,  This Is,  With Nothing Left Of

Either Scientific Or Unscientific Criminal-Catching To Rely On.

There--What Do You Know About That?"

 

"You'll Have To Tell Me The Facts First," Said Kennedy. "I Can't

Diagnose Your Disease Until I Know The Symptoms."

 

"It's Like This," Explained Burke,  The Detective In Him Showing

Now With No Effort At Concealment. "A Man,  An Englishman,

Apparently,  Went Into A Downtown Banker's Office About Three

Months Ago And Asked To Have Some English Bank-Notes Exchanged For

American Money. After He Had Gone Away,  The Cashier Began To Get

Suspicious. He Thought There Was Something Phoney In The Feel Of

The Notes. Under The Glass He Noticed That The Little Curl On The

'E' Of The 'Five' Was Missing. It's The Protective Mark. The

Water-Mark Was Quite Equal To That Of The Genuine--Maybe Better.

Hold That Note Up To The Light And See For Yourself.

 

"Well,  The Next Day,  Down To The Custom House,  Where My Office Is,

A Man Came Who Runs A Swell Gambling-House Uptown. He Laid Ten

Brand-New Bills On My Desk. An Englishman Had Been Betting On The

Wheel. He Didn't Seem To Care About Winning,  And He Cashed In Each

Time With A New One-Hundred-Dollar Bill. Of Course He Didn't Care

About Winning. He Cared About The Change--That Was His Winning.

The Bill On The Table Is One Of The Original Ten,  Though Since

Then Scores Have Been Put Into Circulation. I Made Up My Mind That

It Was The Same Englishman In Both Cases.

 

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 46

"Then Within A Week,  In Walked The Manager Of The Mozambique

Hotel--He Had Been Stung With The Fake International Express

Money-Order--Same Englishman,  Too,  I Believe."

 

"And You Have No Trace Of Him?" Asked Kennedy Eagerly.

 

"We Had Him Under Arrest Once--We Thought. A General Alarm Was

Sent Out,  Of Course,  To All The Banks And Banking-Houses. But The

Man Was Too Clever To Turn Up In That Way Again. In One Gambling-

Joint Which Women Frequent A Good Deal,  A Classy Dame Who Might

Have Been A Duchess Or A--Well,  She Was A Pretty Good Loser And

Always Paid With Hundred-Dollar Bills. Now,  You Know Women Are Not

Good Losers. Besides,  The Hundred-Dollar-Bill Story Had Got Around

Among The Gambling-Houses. This Joint Thought It Worth Taking A

Chance,  So They Called Me Up On The 'Phone,  Extracted A Promise

That I'd Play Fair And Keep O'connor From Raiding Them,  But

Wouldn't I Please Come Up And Look Over The Dame Of The Yellow

Bills? Of Course I Made A Jump At It. Sure Enough,  They Were The

Same Counterfeits. I Could Tell Because The Silk Threads Were

Drawn In With Coloured Ink. But Instead Of Making An Arrest I

Decided To Trail The Lady.

 

"Now,  Here Comes The Strange Part Of It. Let Me See,  This Must

Have Been Over Two Months Ago. I Followed Her Out To A Suburban

Town,  Riverwood Along The Hudson,  And To A Swell Country House

Overlooking The River,  Private Drive,  Stone Gate,  Hedges,  Old

Trees,  And All That Sort Of Thing. A Sporty-Looking Englishman Met

Her At The Gate With One Of Those Big Imported Touring-Cars,  And

They Took A Spin.

 

"I Waited A Day Or So,  But Nothing More Happened,  And I Began To

Get Anxious. Perhaps I Was A Bit Hasty. Anyhow I Watched My Chance

And Made An Arrest Of Both Of Them When They Came To New York On A

Shopping Expedition. You Should Have Heard That Englishman Swear.

I Didn't Know Such Language Was Possible. But In His Pocket We

Found Twenty More Of Those Hundred-Dollar Bills--That Was All. Do

You Think He Owned Up? Not A Bit Of It. He Swore He Had Picked The

Notes Up In A Pocketbook On The Pier As He Left The Steamer. I

Laughed. But When He Was Arraigned In Court He Told The Magistrate

The Same Story And That He Had Advertised His Find At The Time.

Sure Enough,  In The Files Of The Papers We Discovered In The Lost-

And-Found Column The Ad.,  Just As He Claimed. We Couldn't Even

Prove That He Had Passed The Bills. So The Magistrate Refused To

Hold Them,  And They Were Both Released. But We Had Had Them In Our

Power Long Enough To Take Their Finger-Prints And Get Descriptions

And Measurements Of Them,  Particularly By This New 'Portrait

Parle' System. We Felt We Could Send Out A Strange Detective And

Have Him Pick Them Out Of A Crowd--You Know The System,  I

Presume?"

 

Kennedy Nodded,  And I Made A Mental Note Of Finding Out More About

The "Portrait Parle" Later.

 

Burke Paused,  And O'connor Prompted,  "Tell Them About Scotland

Yard,  Tom."

 

"Oh,  Yes," Resumed Burke. "Of Course I Sent Copies Of The Finger-

Prints To Scotland Yard. Within Two Weeks They Replied That One

Set Belonged To William Forbes,  A Noted Counterfeiter,  Who,  They

Understood,  Had Sailed For South Africa But Had Never Arrived

There. They Were Glad To Learn That He Was In America,  And Advised

Me To Look After Him Sharply. The Woman Was Also A Noted

Character--Harriet Wollstone,  An Adventuress."

 

"I Suppose You Have Shadowed Them Ever Since?" Kennedy Asked.

 

"Yes,  A Few Days After They Were Arrested The Man Had An Accident

With His Car. It Was Said He Was Cranking The Engine And That It

Kicked Back And Splintered The Bone In His Forearm. Anyhow,  He

Went About With His Hand And Arm In A Sling."

 

"And Then?"

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 47

"They Gave My Man The Slip That Night In Their Fast Touring-Car.

You Know Automobiles Have About Made Shadowing Impossible In These

Days. The House Was Closed Up,  And It Was Said By The Neighbours

That Williams And Mrs. Williams--As They Called Themselves--Had

Gone To Visit A Specialist In Philadelphia. Still,  As They Had A

Year's Lease On The House,  I Detailed A Man To Watch It More Or

Less All The Time. They Went To Philadelphia All Right; Some Of

The Bills Turned Up There. But We Saw Nothing Of Them.

 

"A Short Time Ago,  Word Came To Me That The House Was Open Again.

It Wasn't Two Hours Later That The Telephone Rang Like Mad. A

Fifth Avenue Jeweller Had Just Sold A Rope Of Pearls To An

Englishwoman Who Paid For It Herself In Crisp New One-Hundred-

Dollar Bills. The Bank Had Returned Them To Him That Very

Afternoon--Counterfeits. I Didn't Lose Any Time Making A Second

Arrest Up At The House Of Mystery At Riverwood. I Had The County

Authorities Hold Them--And,  Now,  O'connor,  Tell The Rest Of It.

You Took The Finger-Prints Up There."

 

O'connor Cleared His Throat As If Something Stuck In It,  In The

Telling. "The Riverwood Authorities Refused To Hold Them," He Said

With Evident Chagrin. "As Soon As I Heard Of The Arrest I Started

Up Myself With The Finger-Print Records To Help Burke. It Was The

Same Man,  All Right--I'll Swear To That On A Stack Of Bibles. So

Will Burke. I'll Never Forget That Snub Nose--The Concave Nose,

The Nose Being The First Point Of Identification In The 'Portrait

Parle.' And The Ears,  Too--Oh,  It Was The Same Man,  All Right. But

When We Produced The London Finger-Prints Which Tallied With The

New York Fingerprints Which We Had Made--Believe It Or Not,  But It

Is A Fact,  The Riverwood Finger-Prints Did Not Tally At All."

 

He Laid The Prints On The Table. Kennedy Examined Them Closely.

His Face Clouded. It Was Quite Evident That He Was Stumped,  And He

Said So. "There Are Some Points Of Agreement," He Remarked,  "But

More Points Of Difference. Any Points Of Difference Are Usually

Considered Fatal To The Finger-Print Theory."

 

"We Had To Let The Man Go," Concluded Burke. "We Could Have Held

The Woman,  But We Let Her Go,  Too,  Because She Was Not The

Principal In The Case. My Men Are Shadowing The House Now And Have

Been Ever Since Then. But The Next Day After The Last Arrest,  A

Man From New York,  Who Looked Like A Doctor,  Made A Visit. The

Secret-Service Man On The Job Didn't Dare Leave The House To

Follow Him,  But As He Never Came Again Perhaps It Doesn't Matter.

Since Then The House Has Been Closed."

 

The Telephone Rang. It Was Burke's Office Calling Him. As He

Talked We Could Gather That Something Tragic Must Have Happened At

Riverwood,  And We Could Hardly Wait Until He Had Finished.

 

"There Has Been An Accident Up There," He Remarked As He Hung Up

The Receiver Rather Petulantly. "They Returned In The Car This

Afternoon With A Large Package In The Back Of The Tonneau. But

They Didn't Stay Long. After Dark They Started Out Again In The

Car. The Accident Was At The Bad Railroad Crossing Just Above

Riverwood. It Seems Williams's Car Got Stalled On The Track Just

As The Buffalo Express Was Due. No One Saw It,  But A Man In A

Buggy Around The Bend In The Road Heard A Woman Scream. He Hurried

Down. The Train Had Smashed The Car To Bits. How The Woman Escaped

Was A Miracle,  But They Found The Man's Body Up The Tracks,

Horribly Mangled. It Was Williams,  They Say. They Identified Him

By The Clothes And By Letters In His Pockets. But My Man Tells Me

He Found A Watch On Him With 'W. F.' Engraved On It. His Hands And

Arms And Head Must Have Been Right Under The Locomotive When It

Struck Him,  I Judge."

 

"I Guess That Winds The Case Up,  Eh?" Exclaimed O'connor With

Evident Chagrin. "Where's The Woman?"

 

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 48

They Said She Was In The Little Local Hospital,  But Not Much

Hurt. Just The Shock And A Few Bruises."

 

O'connor's Question Seemed To Suggest An Idea To Burke,  And He

Reached For The Telephone Again. "Riverwood 297," He Ordered; Then

To Us As He Waited He Said: "We Must Hold The Woman. Hello,  297?

The Hospital? This Is Burke Of The Secret Service. Will You Tell

My Man,  Who Must Be Somewhere About,  That I Would Like To Have Him

Hold That Woman Who Was In The Auto Smash Until I Can--What? Gone?

The Deuce!"

 

He Hung Up The Receiver Angrily. "She Left With A Man Who Called

For Her About Half An Hour Ago," He Said. "There Must Be A Gang Of

Them. Forbes Is Dead,  But We Must Get The Rest. Mr. Kennedy,  I'm

Sorry To Have Bothered You,  But I Guess We Can Handle This Alone,

After All. It Was The Finger-Prints That Fooled Us,  But Now That

Forbes Is Out Of The Way It's Just A Straight Case Of Detective

Work Of The Old Style Which Won't Interest You."

 

"On The Contrary," Answered Kennedy,  "I'm Just Beginning To Be

Interested. Does It Occur To You That,  After All,  Forbes May Not

Be Dead?"

 

"Not Dead?" Echoed Burke And O'connor Together.

 

"Exactly; That's Just What I Said--Not Dead. Now Stop And Think A

Moment. Would The Great Forbes Be So Foolish As To Go About With A

Watch Marked 'W. F.' If He Knew,  As He Must Have Known,  That You

Would Communicate With London And By Means Of The Prints Find Out

All About Him?"

 

"Yes," Agreed Burke,  "All We Have To Go By Is His Watch Found On

Williams. I Suppose There Is Some Possibility That Forbes May

Still Be Alive."

 

"Who Is This Third Man Who Comes In And With Whom Harriet

Wollstone Goes Away So Willingly?" Put In O'connor. "You Said The

House Had Been Closed--Absolutely Closed?"

 

Burke Nodded. "Been Closed Ever Since The Last Arrest. There's A

Servant Who Goes In Now And Then,  But The Car Hasn't Been There

Before To-Night,  Wherever It Has Been."

 

"I Should Like To Watch That House Myself For A While," Mused

Kennedy. "I Suppose You Have No Objections To My Doing So?"

 

"Of Course Not. Go Ahead," Said Burke. "I Will Go Along With You

If You Wish,  Or My Man Can Go With You."

 

"No," Said Kennedy,  "Too Many Of Us Might Spoil The Broth. I'll

Watch Alone To-Night And Will See You In The Morning. You Needn't

Even Say Anything To Your Man There About Us."

 

"Walter,  What's On For To-Night?" He Asked When They Had Gone.

"How Are You Fixed For A Little Trip Out To Riverwood?"

 

"To Tell The Truth,  I Had An Engagement At The College Club With

Some Of The Fellows."

 

"Oh,  Cut It."

 

"That's What I Intend To Do," I Replied.

 

It Was A Raw Night,  And We Bundled Ourselves Up In Old Football

Sweaters Under Our Overcoats. Half An Hour Later We Were On Our

Way Up To Riverwood.

 

"By The Way,  Craig," I Asked,  "I Didn't Like To Say Anything

Before Those Fellows. They'd Think I Was A Dub. But I Don't Mind

Asking You. What Is This 'Portrait Parle' They Talk About,

Anyway?"

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 49

 

"Why,  It's A Word-Picture--A 'Spoken Picture,' To Be Literal. I

Took Some Lessons In It At Bertillon's School When I Was In Paris.

It's A Method Of Scientific Apprehension Of Criminals,  A Sort Of

Necessary Addition And Completion To The Methods Of Scientific

Identification Of Them After They Are Arrested. For Instance,  In

Trying To Pick Out A Given Criminal From His Mere Description You

Begin With The Nose. Now,  Noses Are All Concave,  Straight,  Or

Convex. This Forbes Had A Nose That Was Concave,  Burke Says.

Suppose You Were Sent Out To Find Him. Of All The People You Met,

We'll Say,  Roughly,  Two-Thirds Wouldn't Interest You. You'd Pass

Up All With Straight Or Convex Noses. Now The Next Point To

Observe Is The Ear. There Are Four General Kinds Of Ears-

Triangular,  Square,  Oval,  And Round,  Besides A Number Of Other

Differences Which Are Clear Enough After You Study Ears. This

Fellow Is A Pale Man With Square Ears And A Peculiar Lobe To His

Ear. So You Wouldn't Give A Second Glance To,  Say,  Three-Fourths

Of The Square-Eared People. So By A Process Of Elimination Of

Various Features,  The Eyes,  The Mouth,  The Hair,  Wrinkles,  And So

Forth,  You Would Be Able To Pick Your Man Out Of A Thousand--That

Is,  If You Were Trained."

 

"And It Works?" I Asked Rather Doubtfully.

 

"Oh,  Yes. That's Why I'm Taking Up This Case. I Believe Science

Can Really Be Used To Detect Crime,  Any Crime,  And In The Present

Instance I've Just Pride Enough To Stick To This Thing Until--

Until They Begin To Cut Ice On The Styx. Whew,  But It Will Be Cold

Out In The Country To-Night,  Walter--Speaking About Ice."

 

It Was Quite Late When We Reached Riverwood,  And Kennedy Hurried

Along The Dimly Lighted Streets,  Avoiding The Main Street Lest

Some One Might Be Watching Or Following Us. He Pushed On,

Following The Directions Burke Had Given Him. The House In

Question Was A Large,  Newly Built Affair Of Concrete,  Surrounded

By Trees And A Hedge,  Directly Overlooking The River. A Bitter

Wind Swept In From The West,  But In The Shadow Of An Evergreen

Tree And Of The Hedge Kennedy Established Our Watch.

 

Of All Fruitless Errands This Seemed To Me To Be The Acme. The

House Was Deserted; That Was Apparent,  I Thought,  And I Said So.

Hardly Had I Said It When I Heard The Baying Of A Dog. It Did Not

Come From The House,  However,  And I Concluded That It Must Have

Come From The Next Estate.

 

"It's In The Garage," Whispered Kennedy. "I Can Hardly Think They

Would Go Away And Leave A Dog Locked Up In It. They Would At Least

Turn Him Loose."

 

Hour After Hour We Waited. Midnight Passed,  And Still Nothing

Happened. At Last When The Moon Had Disappeared Under The Clouds,

Kennedy Pulled Me Along. We Had Seen Not A Sign Of Life In The

House,  Yet He Observed All The Caution He Would Have If It Had

Been Well Guarded. Quickly We Advanced Over The Open Space To The

House,  Approaching In The Shadow As Much As Possible,  On The Side

Farthest From The River.

 

Tiptoeing Over The Porch,  Kennedy Tried A Window. It Was Fastened.

Without Hesitation He Pulled Out Some Instruments. One Of Them Was

A Rubber Suction-Cup,  Which He Fastened To The Window-Pane. Then

With A Very Fine Diamond-Cutter He Proceeded To Cut Out A Large

Section. It Soon Fell And Was Prevented From Smashing On The Floor

By The String And The Suction-Cup. Kennedy Put His Hand In And

Unlatched The Window,  And We Stepped In.

 

All Was Silent. Apparently The House Was Deserted.

 

Cautiously Kennedy Pressed The Button Of His Pocket Storage-

Battery Lamp And Flashed It Slowly About The Room. It Was A Sort

Of Library,  Handsomely Furnished. At Last The Beam Of Light Rested

On A Huge Desk At The Opposite End. It Seemed To Interest Kennedy,

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 50

And We Tiptoed Over To It. One After Another He Opened The

Drawers. One Was Locked,  And He Saved That Until The Last.

 

Quietly As He Could,  He Jimmied It Open,  Muffling The Jimmy In A

Felt Cloth That Was On A Table. Most People Do Not Realise The

Disruptive Force That There Is In A Simple Jimmy. I Didn't Until I

Saw The Solid Drawer With Its Heavy Lock Yield With Just The Trace

Of A Noise. Kennedy Waited An Instant And Listened. Nothing

Happened.

 

Inside The Drawer Was A Most Nondescript Collection Of Useless

Articles. There Were A Number Of Pieces Of Fine Sponge,  Some Of

Them Very Thin And Cut In A Flat Oval Shape,  Smelling Of Lysol

Strongly; Several Bottles,  A Set Of Sharp Little Knives,  Some

Paraffin,  Bandages,  Antiseptic Gauze,  Cotton--In Fact,  It Looked

Like A First-Aid Kit. As Soon As He Saw It Kennedy Seemed

Astonished But Not At A Loss To Account For It.

 

"I Thought He Left That Sort Of Thing To The Doctors,  But I Guess

He Took A Hand In It Himself," He Muttered,  Continuing To Fumble

With The Knives In The Drawer. It Was No Time To Ask Questions,

And I Did Not. Kennedy Rapidly Stowed Away The Things In His

Pockets. One Bottle He Opened And Held To His Nose. I Could

Distinguish Immediately The Volatile Smell Of Ether. He Closed It

Quickly,  And It,  Too,  Went Into His Pocket With The Remark,

"Somebody Must Have Known How To Administer An Anaesthetic--

Probably The Wollstone Woman."

 

A Suppressed Exclamation From Kennedy Caused Me To Look. The

Drawer Had A False Back. Safely Tucked Away In It Reposed A Tin

Box,  One Of Those So-Called Strong-Boxes Which Are So Handy In

That They Save A Burglar Much Time And Trouble In Hunting All Over

For The Valuables He Has Come After. Kennedy Drew It Forth And

Laid It On The Desk. It Was Locked.

 

Even That Did Not Seem To Satisfy Kennedy,  Who Continued To

Scrutinise The Walls And Corners Of The Room As If Looking For A

Safe Or Something Of That Sort.

 

"Let's Look In The Room Across The Hall," He Whispered.

 

Suddenly A Piercing Scream Of A Woman Rang Out Upstairs. "Help!

Help! There's Some One In The House! Billy,  Help!"

 

I Felt An Arm Grasp Me Tightly,  And For A Moment A Chill Ran Over

Me At Being Caught In The Nefarious Work Of Breaking And Entering

A Dwelling-House At Night. But It Was Only Kennedy,  Who Had

Already Tucked The Precious Little Tin Box Under His Arm.

 

With A Leap He Dragged Me To The Open Window,  Cleared It,  Vaulted

Over The Porch,  And We Were Running For The Clump Of Woods That

Adjoined The Estate On One Side. Lights Flashed In All The Windows

Of The House At Once. There Must Have Been Some Sort Of Electric-

Light System That Could Be Lighted Instantly As A "Burglar-

Expeller." Anyhow,  We Had Made Good Our Escape.

 

As We Lost Ourselves In The Woods I Gave A Last Glance Back And

Saw A Lantern Carried From The House To The Garage. As The Door

Was Unlocked I Could See,  In The Moonlight,  A Huge Dog Leap Out

And Lick The Hands And Face Of A Man.

 

Quickly We Now Crashed Through The Frozen Underbrush. Evidently

Kennedy Was Making For The Station By A Direct Route Across

Country Instead Of The Circuitous Way By The Road And Town. Behind

Us We Could Hear A Deep Baying.

 

"By The Lord,  Walter," Cried Kennedy,  For Once In His Life

Thoroughly Alarmed,  "It's A Bloodhound,  And Our Trail Is Fresh."

 

Closer It Came. Press Forward As We Might,  We Could Never Expect

To Beat That Dog.

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 51

 

"Oh,  For A Stream," Groaned Kennedy,  "But They Are All Frozen--

Even The River."

 

He Stopped Short,  Fumbled In His Pocket,  And Drew Out The Bottle

Of Ether.

 

"Raise Your Foot,  Walter," He Ordered.

 

I Did So And He Smeared First Mine And Then His With The Ether.

Then We Doubled On Our Trail Once Or Twice And Ran Again.

 

"The Dog Will Never Be Able To Pick Up The Ether As Our Trail,"

Panted Kennedy; "That Is,  If He Is Any Good And Trained Not To Go

Off On Wild-Goose Chases."

 

On We Hurried From The Woods To The Now Dark And Silent Town. It

Was Indeed Fortunate That The Dog Had Been Thrown Off Our Scent,

For The Station Was Closed,  And,  Indeed,  If It Had Been Open I Am

Sure The Station Agent Would Have Felt More Like Locking The Door

Against Two Such Tramps As We Were,  Carrying A Tin Box And Pursued

By A Dog,  Than Opening It For Us. The Best We Could Do Was To

Huddle Into A Corner Until We Succeeded In Jumping A Milk-Train

That Luckily Slowed Down As It Passed Riverwood Station.

 

Neither Of Us Could Wait To Open The Tin Box In Our Apartment,  And

Instead Of Going Uptown Kennedy Decided It Would Be Best To Go To

A Hotel Near The Station. Somehow We Succeeded In Getting A Room

Without Exciting Suspicion. Hardly Had The Bellboy's Footsteps

Ceased Echoing In The Corridor Than Kennedy Was At Work Wrenching

Off The Lid Of The Box With Such Leverage As The Scanty

Furnishings Of The Room Afforded.

 

At Last It Yielded,  And We Looked In Curiously,  Expecting To Find

Fabulous Wealth In Some Form. A Few Hundred Dollars And A Rope Of

Pearls Lay In It. It Was A Good "Haul," But Where Was The Vast

Spoil The Counterfeiters Had Accumulated? We Had Missed It. So Far

We Were Completely Baffled.

 

"Perhaps We Had Better Snatch A Couple Of Hours' Sleep," Was All

That Craig Said,  Stifling His Chagrin.

 

Over And Over In My Mind I Was Turning The Problem Of Where They

Had Hidden The Spoil. I Dozed Off,  Still Thinking About It And

Thinking That,  Even Should They Be Captured,  They Might Have

Stowed Away Perhaps A Million Dollars To Which They Could Go Back

After Their Sentences Were Served.

 

It Was Still Early For New York When Kennedy Roused Me By Talking

Over The Telephone In The Room. In Fact,  I Doubt If He Had Slept

At All.

 

Burke Was At The Other End Of The Wire. His Man Had Just Reported

That Something Had Happened During The Night At Riverwood,  But He

Couldn't Give A Very Clear Account. Craig Seemed To Enjoy The Joke

Immensely As He Told His Story To Burke.

 

The Last Words I Heard Were: "All Right. Send A Man Up Here To The

Station--One Who Knows All The Descriptions Of These People. I'm

Sure They Will Have To Come Into Town To-Day,  And They Will Have

To Come By Train,  For Their Car Is Wrecked. Better Watch At The

Uptown Stations,  Also."

 

After A Hasty Breakfast We Met Burke's Man And Took Our Places At

The Exit From The Train Platforms. Evidently Kennedy Had Figured

Out That The Counterfeiters Would Have To Come Into Town For Some

Reason Or Other. The Incoming Passengers Were Passing Us In A

Steady Stream,  For A New Station Was Then Being Built,  And There

Was Only A Temporary Structure With One Large Exit.

 

"Here Is Where The 'Portrait Parle' Ought To Come In,  If Ever,"

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 52

Commented Kennedy As He Watched Eagerly.

 

And Yet Neither Man Nor Woman Passed Us Who Fitted The

Description. Train After Train Emptied Its Human Freight,  Yet The

Pale Man With The Concave Nose And The Peculiar Ear,  Accompanied

Perhaps By A Lady,  Did Not Pass Us.

 

At Last The Incoming Stream Began To Dwindle Down. It Was Long

Past The Time When The Counterfeiters Should Have Arrived If They

Had Started On Any Reasonable Train.

 

"Perhaps They Have Gone Up To Montreal,  Instead," I Ventured.

 

Kennedy Shook His Head. "No," He Answered. "I Have An Idea That I

Was Mistaken About The Money Being Kept At Riverwood. It Would

Have Been Too Risky. I Thought It Out On The Way Back This

Morning. They Probably Kept It In A Safe Deposit Vault Here. I Had

Figured That They Would Come Down And Get It And Leave New York

After Last Night's Events. We Have Failed--They Have Got By Us.

Neither The 'Portrait Parle' Nor The Ordinary Photography Nor Any

Other System Will Suffice Alone Against The Arch-Criminal Back Of

This,  I'm Afraid. Walter,  I Am Sore And Disgusted. What I Should

Have Done Was To Accept Burke's Offer--Surround The House With A

Posse If Necessary,  Last Night,  And Catch The Counterfeiters By

Sheer Force. I Was Too Confident. I Thought I Could Do It With

Finesse,  And I Have Failed. I'd Give Anything To Know What Safe

Deposit Vault They Kept The Fake Money In."

 

I Said Nothing As We Strolled Away,  Leaving Burke's Man Still To

Watch,  Hoping Against Hope. Kennedy Walked Disconsolately Through

The Station,  And I Followed. In A Secluded Part Of The Waiting-

Room He Sat Down,  His Face Drawn Up In A Scowl Such As I Had Never

Seen. Plainly He Was Disgusted With Himself--With Only Himself.

This Was No Bungling Of Burke Or Any One Else. Again The

Counterfeiters Had Escaped From The Hand Of The Law.

 

As He Moved His Fingers Restlessly In The Pockets Of His Coat,  He

Absently Pulled Out The Little Pieces Of Sponge And The Ether

Bottle. He Regarded Them Without Much Interest.

 

"I Know What They Were For," He Said,  Diving Back Into His Pocket

For The Other Things And Bringing Out The Sharp Little Knives In

Their Case. I Said Nothing,  For Kennedy Was In A Deep Study. At

Last He Put The Things Back Into His Pocket. As He Did So His Hand

Encountered Something Which He Drew Forth With A Puzzled Air. It

Was The Piece Of Paraffin.

 

"Now,  What Do You Suppose That Was For?" He Asked,  Half To

Himself. "I Had Forgotten That. What Was The Use Of A Piece Of

Paraffin? Phew,  Smell The Antiseptic Worked Into It."

 

"I Don't Know," I Replied,  Rather Testily. "If You Would Tell Me

What The Other Things Were For I Might Enlighten You,  But--"

 

"By George,  Walter,  What A Chump I Am!" Cried Kennedy,  Leaping To

His Feet,  All Energy Again. "Why Did I Forget That Lump Of

Paraffin? Why,  Of Course--I Think I Can Guess What They Have Been

Doing--Of Course. Why,  Man Alive,  He Walked Right Past Us,  And We

Never Knew It. Boy,  Boy," He Shouted To A Newsboy Who Passed,

"What's The Latest Sporting Edition You Have?"

 

Eagerly He Almost Tore A Paper Open And Scanned The Sporting

Pages. "Racing At Lexington Begins To-Morrow," He Read. "Yes,  I'll

Bet That's It. We Don't Have To Know The Safe Deposit Vault,  After

All. It Would Be Too Late,  Anyhow. Quick,  Let Us Look Up The Train

To Lexington."

 

As We Hurried Over To The Information Booth,  I Gasped,  In A Whirl:

"Now,  Look Here,  Kennedy,  What's All This Lightning Calculation?

What Possible Connection Is There Between A Lump Of Paraffin And

One Of The Few Places In The Country Where They Still Race

Horses?"

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 53

"None," He Replied,  Not Stopping An Instant. "None. The Paraffin

Suggested To Me The Possible Way In Which Our Man Managed To Elude

Us Under Our Very Eyes. That Set My Mind At Work Again. Like A

Flash It Occurred To Me: Where Would They Be Most Likely To Go

Next To Work Off Some Of The Bills? The Banks Are On,  The

Jewellery-Houses Are On,  The Gambling-Joints Are On. Why,  To The

Racetracks,  Of Course. That's It. Counterfeiters All Use The

Bookmakers,  Only Since Racing Has Been Killed In New York They

Have Had To Resort To Other Means Here. If New York Has Suddenly

Become Too Hot,  What More Natural Than To Leave It? Here,  Let Me

See--There's A Train That Gets There Early To-Morrow,  The Best

Train,  Too. Say,  Is No. 144 Made Up Yet?" He Inquired At The

Desk.

 

"No. 144 Will Be Ready In Fifteen Minutes. Track 8."

 

Kennedy Thanked The Man,  Turned Abruptly,  And Started For The

Still Closed Gate At Track 8.

 

"Beg Pardon--Why,  Hulloa--It's Burke," He Exclaimed As We Ran

Plump Into A Man Staring Vacantly About.

 

It Was Not The Gentleman Farmer Of The Night Before,  Nor Yet The

Supposed College Graduate. This Man Was A Western Rancher; His

Broad-Brimmed Hat,  Long Moustache,  Frock Coat,  And Flowing Tie

Proclaimed It. Yet There Was Something Indefinably Familiar About

Him,  Too. It Was Burke In Another Disguise.

 

"Pretty Good Work,  Kennedy," Nodded Burke,  Shifting His Tobacco

From One Side Of His Jaws To The Other. "Now,  Tell Me How Your Man

Escaped You This Morning,  When You Can Recognise Me Instantly In

This Rig."

 

"You Haven't Altered Your Features," Explained Kennedy Simply.

"Our Pale-Faced,  Snub-Nosed Peculiar-Eared Friend Has. What Do You

Think Of The Possibility Of His Going To The Lexington Track,  Now

That He Finds It Too Dangerous To Remain In New York?"

 

Burke Looked At Kennedy Rather Sharply. "Say,  Do You Add Telepathy

To Your Other Accomplishments?"

 

"No," Laughed Craig,  "But I'm Glad To See That Two Of Us Working

Independently Have Arrived At The Same Conclusion. Come,  Let Us

Saunter Over To Track 8--I Guess The Train Is Made Up."

 

The Gate Was Just Opened,  And The Crowd Filed Through. No One Who

Seemed To Satisfy Either Burke Or Kennedy Appeared. The Train-

Announcer Made His Last Call. Just Then A Taxicab Pulled Up At The

Street-End Of The Platform,  Not Far From Track 8. A Man Jumped Out

And Assisted A Heavily Veiled Lady,  Paid The Driver,  Picked Up The

Grips,  And Turned Toward Us.

 

We Waited Expectantly. As He Turned I Saw A Dark-Skinned,  Hook-

Nosed Man,  And I Exclaimed Disgustedly To Burke: "Well,  If They

Are Going To Lexington They Can't Make This Train. Those Are The

Last People Who Have A Chance."

 

Kennedy,  However,  Continued To Regard The Couple Steadily. The Man

Saw That He Was Being Watched And Faced Us Defiantly,  "Such

Impertinence!" Then To His Wife,  "Come,  My Dear,  We'll Just Make

It."

 

"I'm Afraid I'll Have To Trouble You To Show Us What's In That

Grip," Said Kennedy,  Calmly Laying His Hand On The Man's Arm.

 

"Well,  Now,  Did You Ever Hear Of Such Blasted Impudence? Get Out

Of My Way,  Sir,  This Instant,  Or I'll Have You Arrested."

 

"Come,  Come,  Kennedy," Interrupted Burke. "Surely You Are Getting

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 54

In Wrong Here. This Can't Be The Man."

 

Craig Shook His Head Decidedly. "You Can Make The Arrest Or Not,

Burke,  As You Choose. If Not,  I Am Through. If So--I'll Take All

The Responsibility."

 

Reluctantly Burke Yielded. The Man Protested; The Woman Cried; A

Crowd Collected.

 

The Train-Gate Shut With A Bang. As It Did So The Man's Demeanour

Changed Instantly. "There," He Shouted Angrily,  "You Have Made Us

Miss Our Train. I'll Have You In Jail For This. Come On Now To The

Nearest Magistrate's Court. I'll Have My Rights As An American

Citizen. You Have Carried Your Little Joke Too Far. Knight Is My

Name--John Knight,  Of Omaha,  Pork-Packer. Come On Now. I'll See

That Somebody Suffers For This If I Have To Stay In New York A

Year. It's An Outrage--An Outrage."

 

Burke Was Now Apparently Alarmed--More At The Possibility Of The

Humorous Publicity That Would Follow Such A Mistake By The Secret

Service Than At Anything Else. However,  Kennedy Did Not Weaken,

And On General Principles I Stuck To Kennedy.

 

"Now," Said The Man Surlily While He Placed "Mrs. Knight" In As

Easy A Chair As He Could Find In The Judge's Chambers,  "What Is

The Occasion Of All This Row? Tell The Judge What A Bad Man From

Bloody Gulch I Am."

 

O'connor Had Arrived,  Having Broken All Speed Laws And Perhaps

Some Records On The Way Up From Headquarters. Kennedy Laid The

Scotland Yard Finger-Prints On The Table. Beside Them He Placed

Those Taken By O'connor And Burke In New York.

 

"Here," He Began,  "We Have The Finger-Prints Of A Man Who Was One

Of The Most Noted Counterfeiters In Great Britain. Beside Them Are

Those Of A Man Who Succeeded In Passing Counterfeits Of Several

Kinds Recently In New York. Some Weeks Later This Third Set Of

Prints Was Taken From A Man Who Was Believed To Be The Same

Person."

 

The Magistrate Was Examining The Three Sets Of Prints. As He Came

To The Third,  He Raised His Head As If About To Make A Remark,

When Kennedy Quickly Interrupted.

 

"One Moment,  Sir. You Were About To Say That Finger-Prints Never

Change,  Never Show Such Variations As These. That Is True. There

Are Fingerprints Of People Taken Fifty Years Ago That Are Exactly

The Same As Their Finger-Prints Of To-Day. They Don't Change--They

Are Permanent. The Fingerprints Of Mummies Can Be Deciphered Even

After Thousands Of Years. But," He Added Slowly,  "You Can Change

Fingers."

 

The Idea Was So Startling That I Could Scarcely Realise What He

Meant At First. I Had Read Of The Wonderful Work Of The Surgeons

Of The Rockefeller Institute In Transplanting Tissues And Even

Whole Organs,  In Grafting Skin And In Keeping Muscles Artificially

Alive For Days Under Proper Conditions. Could It Be That A Man Had

Deliberately Amputated His Fingers And Grafted On New Ones? Was

The Stake Sufficient For Such A Game? Surely There Must Be Some

Scars Left After Such Grafting. I Picked Up The Various Sets Of

Prints. It Was True That The Third Set Was Not Very Clear,  But

There Certainly Were No Scars There.

 

"Though There Is No Natural Changeability Of Finger-Prints,"

Pursued Kennedy,  "Such Changes Can Be Induced,  As Dr. Paul Prager

Of Vienna Has Shown,  By Acids And Other Reagents,  By Grafting And

By Injuries. Now,  Is There Any Method By Which Lost Finger-Tips

Can Be Restored? I Know Of One Case Where The End Of A Finger Was

Taken Off And Only One-Sixteenth Inch Of The Nail Was Left. The

Doctor Incised The Edges Of The Granulating Surface And Then Led

The Granulations On By What Is Known In The Medical Profession As

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 55

The 'Sponge Graft.' He Grew A New Finger-Tip.

 

"The Sponge Graft Consists In Using Portions Of A Fine Turkish

Surgical Sponge,  Such I Have Here. I Found These Pieces In A Desk

At Riverwood. The Patient Is Anaesthetised. An Incision Is Made

From Side To Side In The Stump Of The Finger And Flaps Of Skin Are

Sliced Off And Turned Up For The New End Of The Finger To Develop

In--A Sort Of Shell Of Living Skin. Inside This,  The Sponge Is

Placed,  Not A Large Piece,  But A Very Thin Piece Sliced Off And

Cut To The Shape Of The Finger-Stump. It Is Perfectly Sterilised

In Water And Washed In Green Soap After All The Stony Particles

Are Removed By Hydrochloric Acid. Then The Finger Is Bound Up And

Kept Moist With Normal Salt Solution.

 

"The Result Is That The End Of The Finger,  Instead Of Healing

Over,  Grows Into The Fine Meshes Of The Pieces Of Sponge,  By

Capillary Attraction. Of Course Even This Would Heal In A Few

Days,  But The Doctor Does Not Let It Heal. In Three Days He Pulls

The Sponge Off Gently. The End Of The Finger Has Grown Up Just A

Fraction Of An Inch. Then A New Thin Layer Of Sponge Is Added. Day

After Day This Process Is Repeated,  Each Time The Finger Growing A

Little More. A New Nail Develops If Any Of The Matrix Is Left,  And

I Suppose A Clever Surgeon By Grafting Up Pieces Of Epidermis

Could Produce On Such A Stump Very Passable Finger-Prints."

 

No One Of Us Said Anything,  But Kennedy Seemed To Realise The

Thought In Our Minds And Proceeded To Elaborate The Method.

 

"It Is Known As The 'Education Sponge Method,' And Was First

Described By Dr. D. J. Hamilton,  Of Edinburgh,  In 1881. It Has

Frequently Been Used In America Since Then. The Sponge Really Acts

In A Mechanical Manner To Support The New Finger-Tissue That Is

Developed. The Meshes Are Filled In By Growing Tissue,  And As It

Grows The Tissue Absorbs Part Of The Sponge,  Which Is Itself An

Animal Tissue And Acts Like Catgut. Part Of It Is Also Thrown Off.

In Fact,  The Sponge Imitates What Happens Naturally In The Porous

Network Of A Regular Blood-Clot. It Educates The Tissue To Grow,

Stimulates It--New Blood-Vessels And Nerves As Well As Flesh.

 

"In Another Case I Know Of,  Almost The Whole Of The First Joint Of

A Finger Was Crushed Off,  And The Doctor Was Asked To Amputate The

Stump Of Bone That Protruded. Instead,  He Decided To Educate The

Tissue To Grow Out To Cover It And Appear Like A Normal Finger. In

These Cases The Doctors Succeeded Admirably In Giving The Patients

Entire New Finger-Tips,  Without Scars,  And,  Except For The Initial

Injury And Operation,  With Comparatively Little Inconvenience

Except That Absolute Rest Of The Hands Was Required.

 

"That Is What Happened,  Gentlemen," Concluded Kennedy. "That Is

Why Mr. Forbes,  Alias Williams,  Made A Trip To Philadelphia To Be

Treated--For Crushed Finger-Tips,  Not For The Kick Of An

Automobile Engine. He May Have Paid The Doctors In Counterfeits.

In Reality This Man Was Playing A Game In Which There Was Indeed A

Heavy Stake At Issue. He Was A Counterfeiter Sought By Two

Governments With The Net Closing About Him. What Are The Tips Of A

Few Fingers Compared With Life,  Liberty,  Wealth,  And A Beautiful

Woman? The First Two Sets Of Prints Are Different From The Third

Because They Are Made By Different Finger-Tips--On The Same Man.

The Very Core Of The Prints Was Changed. But The Finger-Print

System Is Vindicated By The Very Ingenuity Of The Man Who So

Cleverly Has Contrived To Beat It."

 

"Very Interesting--To One Who Is Interested," Remarked The

Stranger,  "But What Has That To Do With Detaining My Wife And

Myself,  Making Us Miss Our Train,  And Insulting Us?"

 

"Just This," Replied Craig. "If You Will Kindly Oblige Us By

Laying Your Fingers On This Inking-Pad And Then Lightly On This

Sheet Of Paper,  I Think I Can Show You An Answer."

 

Knight Demurred,  And His Wife Grew Hysterical At The Idea,  But

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 56

There Was Nothing,  To Do But Comply. Kennedy Glanced At The Fourth

Set Of Prints,  Then At The Third Set Taken A Week Ago,  And Smiled.

No One Said A Word. Knight Or Williams,  Which Was It? He

Nonchalantly Lit A Cigarette.

 

"So You Say I Am This Williams,  The Counterfeiter?" He Asked

Superciliously.

 

"I Do," Reiterated Kennedy. "You Are Also Forbes."

 

"I Don't Suppose Scotland Yard Has Neglected To Furnish You With

Photographs And A Description Of This Forbes?"

 

Burke Reluctantly Pulled Out A Bertillon Card From His Pocket And

Laid It On The Table. It Bore The Front Face And Profile Of The

Famous Counterfeiter,  As Well As His Measurements.

 

The Man Picked It Up As If Indeed It Was A Curious Thing. His

Coolness Nearly Convinced Me. Surely He Should Have Hesitated In

Actually Demanding This Last Piece Of Evidence. I Had Heard,

However,  That The Bertillon System Of Measurements Often Depended

On The Personal Equation Of The Measurer As Well As On The

Measured. Was He Relying On That,  Or On His Difference In

Features?

 

I Looked Over Kennedy's Shoulder At The Card On The Table. There

Was The Concave Nose Of The "Portrait Parle" Of Forbes,  As It Had

First Been Described To Us. Without Looking Further I

Involuntarily Glanced At The Man,  Although I Had No Need To Do So.

I Knew That His Nose Was The Exact Opposite Of That Of Forbes.

 

"Ingenious At Argument As You Are," He Remarked Quietly,  "You Will

Hardly Deny That Knight,  Of Omaha,  Is The Exact Opposite Of

Forbes,  Of London. My Nose Is Almost Jewish--My Complexion Is Dark

As An Arab's. Still,  I Suppose I Am The Sallow,  Snub-Nosed Forbes

Described Here,  Inasmuch As I Have Stolen Forbes's Fingers And

Lost Them Again By A Most Preposterous Method."

 

"The Colour Of The Face Is Easily Altered," Said Kennedy. "A

Little Picric Acid Will Do That. The Ingenious Rogue Sarcey In

Paris Eluded The Police Very Successfully Until Dr. Charcot

Exposed Him And Showed How He Changed The Arch Of His Eyebrows And

The Wrinkles Of His Face. Much Is Possible To-Day That Would Make

Frankenstein And Dr. Moreau Look Clumsy And Antiquated."

 

A Sharp Feminine Voice Interrupted. It Was The Woman,  Who Had Kept

Silent Up To This Time. "But I Have Read In One Of The Papers This

Morning That A Mr. Williams Was Found Dead In An Automobile

Accident Up The Hudson Yesterday. I Remember Reading It,  Because I

Am Afraid Of Accidents Myself."

 

All Eyes Were Now Fixed On Kennedy. "That Body," He Answered

Quickly,  "Was A Body Purchased By You At A Medical School,  Brought

In Your Car To Riverwood,  Dressed In Williams's Clothes With A

Watch That Would Show He Was Forbes,  Placed On The Track In Front

Of The Auto,  While You Two Watched The Buffalo Express Run It

Down,  And Screamed. It Was A Clever Scheme That You Concocted,  But

These Facts Do Not Agree."

 

He Laid The Measurements Of The Corpse Obtained By Burke And Those

From The London Police Card Side By Side. Only In The Roughest Way

Did They Approximate Each Other.

 

"Your Honour,  I Appeal To Your Sense Of Justice," Cried Our

Prisoner Impatiently. "Hasn't This Farce Been Allowed To Go Far

Enough? Is There Any Reason Why This Fake Detective Should Make

Fools Out Of Us All And Keep My Wife Longer In This Court? I'm Not

Disposed To Let The Matter Drop. I Wish To Enter A Charge Against

Him Of False Arrest And Malicious Prosecution. I Shall Turn The

Whole Thing Over To My Attorney This Afternoon. The Deuce With The

Races--I'll Have Justice."

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 57

 

The Man Had By This Time Raised Himself To A High Pitch Of

Apparently Righteous Wrath. He Advanced Menacingly Toward Kennedy,

Who Stood With His Shoulders Thrown Back,  And His Hands Deep In

His Pockets,  And A Half Amused Look On His Face.

 

"As For You,  Mr. Detective," Added The Man,  "For Eleven Cents I'd

Lick You To Within An Inch Of Your Life. 'Portrait Parle,' Indeed!

It's A Fine Scientific System That Has To Deny Its Own Main

Principles In Order To Vindicate Itself. Bah! Take That,  You

Scoundrel!"

 

Harriet Wollstone Threw Her Arms About Him,  But He Broke Away. His

Fist Shot Out Straight. Kennedy Was Too Quick For Him,  However. I

Had Seen Craig Do It Dozens Of Times With The Best Boxers In The

"Gym." He Simply Jerked His Head To One Side,  And The Blow Passed

Just A Fraction Of An Inch From His Jaw,  But Passed It As Cleanly

As If It Had Been A Yard Away.

 

The Man Lost His Balance,  And As He Fell Forward And Caught

Himself,  Kennedy Calmly And Deliberately Slapped Him On The Nose.

 

It Was An Intensely Serious Instant,  Yet I Actually Laughed. The

Man's Nose Was Quite Out Of Joint,  Even From Such A Slight Blow.

It Was Twisted Over On His Face In The Most Ludicrous Position

Imaginable.

 

"The Next Time You Try That,  Forbes," Remarked Kennedy,  As He

Pulled The Piece Of Paraffin From His Pocket And Laid It On The

Table With The Other Exhibits,  "Don't Forget That A Concave Nose

Built Out To Hook-Nose Convexity By Injections Of Paraffin,  Such

As The Beauty-Doctors Everywhere Advertise,  Is A Poor Thing For A

White Hope."

 

Both Burke And O'connor Had Seized Forbes,  But Kennedy Had Turned

His Attention To The Larger Of Forbes's Grips,  Which The Wollstone

Woman Vociferously Claimed As Her Own. Quickly He Wrenched It

Open.

 

As He Turned It Up On The Table My Eyes Fairly Bulged At The

Sight. Forbes' Suit-Case Might Have Been That Of A Travelling

Salesman For The Kimberley,  The Klondike,  And The Bureau Of

Engraving,  All In One. Craig Dumped The Wealth Out On The Table--

Stacks Of Genuine Bills,  Gold Coins Of Two Realms,  Diamonds,

Pearls,  Everything Portable And Tangible All Heaped Up And Topped

Off With Piles Of Counterfeits Awaiting The Magic Touch Of This

Midas To Turn Them Into Real Gold.

 

"Forbes,  You Have Failed In Your Get-Away," Said Craig

Triumphantly. "Gentlemen,  You Have Here A Master Counterfeiter,

Surely--A Master Counterfeiter Of Features And Fingers As Well As

Of Currency."

 

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 58

 

"Interesting Story,  This Fight Between The Five-Borough And The

Inter-River Transit," I Remarked To Kennedy As I Sketched Out The

Draft Of An Expose Of High Finance For The Sunday Star.

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 59

"Then That Will Interest You,  Also," Said He,  Throwing A Letter

Down On My Desk. He Had Just Come In And Was Looking Over His

Mail.

 

The Letterhead Bore The Name Of The Five-Borough Company. It Was

From Jack Orton,  One Of Our Intimates At College,  Who Was In

Charge Of The Construction Of A New Tunnel Under The River. It Was

Brief,  As Jack's Letters Always Were. "I Have A Case Here At The

Tunnel That I Am Sure Will Appeal To You,  My Own Case,  Too," It

Read. "You Can Go As Far As You Like With It,  But Get To The

Bottom Of The Thing,  No Matter Whom It Hits. There Is Some

Deviltry Afoot,  And Apparently No One Is Safe. Don't Say A Word To

Anybody About It,  But Drop Over To See Me As Soon As You Possibly

Can."

 

"Yes," I Agreed,  "That Does Interest Me. When Are You Going Over?"

 

"Now," Replied Kennedy,  Who Had Not Taken Off His Hat. "Can You

Come Along?"

 

As We Sped Across The City In A Taxicab,  Craig Remarked: "I Wonder

What Is The Trouble? Did You See In The Society News This Morning

The Announcement Of Jack's Engagement To Vivian Taylor,  The

Daughter Of The President Of The Five-Borough?"

 

I Had Seen It,  But Could Not Connect It With The Trouble,  Whatever

It Was,  At The Tunnel,  Though I Did Try To Connect The Tunnel

Mystery With My Expose.

 

We Pulled Up At The Construction Works,  And A Strapping Irishman

Met Us. "Is This Professor Kennedy?" He Asked Of Craig.

 

"It Is. Where Is Mr. Orton's Office?"

 

"I'm Afraid,  Sir,  It Will Be A Long Time Before Mr. Orton Is In

His Office Again,  Sir. The Doctor Have Just Took Him Out Of The

Medical Lock,  An' He Said If You Was To Come Before They Took Him

To The 'Orspital I Was To Bring You Right Up To The Lock."

 

"Good Heavens,  Man,  What Has Happened?" Exclaimed Kennedy. "Take

Us Up To Him Quick."

 

Without Waiting To Answer,  The Irishman Led The Way Up And Across

A Rough Board Platform Until At Last We Came To What Looked Like A

Huge Steel Cylinder,  Lying Horizontally,  In Which Was A Floor With

A Cot And Some Strange Paraphernalia. On The Cot Lay Jack Orton,

Drawn And Contorted,  So Changed That Even His Own Mother Would

Scarcely Have Recognised Him. A Doctor Was Bending Over Him,

Massaging The Joints Of His Legs And His Side.

 

"Thank You,  Doctor,  I Feel A Little Better," He Groaned. "No,  I

Don't Want To Go Back Into The Lock Again,  Not Unless The Pain

Gets Worse."

 

His Eyes Were Closed,  But Hearing Us He Opened Them And Nodded.

 

"Yes,  Craig," He Murmured With Difficulty,  "This Is Jack Orton.

What Do You Think Of Me? I'm A Pretty Sight. How Are You? And How

Are You,  Walter? Not Too Vigorous With The Hand-Shakes,  Fellows.

Sorry You Couldn't Get Over Before This Happened."

 

"What's The Matter?" We Asked,  Glancing Blankly From Orton To The

Doctor.

 

Orton Forced A Half Smile. "Just A Touch Of The 'Bends' From

Working In Compressed Air," He Explained.

 

We Looked At Him,  But Could Say Nothing. I,  At Least,  Was Thinking

Of His Engagement.

 

"Yes," He Added Bitterly,  "I Know What You Are Thinking About,

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 60

Fellows. Look At Me! Do You Think Such A Wreck As I Am Now Has Any

Right To Be Engaged To The Dearest Girl In The World?"

 

"Mr. Orton," Interposed The Doctor,  "I Think You'll Feel Better If

You'll Keep Quiet. You Can See Your Friends In The Hospital To-

Night,  But For A Few Hours I Think You Had Better Rest. Gentlemen,

If You Will Be So Good As To Postpone Your Conversation With Mr.

Orton Until Later It Would Be Much Better."

 

"Then I'll See You To-Night," Said Orton To Us Feebly. Turning To

A Tall,  Spare,  Wiry Chap,  Of Just The Build For Tunnel Work,  Where

Fat Is Fatal,  He Added: "This Is Mr. Capps,  My First Assistant. He

Will Show You The Way Down To The Street Again."

 

"Confound It!" Exclaimed Craig,  After We Had Left Capps. "What Do

You Think Of This? Even Before We Can Get To Him Something Has

Happened. The Plot Thickens Before We Are Well Into It. I Think

I'll Not Take A Cab,  Or A Car Either. How Are You For A Walk Until

We Can See Orton Again?"

 

I Could See That Craig Was Very Much Affected By The Sudden

Accident That Had Happened To Our Friend,  So I Fell Into His Mood,

And We Walked Block After Block Scarcely Exchanging A Word. His

Only Remark,  I Recall,  Was,  "Walter,  I Can't Think It Was An

Accident,  Coming So Close After That Letter." As For Me,  I

Scarcely Knew What To Think.

 

At Last Our Walk Brought Us Around To The Private Hospital Where

Orton Was. As We Were About To Enter,  A Very Handsome Girl Was

Leaving. Evidently She Had Been Visiting Some One Of Whom She

Thought A Great Deal. Her Long Fur Coat Was Flying Carelessly,

Unfastened In The Cold Night Air; Her Features Were Pale,  And Her

Eyes Had The Fixed Look Of One Who Saw Nothing But Grief.

 

"It's Terrible,  Miss Taylor," I Heard The Man With Her Say

Soothingly,  "And You Must Know That I Sympathise With You A Great

Deal."

 

Looking Up Quickly,  I Caught Sight Of Capps And Bowed. He Returned

Our Bows And Handed Her Gently Into An Automobile That Was

Waiting.

 

"He Might At Least Have Introduced Us," Muttered Kennedy,  As We

Went On Into The Hospital.

 

Orton Was Lying In Bed,  White And Worn,  Propped Up By Pillows

Which The Nurse Kept Arranging And Rearranging To Ease His Pain.

The Irishman Whom We Had Seen At The Tunnel Was Standing

Deferentially Near The Foot Of The Bed.

 

"Quite A Number Of Visitors,  Nurse,  For A New Patient," Said

Orton,  As He Welcomed Us. "First Capps And Paddy From The Tunnel,

Then Vivian"--He Was Fingering Some Beautiful Roses In A Vase On A

Table Near Him--"And Now,  You Fellows. I Sent Her Home With Capps.

She Oughtn't To Be Out Alone At This Hour,  And Capps Is A Good

Fellow. She's Known Him A Long Time. No,  Paddy,  Put Down Your Hat.

I Want You To Stay. Paddy,  By The Way,  Fellows,  Is My Right-Hand

Man In Managing The 'Sandhogs' As We Call The Tunnel-Workers. He

Has Been A Sand-Hog On Every Tunnel Job About The City Since The

First Successful Tunnel Was Completed. His Real Name Is Flanagan,

But We All Know Him Best As Paddy."

 

Paddy Nodded. "If I Ever Get Over This And Back To The Tunnel,"

Orton Went On,  "Paddy Will Stick To Me,  And We Will Show Taylor,

My Prospective Father-In-Law And The President Of The Railroad

Company From Which I Took This Contract,  That I Am Not To Blame

For All The Troubles We Are Having On The Tunnel. Heaven Knows

That--"

 

"Oh,  Mr. Orton,  You Ain't So Bad," Put In Paddy Without The

Faintest Touch Of Undue Familiarity. "Look What I Was When Ye Come

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 61

To See Me When I Had The Bends,  Sir."

 

"You Old Rascal," Returned Orton,  Brightening Up. "Craig,  Do You

Know How I Found Him? Crawling Over The Floor To The Sink To Pour

The Doctor's Medicine Down."

 

"Think I'd Take That Medicine," Explained Paddy,  Hastily. "Not

Much. Don't I Know That The Only Cure For The Bends Is Bein' Put

Back In The 'Air' In The Medical Lock,  Same As They Did With You,

And Bein' Brought Out Slowly? That's The Cure,  That,  An' Grit,  An'

Patience,  An' Time. Mark Me Wurds,  Gintlemen,  He'll Finish That

Tunnel An' Beggin' Yer Pardon,  Mr. Orton,  Marry That Gurl,  Too.

Didn't I See Her With Tears In Her Eyes Right In This Room When He

Wasn't Lookin',  And A Smile When He Was? Sure,  Ye'll Be All

Right," Continued Paddy,  Slapping His Side And Thigh. "We All Get

The Bends More Or Less--All Us Sand-Hogs. I Was That Doubled Up

Meself That I Felt Like A Big Jack-Knife. Had It In The Arm,  The

Side,  And The Leg All At Once,  That Time He Was Just Speakin' Of.

He'll Be All Right In A Couple More Weeks,  Sure,  An' Down In The

Air Again,  Too,  With The Rest Of His Men. It's Somethin' Else He

Has On His Moind."

 

"Then The Case Has Nothing To Do With Your Trouble,  Nothing To Do

With The Bends?" Asked Kennedy,  Keenly Showing His Anxiety To Help

Our Old Friend.

 

"Well,  It May And It May Not," Replied Orton Thoughtfully. "I

Begin To Think It Has. We Have Had A Great Many Cases Of The Bends

Among The Men,  And Lots Of The Poor Fellows Have Died,  Too. You

Know,  Of Course,  How The Newspapers Are Roasting Us. We Are Being

Called Inhuman; They Are Going To Investigate Us; Perhaps Indict

Me. Oh,  It's An Awful Mess; And Now Some One Is Trying To Make

Taylor Believe It Is My Fault.

 

"Of Course," He Continued,  "We Are Working Under A High Air-

Pressure Just Now,  Some Days As High As Forty Pounds. You See,  We

Have Struck The Very Worst Part Of The Job,  A Stretch Of Quicksand

In The River-Bed,  And If We Can Get Through This We'll Strike

Pebbles And Rock Pretty Soon,  And Then We'll Be All Right Again."

 

He Paused. Paddy Quietly Put In: "Beggin' Yer Pardon Again,  Mr.

Orton,  But We Had Intirely Too Many Cases Of The Bends Even When

We Were Wurkin' At Low Pressure,  In The Rock,  Before We Sthruck

This Sand. There's Somethin' Wrong,  Sir,  Or Ye Wouldn't Be Here

Yerself Like This. The Bends Don't Sthrike The Ingineers,  Them As

Don't Do The Hard Work,  Sir,  And Is Careful,  As Ye Know--Not

Often."

 

"It's This Way,  Craig," Resumed Orton. "When I Took This Contract

For The Five-Borough Transit Company,  They Agreed To Pay Me

Liberally For It,  With A Big Bonus If I Finished Ahead Of Time,

And A Big Penalty If I Exceeded The Time. You May Or May Not Know

It,  But There Is Some Doubt About The Validity Of Their Franchise

After A Certain Date,  Provided The Tunnel Is Not Ready For

Operation. Well,  To Make A Long Story Short,  You Know There Are

Rival Companies That Would Like To See The Work Fail And The

Franchise Revert To The City,  Or At Least Get Tied Up In The

Courts. I Took It With The Understanding That It Was Every Man For

Himself And The Devil Take The Hindmost."

 

"Have You Yourself Seen Any Evidences Of Rival Influences

Hindering The Work?" Asked Kennedy.

 

Orton Carefully Weighed His Reply. "To Begin With," He Answered At

Length,  "While I Was Pushing The Construction End,  The Five-

Borough Was Working With The State Legislature To Get A Bill

Extending The Time-Limit Of The Franchise Another Year. Of Course,

If It Had Gone Through It Would Have Been Fine For Us. But Some

Unseen Influence Blocked The Company At Every Turn. It Was Subtle;

It Never Came Into The Open. They Played On Public Opinion As Only

Demagogues Of High Finance Can,  Very Plausibly Of Course,  But From

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 62

The Most Selfish And Ulterior Motives. The Bill Was Defeated."

 

I Nodded. I Knew All About That Part Of It,  For It Was In The

Article Which I Had Been Writing For The Star.

 

"But I Had Not Counted On The Extra Year,  Anyhow," Continued

Orton,  "So I Wasn't Disappointed. My Plans Were Laid For The

Shorter Time From The Start. I Built An Island In The River So

That We Could Work From Each Shore To It,  As Well As From The

Island To Each Shore,  Really From Four Points At Once. And Then,

When Everything Was Going Ahead Fine,  And We Were Actually

Doubling The Speed In This Way,  These Confounded Accidents"--He

Was Leaning Excitedly Forward--"And Lawsuits And Delays And Deaths

Began To Happen."

 

Orton Sank Back As A Paroxysm Of The Bends Seized Him,  Following

His Excitement.

 

"I Should Like Very Much To Go Down Into The Tunnel," Said Kennedy

Simply.

 

"No Sooner Said Than Done," Replied Orton,  Almost Cheerfully,  At

Seeing Kennedy So Interested.

 

"We Can Arrange That Easily. Paddy Will Be Glad To Do The Honours

Of The Place In My Absence."

 

"Indade I Will Do That Same,  Sor," Responded The Faithful Paddy,

"An' It's A Shmall Return For All Ye've Done For Me."

 

"Very Well,  Then," Agreed Kennedy. "Tomorrow Morning We Shall Be

On Hand. Jack,  Depend On Us. We Will Do Our Level Best To Get You

Out Of This Scrape."

 

"I Knew You Would,  Craig," He Replied. "I've Read Of Some Of Your

And Walter's Exploits. You're A Pair Of Bricks,  You Are. Good-Bye,

Fellows," And His Hands Mechanically Sought The Vase Of Flowers

Which Reminded Him Of Their Giver.

 

At Home We Sat For A Long Time In Silence. "By George,  Craig," I

Exclaimed At Length,  My Mind Reverting Through The Whirl Of Events

To The Glimpse Of Pain I Had Caught On The Delicate Face Of The

Girl Leaving The Hospital,  "Vivian Taylor Is A Beauty,  Though,

Isn't She?"

 

"And Capps Thinks So,  Too," He Returned,  Sinking Again Into His

Shell Of Silence. Then He Suddenly Rose And Put On His Hat And

Coat. I Could See The Old Restless Fever For Work Which Came Into

His Eyes Whenever He Had A Case Which Interested Him More Than

Usual. I Knew There Would Be No Rest For Kennedy Until He Had

Finished It. Moreover,  I Knew It Was Useless For Me To Remonstrate

With Him,  So I Kept Silent.

 

"Don't Wait Up For Me," He Said. "I Don't Know When I'll Be Back.

I'm Going To The Laboratory And The University Library. Be Ready

Early In The Morning To Help Me Delve Into This Tunnel Mystery."

 

I Awoke To Find Kennedy Dozing In A Chair,  Partly Dressed,  But

Just As Fresh As I Was After My Sleep. I Think He Had Been

Dreaming Out His Course Of Action. At Any Rate,  Breakfast Was A

Mere Incident M His Scheme,  And We Were Over At The Tunnel Works

When The Night Shift Were Going Off.

 

Kennedy Carried With Him A Moderate-Sized Box Of The Contents Of

Which He Seemed Very Careful. Paddy Was Waiting For Us,  And After

A Hasty Whispered Conversation,  Craig Stowed The Box Away Behind

The Switchboard Of The Telephone Central,  After Attaching It To

The Various Wires. Paddy Stood Guard While This Was Going On So

That No One Would Know About It,  Not Even The Telephone Girl,  Whom

He Sent Off On An Errand.

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 63

Our First Inspection Was Of That Part Of The Works Which Was Above

Ground. Paddy,  Who Conducted Us,  Introduced Us First To The

Engineer In Charge Of This Part Of The Work,  A Man Named Shelton,

Who Had Knocked About The World A Great Deal,  But Had Acquired A

Taciturnity That Was Sphinx-Like. If It Had Not Been For Paddy,  I

Fear We Should Have Seen Very Little,  For Shelton Was Not Only

Secretive,  But His Explanations Were Such That Even The Editor Of

A Technical Journal Would Have Had To Blue Pencil Them

Considerably. However,  We Gained A Pretty Good Idea Of The Tunnel

Works Above Ground--At Least Kennedy Did. He Seemed Very Much

Interested In How The Air Was Conveyed Below Ground,  The Tank For

Storing Compressed Air For Emergencies,  And Other Features. It

Quite Won Paddy,  Although Shelton Seemed To Resent His Interest

Even More Than He Despised My Ignorance.

 

Next Paddy Conducted Us To The Dressing-Rooms. There We Put On Old

Clothes And Oilskins,  And The Tunnel Doctor Examined Us And

Extracted A Written Statement That We Went Down At Our Own Risk

And Released The Company From All Liability--Much To The Disgust

Of Paddy.

 

"We're Ready Now,  Mr. Capps," Called Paddy,  Opening An Office Door

On The Way Out.

 

"Very Well,  Flanagan," Answered Capps,  Barely Nodding To Us. We

Heard Him Telephone Some One,  But Could Not Catch The Message,  And

In A Minute He Joined Us. By This Time I Had Formed The Opinion,

Which I Have Since Found To Be Correct,  That Tunnel Men Are Not As

A Rule Loquacious.

 

It Was A New Kind Of Thrill To Me To Go Under The "Air," As The

Men Called It. With An Instinctive Last Look At The Skyline Of New

York And The Waves Playing In The Glad Sunlight,  We Entered A Rude

Construction Elevator And Dropped From The Surface To The Bottom

Of A Deep Shaft. It Was Like Going Down Into A Mine. There Was The

Air-Lock,  Studded With Bolts,  And Looking Just Like A Huge Boiler,

Turned Horizontally.

 

The Heavy Iron Door Swung Shut With A Bang As Paddy And Capps,

Followed By Kennedy And Myself,  Crept Into The Air-Lock. Paddy

Turned On A Valve,  And Compressed Air From The Tunnel Began To

Rush In With A Hiss As Of Escaping Steam. Pound After Pound To The

Square Inch The Pressure Slowly Rose Until I Felt Sure The Drums

Of My Ears Would Burst. Then The Hissing Noise Began To Dwindle

Down To A Wheeze,  And Then It Stopped All Of A Sudden. That Meant

That The Air-Pressure In The Lock Was The Same As That In The

Tunnel. Paddy Pushed Open The Door In The Other End Of The Lock

From That By Which We Had Entered.

 

Along The Bottom Of The Completed Tube We Followed Paddy And

Capps. On We Trudged,  Fanned By The Moist Breath Of The Tunnel.

Every Few Feet An Incandescent Light Gleamed In The Misty

Darkness. After Perhaps A Hundred Paces We Had To Duck Down Under

A Semicircular Partition Covering The Upper Half Of The Tube.

 

"What Is That?" I Shouted At Paddy,  The Nasal Ring Of My Own Voice

Startling Me.

 

"Emergency Curtain," He Shouted Back.

 

Words Were Economised. Later,  I Learned That Should The Tunnel

Start To Flood,  The Other Half Of The Emergency Curtain Could Be

Dropped So As To Cut Off The Inrushing Water.

 

Men Passed,  Pushing Little Cars Full Of "Muck" Or Sand Taken Out

From Before The "Shield"--Which Is The Head By Which This

Mechanical Mole Advances Under The River-Bed. These Men And Others

Who Do The Shovelling Are The "Muckers."

 

Pipes Laid Along The Side Of The Tunnel Conducted Compressed Air

And Fresh Water,  While Electric Light And Telephone Wires Were

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 64

Strung All About. These And The Tools And Other Things Strewn

Along The Tunnel Obstructed The Narrow Passage To Such An Extent

That We Had To Be Careful In Picking Our Way.

 

At Last We Reached The Shield,  And On Hands And Knees We Crawled

Out Into One Of Its Compartments. Here We Experienced For The

First Time The Weird Realisation That Only The "Air" Stood Between

Us And Destruction From The Tons And Tons Of Sand And Water

Overhead. At Some Points In The Sand We Could Feel The Air

Escaping,  Which Appeared At The Surface Of The River Overhead In

Bubbles,  Indicating To Those Passing In The River Boats Just How

Far Each Tunnel Heading Below Had Proceeded. When The Loss Of Air

Became Too Great,  I Learned,  Scows Would Dump Hundreds Of Tons Of

Clay Overhead To Make An Artificial River Bed For The Shield To

Stick Its Nose Safely Through,  For If The River Bed Became Too

Thin Overhead The "Air" Would Blow A Hole In It.

 

Capps,  It Seemed To Me,  Was Unusually Anxious To Have The Visit

Over. At Any Rate,  While Kennedy And Paddy Were Still Crawling

About The Shield,  He Stood Aside,  Now And Then Giving The Men An

Order And Apparently Forgetful Of Us.

 

My Own Curiosity Was Quickly Satisfied,  And I Sat Down On A Pile

Of The Segments Out Of Which The Successive Rings Of The Tunnel

Were Made. As I Sat There Waiting For Kennedy,  I Absently Reached

Into My Pocket And Pulled Out A Cigarette And Lighted It. It

Burned Amazingly Fast,  As If It Were Made Of Tinder,  The Reason

Being The Excess Of Oxygen In The Compressed Air. I Was Looking At

It In Astonishment,  When Suddenly I Felt A Blow On My Hand. It Was

Capps.

 

"You Chump!" He Shouted As He Ground The Cigarette Under His Boot.

"Don't You Know It Is Dangerous To Smoke In Compressed Air?"

 

"Why,  No," I Replied,  Smothering My Anger At His Manner. "No One

Said Anything About It."

 

"Well,  It Is Dangerous,  And Orton's A Fool To Let Greenhorns Come

In Here."

 

"And To Whom May It Be Dangerous?" I Heard A Voice Inquire Over My

Shoulder. It Was Kennedy. "To Mr. Jameson Or The Rest Of Us?"

 

"Well," Answered Capps,  "I Supposed Everybody Knew It Was

Reckless,  And That He Would Hurt Himself More By One Smoke In The

Air Than By A Hundred Up Above. That's All."

 

He Turned On Kennedy Sullenly,  And Started To Walk Back Up The

Tunnel. But I Could Not Help Thinking That His Manner Was Anything

But Solicitude For My Own Health. I Could Just Barely Catch His

Words Over The Tunnel Telephone Some Feet Away. I Thought He Said

That Everything Was Going Along All Right And That He Was About To

Start Back Again. Then He Disappeared In The Mist Of The Tube

Without Even Nodding A Farewell.

 

Kennedy And I Remained Standing,  Not Far From The Outlet Of The

Pipe By Which The Compressed Air Was Being Supplied In The Tunnel

From The Compressors Above,  In Order To Keep The Pressure Up To

The Constant Level Necessary. I Saw Kennedy Give A Hurried Glance

About,  As If To Note Whether Any One Were Looking At Us. No One

Was. With A Quick Motion He Reached Down. In His Hand Was A Stout

Little Glass Flask With A Tight-Fitting Metal Top. For A Second He

Held It Near The Outlet Of The Pipe; Then He Snapped The Top Shut

And Slipped It Back Into His Pocket As Quickly As He Had Produced

It.

 

Slowly We Commenced To Retrace Our Steps To The Air-Lock,  Our

Curiosity Satisfied By This Glimpse Of One Of The Most Remarkable

Developments Of Modern Engineering.

 

"Where's Paddy?" Asked Kennedy,  Stopping Suddenly. "We've

Forgotten Him."

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 65

 

"Back There At The Shield,  I Suppose," Said I. "Let's Whistle And

Attract His Attention."

 

I Pursed Up My Lips,  But If I Had Been Whistling For A Million

Dollars I Couldn't Have Done It.

 

Craig Laughed. "Walter,  You Are Indeed Learning Many Strange

Things. You Can't Whistle In Compressed Air."

 

I Was Too Chagrined To Answer. First It Was Capps; Now It Was My

Own Friend Kennedy Chaffing Me For My Ignorance. I Was Glad To See

Paddy's Huge Form Looming In The Semi-Darkness. He Had Seen That

We Were Gone And Hurried After Us.

 

"Won't Ye Stay Down An' See Some More,  Gintlemen?" He Asked. "Or

Have Ye Had Enough Of The Air? It Seems Very Smelly To Me This

Mornin'--I Don't Blame Ye. I Guess Them As Doesn't Have To Stay

Here Is Satisfied With A Few Minutes Of It."

 

"No,  Thanks,  I Guess We Needn't Stay Down Any Longer," Replied

Craig. "I Think I Have Seen All That Is Necessary--At Least For

The Present. Capps Has Gone Out Ahead Of Us. I Think You Can Take

Us Out Now,  Paddy. I Would Much Rather Have You Do It Than To Go

With Anybody Else."

 

Coming Out,  I Found,  Was Really More Dangerous Than Going In,  For

It Is While Coming Out Of The "Air" That Men Are Liable To Get The

Bends. Roughly,  Half A Minute Should Be Consumed In Coming Out

From Each Pound Of Pressure,  Though For Such High Pressures As We

Had Been Under,  Considerably More Time Was Required In Order To Do

It Safely. We Spent About Half An Hour In The Air-Lock,  I Should

Judge.

 

Paddy Let The Air Out Of The Lock By Turning On A Valve Leading To

The Outside,  Normal Atmosphere. Thus He Let The Air Out Rapidly At

First Until We Had Got Down To Half The Pressure Of The Tunnel.

The Second Half He Did Slowly,  And It Was Indeed Tedious,  But It

Was Safe. There Was At First A Hissing Sound When He Opened The

Valve,  And It Grew Colder In The Lock,  Since Air Absorbs Heat From

Surrounding Objects When It Expands. We Were Glad To Draw Sweaters

On Over Our Heads. It Also Grew As Misty As A London Fog As The

Water-Vapour In The Air Was Condensed.

 

At Last The Hiss Of Escaping Air Ceased. The Door To The Modern

Dungeon Of Science Grated Open. We Walked Out Of The Lock To The

Elevator Shaft And Were Hoisted Up To God's Air Again. We Gazed

Out Across The River With Its Waves Dancing In The Sunlight.

There,  Out In The Middle,  Was A Wreath Of Bubbles On The Water.

That Marked The End Of The Tunnel,  Over The Shield. Down Beneath

Those Bubbles The Sand-Hogs Were Rooting. But What Was The Mystery

That The Tunnel Held In Its Dark,  Dank Bosom? Had Kennedy A Clue?

 

"I Think We Had Better Wait Around A Bit," Remarked Kennedy,  As We

Sipped Our Hot Coffee In The Dressing-Room And Warmed Ourselves

From The Chill Of Coming Out Of The Lock. "In Case Anything Should

Happen To Us And We Should Get The Bends,  This Is The Place For

Us,  Near The Medical Lock,  As It Is Called--That Big Steel

Cylinder Over There,  Where We Found Orton. The Best Cure For The

Bends Is To Go Back Under The Air--Recompression They Call It. The

Renewed Pressure Causes The Gas In The Blood To Contract Again,

And Thus It Is Eliminated--Sometimes. At Any Rate,  It Is The Best-

Known Cure And Considerably Reduces The Pain In The Worst Cases.

When You Have A Bad Case Like Orton's It Means That The Damage Is

Done; The Gas Has Ruptured Some Veins. Paddy Was Right. Only Time

Will Cure That."

 

Nothing Happened To Us,  However,  And In A Couple Of Hours We

Dropped In On Orton At The Hospital Where He Was Slowly

Convalescing.

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 66

 

"What Do You Think Of The Case?" He Asked Anxiously.

 

"Nothing As Yet," Replied Craig,  "But I Have Set Certain Things In

Motion Which Will Give Us A Pretty Good Line On What Is Taking

Place In A Day Or So."

 

Orton's Face Fell,  But He Said Nothing. He Bit His Lip Nervously

And Looked Out Of The Sun-Parlour At The Roofs Of New York Around

Him.

 

"What Has Happened Since Last Night To Increase Your Anxiety,

Jack?" Asked Craig Sympathetically.

 

Orton Wheeled His Chair About Slowly,  Faced Us,  And Drew A Letter

From His Pocket. Laying It Flat On The Table He Covered The Lower

Part With The Envelope.

 

"Read That," He Said.

 

"Dear Jack," It Began. I Saw At Once That It Was From Miss Taylor.

"Just A Line," She Wrote,  "To Let You Know That I Am Thinking

About You Always And Hoping That You Are Better Than When I Saw

You This Evening. Papa Had The Chairman Of The Board Of Directors

Of The Five-Borough Here Late To-Night,  And They Were In The

Library For Over An Hour. For Your Sake,  Jack,  I Played The

Eavesdropper,  But They Talked So Low That I Could Hear Nothing,

Though I Know They Were Talking About You And The Tunnel. When

They Came Out,  I Had No Time To Escape,  So I Slipped Behind A

Portiere. I Heard Father Say: 'Yes,  I Guess You Are Right,  Morris.

The Thing Has Gone On Long Enough. If There Is One More Big

Accident We Shall Have To Compromise With The Inter-River And

Carry On The Work Jointly. We Have Given Orton His Chance,  And If

They Demand That This Other Fellow Shall Be Put In,  I Suppose We

Shall Have To Concede It.' Mr. Morris Seemed Pleased That Father

Agreed With Him And Said So. Oh,  Jack,  Can't You Do Something To

Show Them They Are Wrong,  And Do It Quickly? I Never Miss An

Opportunity Of Telling Papa It Is Not Your Fault That All These

Delays Take Place."

 

The Rest Of The Letter Was Covered By The Envelope,  And Orton

Would Not Have Shown It For Worlds.

 

"Orton," Said Kennedy,  After A Few Moments' Reflection,  "I Will

Take A Chance For Your Sake--A Long Chance,  But I Think A Good

One. If You Can Pull Yourself Together By This Afternoon,  Be Over

At Your Office At Four. Be Sure To Have Shelton And Capps There,

And You Can Tell Mr. Taylor That You Have Something Very Important

To Set Before Him. Now,  I Must Hurry If I Am To Fulfil My Part Of

The Contract. Good-Bye,  Jack. Keep A Stiff Upper Lip,  Old Man.

I'll Have Something That Will Surprise You This Afternoon."

 

Outside,  As He Hurried Uptown,  Craig Was Silent,  But I Could See

His Features Working Nervously,  And As We Parted He Merely Said:

"Of Course,  You'll Be There,  Walter. I'll Put The Finishing

Touches On Your Story Of High Finance."

 

Slowly Enough The Few Hours Passed Before I Found Myself Again In

Orton's Office. He Was There Already,  Despite The Orders Of His

Physician,  Who Was Disgusted At This Excursion From The Hospital.

Kennedy Was There,  Too,  Grim And Silent. We Sat Watching The Two

Indicators Beside Orton's Desk,  Which Showed The Air Pressure In

The Two Tubes. The Needles Were Vibrating Ever So Little And

Tracing A Red-Ink Line On The Ruled Paper That Unwound From The

Drum. From The Moment The Tunnels Were Started,  Here Was Preserved

A Faithful Record Of Every Slightest Variation Of Air Pressure.

 

"Telephone Down Into The Tube And Have Capps Come Up," Said Craig

At Length,  Glancing At Orton's Desk Clock. "Taylor Will Be Here

Pretty Soon,  And I Want Capps To Be Out Of The Tunnel By The Time

He Comes. Then Get Shelton,  Too."

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 67

 

In Response To Orton's Summons Capps And Shelton Came Into The

Office,  Just As A Large Town Car Pulled Up Outside The Tunnel

Works. A Tall,  Distinguished-Looking Man Stepped Out And Turned

Again Toward The Door Of The Car.

 

"There's Taylor," I Remarked,  For I Had Seen Him Often At

Investigations Before The Public Service Commission.

 

"And Vivian,  Too," Exclaimed Orton Excitedly. "Say,  Fellows,  Clear

Off These Desks. Quick,  Before She Gets Up Here. In The Closet

With These Blueprints,  Walter. There,  That's A Little Better. If I

Had Known She Was Coming I Would At Least Have Had The Place Swept

Out. Puff! Look At The Dust On This Desk Of Mine. Well,  There's No

Help For It. There They Are At The Door Now. Why,  Ivian,  What A

Surprise."

 

"Jack!" She Exclaimed,  Almost Ignoring The Rest Of Us And Quickly

Crossing To His Chair To Lay A Restraining Hand On His Shoulder As

He Vainly Tried To Stand Up To Welcome Her.

 

"Why Didn't You Tell Me You Were Coming?" He Asked Eagerly. "I

Would Have Had The Place Fixed Up A Bit."

 

"I Prefer It This Way," She Said,  Looking Curiously Around At The

Samples Of Tunnel Paraphernalia And The Charts And Diagrams On The

Walls.

 

"Yes,  Orton," Said President Taylor,  "She Would Come--Dropped In

At The Office And When I Tried To Excuse Myself For A Business

Appointment,  Demanded Which Way I Was Going. When I Said I Was

Coming Here,  She Insisted On Coming,  Too."

 

Orton Smiled. He Knew That She Had Taken This Simple And Direct

Means Of Being There,  But He Said Nothing,  And Merely Introduced

Us To The President And Miss Taylor.

 

An Awkward Silence Followed. Orton Cleared His Throat. "I Think

You All Know Why We Are Here," He Began. "We Have Been And Are

Having Altogether Too Many Accidents In The Tunnel,  Too Many Cases

Of The Bends,  Too Many Deaths,  Too Many Delays To The Work. Well--

Er--I--Er--Mr. Kennedy Has Something To Say About Them,  I

Believe."

 

No Sound Was Heard Save The Vibration Of The Air-Compressors And

An Occasional Shout Of A Workman At The Shaft Leading Down To The

Air-Locks.

 

"There Is No Need For Me To Say Anything About Caisson Disease To

You,  Gentlemen,  Or To You,  Miss Taylor," Began Kennedy. "I Think

You All Know How It Is Caused And A Good Deal About It Already.

But,  To Be Perfectly Clear,  I Will Say That There Are Five Things

That Must,  Above All Others,  Be Looked After In Tunnel Work: The

Air Pressure,  The Amount Of Carbon Dioxide In The Air,  The Length

Of The Shifts Which The Men Work,  The State Of Health Of The Men

As Near As Physical Examination Can Determine It,  And The Rapidity

With Which The Men Come Out Of The 'Air,' So As To Prevent

Carelessness Which May Cause The Bends.

 

"I Find," He Continued,  "That The Air Pressure Is Not Too High For

Safety. Proper Examinations For Carbon Dioxide Are Made,  And The

Amount In The Air Is Not Excessive. The Shifts Are Not Even As

Long As Those Prescribed By The Law. The Medical Inspection Is

Quite Adequate And As For The Time Taken In Coming Out Through The

Locks The Rules Are Stringent."

 

A Look Of Relief Crossed The Face Of Orton At This Commendation Of

His Work,  Followed By A Puzzled Expression That Plainly Indicated

That He Would Like To Know What Was The Matter,  If All The Crucial

Things Were All Right.

 

"But," Resumed Kennedy,  "The Bends Are Still Hitting The Men,  And

There Is No Telling When A Fire Or A Blow-Out May Occur In Any Of

The Eight Headings That Are Now Being Pushed Under The River.

Quite Often The Work Has Been Delayed And The Tunnel Partly Or

Wholly Flooded. Now,  You Know The Theory Of The Bends. It Is That

Air--Mostly The Nitrogen In The Air--Is Absorbed By The Blood

Under The Pressure. In Coming Out Of The 'Air' If The Nitrogen Is

Not All Eliminated,  It Stays In The Blood And,  As The Pressure Is

Reduced,  It Expands. It Is Just As If You Take A Bottle Of Charged

Water And Pull The Cork Suddenly. The Gas Rises In Big Bubbles.

Cork It Again And The Gas Bubbles Cease To Rise And Finally

Disappear. If You Make A Pin-Hole In The Cork The Gas Will Escape

Slowly,  Without A Bubble. You Must Decompress The Human Body

Slowly,  By Stages,  To Let The Super-Saturated Blood Give Up Its

Nitrogen To The Lungs,  Which Can Eliminate It. Otherwise These

Bubbles Catch In The Veins,  And The Result Is Severe Pains,

Paralysis,  And Even Death. Gentlemen,  I See That I Am Just Wasting

Time Telling You This,  For You Know It All Well. But Consider."

 

Kennedy Placed An Empty Corked Flask On The Table. The Others

Regarded It Curiously,  But I Recalled Having Seen It In The

Tunnel.

 

"In This Bottle," Explained Kennedy,  "I Collected Some Of The Air

From The Tunnel When I Was Down There This Morning. I Have Since

Analysed It. The Quantity Of Carbon Dioxide Is Approximately What

It Should Be--Not High Enough Of Itself To Cause Trouble. But," He

Spoke Slowly To Emphasise His Words,  "I Found Something Else In

That Air Beside Carbon Dioxide."

 

"Nitrogen?" Broke In Orton Quickly,  Leaning Forward.

 

"Of Course; It Is A Constituent Of Air. But That Is Not What I

Mean."

 

"Then,  For Heaven's Sake,  What Did You Find?" Asked Orton.

 

"I Found In This Air," Replied Kennedy,  "A Very Peculiar Mixture--

An Explosive Mixture."

 

"An Explosive Mixture?" Echoed Orton.

 

"Yes,  Jack,  The Blow-Outs That You Have Had At The End Of The

Tunnel Were Not Blow-Outs At All,  Properly Speaking. They Were

Explosions."

 

We Sat Aghast At This Revelation.

 

"And,  Furthermore," Added Kennedy,  "I Should,  If I Were You,  Call

Back All The Men From The Tunnel Until The Cause For The Presence

Of This Explosive Mixture Is Discovered And Remedied."

 

Orton Reached Mechanically For The Telephone To Give The Order,

But Taylor Laid His Hand On His Arm. "One Moment,  Orton," He Said.

"Let's Hear Professor Kennedy Out. He May Be Mistaken,  And There

Is No Use Frightening The Men,  Until We Are Certain."

 

"Shelton," Asked Kennedy,  "What Sort Of Flash Oil Is Used To

Lubricate The Machinery?"

 

"It Is Three-Hundred-And-Sixty-Degree Fahrenheit Flash Test," He

Answered Tersely.

 

"And Are The Pipes Leading Air Down Into The Tunnel Perfectly

Straight?"

 

"Straight?"

 

"Yes,  Straight--No Joints,  No Pockets Where Oil,  Moisture,  And

Gases Can Collect."

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 68

Straight As Lines,  Kennedy," He Said With A Sort Of Contemptuous

Defiance.

 

They Were Facing Each Other Coldly,  Sizing Each Other Up. Like A

Skilful Lawyer,  Kennedy Dropped That Point For A Moment,  To Take

Up A New Line Of Attack.

 

"Capps," He Demanded,  Turning Suddenly,  "Why Do You Always Call Up

On The Telephone And Let Some One Know When You Are Going Down In

The Tunnel And When You Are Coming Out?"

 

"I Don't," Replied Capps,  Quickly Recovering His Composure.

 

"Walter," Said Craig To Me Quietly,  "Go Out In The Outer Office.

Behind The Telephone Switchboard You Will Find A Small Box Which

You Saw Me Carry In There This Morning And Connect With The

Switchboard. Detach The Wires,  As You Saw Me Attach Them,  And

Bring It Here."

 

No One Moved,  As I Placed The Box On A Drafting-Table Before Them.

Craig Opened It. Inside He Disclosed A Large Disc Of Thin Steel,

Like Those Used By Some Mechanical Music-Boxes,  Only Without Any

Perforations. He Connected The Wires From The Box To A Sort Of

Megaphone. Then He Started The Disc Revolving.

 

Out Of The Little Megaphone Horn,  Sticking Up Like A Miniature

Talking-Machine,  Came A Voice: "Number Please. Four Four Three O,

Yorkville. Busy,  I'll Call You. Try Them Again,  Central. Hello,

Hello,  Central--"

 

Kennedy Stopped The Machine. "It Must Be Further Along On The

Disc," He Remarked. "This,  By The Way,  Is An Instrument Known As

The Telegraphone,  Invented By A Dane Named Poulsen. It Records

Conversations Over A Telephone On This Plain Metal Disc By Means

Of Localised,  Minute Electric Charges."

 

Having Adjusted The Needle To Another Place On The Disc He Tried

Again. "We Have Here A Record Of The Entire Day's Conversations

Over The Telephone,  Preserved On This Disc. I Could Wipe Out The

Whole Thing By Pulling A Magnet Across It,  But,  Needless To Say,  I

Wouldn't Do That--Yet. Listen."

 

This Time It Was Capps Speaking. "Give Me Mr. Shelton. Oh,

Shelton,  I'm Going Down In The South Tube With Those Men Orton Has

Sent Nosing Around Here. I'll Let You Know When I Start Up Again.

Meanwhile--You Know--Don't Let Anything Happen While I Am There.

Good-Bye."

 

Capps Sat Looking Defiantly At Kennedy,  As He Stopped The

Telegraphone.

 

"Now," Continued Kennedy Suavely,  "What Could Happen? I'll Answer

My Own Question By Telling What Actually Did Happen. Oil That Was

Smoky At A Lower Point Than Its Flash Was Being Used In The

Machinery--Not Really Three-Hundred-And-Sixty-Degree Oil. The

Water-Jacket Had Been Tampered With,  Too. More Than That,  There Is

A Joint In The Pipe Leading Down Into The Tunnel,  Where Explosive

Gases Can Collect. It Is A Well-Known Fact In The Use Of

Compressed Air That Such A Condition Is The Best Possible Way To

Secure An Explosion.

 

"It Would All Seem So Natural,  Even If Discovered," Explained

Kennedy Rapidly. "The Smoking Oil--Smoking Just As An Automobile

Often Does--Is Passed Into The Compressed-Air Pipe. Condensed Oil,

Moisture,  And Gases Collect In The Joint,  And Perhaps They Line

The Whole Distance Of The Pipe. A Spark From The Low-Grade Oil--

And They Are Ignited. What Takes Place Is The Same Thing That

Occurs In The Cylinder Of An Automobile Where The Air Is

Compressed With Gasoline Vapour. Only Here We Have Compressed Air

Charged With Vapour Of Oil. The Flame Proceeds Down The Pipe--

Exploding Through The Pipe,  If It Happens To Be Not Strong Enough.

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 69

This Pipe,  However,  Is Strong. Therefore,  The Flame In This Case

Shoots Out At The Open End Of The Pipe,  Down Near The Shield,  And

If The Air In The Tunnel Happens Also To Be Surcharged With Oil-

Vapour,  An Explosion Takes Place In The Tunnel--The River Bottom

Is Blown Out--Then God Help The Sand-Hogs!

 

"That's How Your Accidents Took Place,  Orton," Concluded Kennedy

In Triumph,  "And That Impure Air--Not Impure From Carbon Dioxide,

But From This Oil-Vapour Mixture--Increased The Liability Of The

Men For The Bends. Capps Knew About It. He Was Careful While He

Was There To See That The Air Was Made As Pure As Possible Under

The Circumstances. He Was So Careful That He Wouldn't Even Let Mr.

Jameson Smoke In The Tunnel. But As Soon As He Went To The

Surface,  The Same Deadly Mixture Was Pumped Down Again--I Caught

Some Of It In This Flask,  And--"

 

"My God,  Paddy's Down There Now," Cried Orton,  Suddenly Seizing

His Telephone. "Operator,  Give Me The South Tube--Quick--What--

They Don't Answer?"

 

Out In The River Above The End Of The Heading,  Where A Short Time

Before There Had Been Only A Few Bubbles On The Surface Of The

Water,  I Could See What Looked Like A Huge Geyser Of Water

Spouting Up. I Pulled Craig Over To Me And Pointed.

 

"A Blow-Out," Cried Kennedy,  As He Rushed To The Door,  Only To Be

Met By A Group Of Blanched-Faced Workers Who Had Come Breathless

To The Office To Deliver The News.

 

Craig Acted Quickly. "Hold These Men," He Ordered,  Pointing To

Capps And Shelton,  "Until We Come Back. Orton,  While We Are Gone,

Go Over The Entire Day's Record On The Telegraphone. I Suspect You

And Miss Taylor Will Find Something There That Will Interest You."

 

He Sprang Down The Ladder To The Tunnel Air-Lock,  Not Waiting For

The Elevator. In Front Of The Closed Door Of The Lock,  An Excited

Group Of Men Was Gathered. One Of Them Was Peering Through The

Dim,  Thick,  Glass Porthole In The Door.

 

"There He Is,  Standin' By The Door With A Club,  An' The Men's

Crowdin' So Fast That They're All Wedged So's None Can Get In At

All. He's Beatin' 'Em Back With The Stick. Now,  He's Got The Door

Clear And Has Dragged One Poor Fellow In. It's Jimmy Rourke,  Him

With The Eight Childer. Now He's Dragged In A Polack. Now He's

Fightin' Back A Big Jamaica Nigger Who's Tryin' To Shove Ahead Of

A Little Italian."

 

"It's Paddy," Cried Craig. "If He Can Bring Them All Out Safely

Without The Loss Of A Life He'll Save The Day Yet For Orton. And

He'll Do It,  Too,  Walter."

 

Instantly I Reconstructed In My Mind The Scene In The Tunnel--The

Explosion Of The Oil-Vapour,  The Mad Race Up The Tube,  Perhaps The

Failure Of The Emergency Curtain To Work,  The Frantic Efforts Of

The Men,  In Panic,  All To Crowd Through The Narrow Little Door At

Once; The Rapidly Rising Water--And Above All The Heroic Paddy,

Cool To The Last,  Standing At The Door And Single-Handed Beating

The Men Back With A Club,  So That They Could Go Through One At A

Time.

 

Only When The Water Had Reached The Level Of The Door Of The Lock,

Did Paddy Bang It Shut As He Dragged The Last Man In. Then

Followed An Interminable Wait For The Air In The Lock To Be

Exhausted. When,  At Last,  The Door At Our End Of The Lock Swung

Open,  The Men With A Cheer Seized Paddy And,  In Spite Of His

Struggles,  Hoisted Him On To Their Shoulders,  And Carried Him Off,

Still Struggling,  In Triumph Up The Construction Elevator To The

Open Air Above.

 

The Scene In Orton's Office Was Dramatic As The Men Entered With

Paddy. Vivian Taylor Was Standing Defiantly,  With Burning Eyes,

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 70

Facing Capps,  Who Stared Sullenly At The Floor Before Him. Shelton

Was Plainly Abashed.

 

"Kennedy," Cried Orton,  Vainly Trying To Rise,  "Listen. Have You

Still That Place On The Telegraphone Record,  Vivian?"

 

Miss Taylor Started The Telegraphone,  While We All Crowded Around

Leaning Forward Eagerly.

 

"Hello. Inter-River? Is This The President's Office? Oh,  Hello.

This Is Capps Talking. How Are You? Oh,  You've Heard About Orton,

Have You? Not So Bad,  Eh? Well,  I'm Arranging With My Man Shelton

Here For The Final Act This Afternoon. After That You Can

Compromise With The Five-Borough On Your Own Terms. I Think I Have

Argued Taylor And Morris Into The Right Frame Of Mind For It,  If

We Have One More Big Accident. What's That? How Is My Love Affair?

Well,  Orton's In The Way Yet,  But You Know Why I Went Into This

Deal. When You Put Me Into His Place After The Compromise,  I Think

I Will Pull Strong With Her. Saw Her Last Night. She Feels Pretty

Bad About Orton,  But She'll Get Over It. Besides,  The Pater Will

Never Let Her Marry A Man Who's Down And Out. By The Way,  You've

Got To Do Something Handsome For Shelton. All Right. I'll See You

To-Night And Tell You Some More. Watch The Papers In The Meantime

For The Grand Finale. Good-Bye."

 

An Angry Growl Rose From One Or Two Of The More Quick-Witted Men.

Kennedy Reached Over And Pulled Me With Him Quickly Through The

Crowd.

 

"Hurry,  Walter," He Whispered Hoarsely,  "Hustle Shelton And Capps

Out Quick Before The Rest Of The Men Wake Up To What It's All

About,  Or We Shall Have A Lynching Instead Of An Arrest."

 

As We Shoved And Pushed Them Out,  I Saw The Rough And Grimy Sand-

Hogs In The Rear Move Quickly Aside,  And Off Came Their Muddy,

Frayed Hats. A Dainty Figure Flitted Among Them Toward Orton. It

Was Vivian Taylor.

 

"Papa," She Cried,  Grasping Jack By Both Hands And Turning To

Taylor,  Who Followed Her Closely,  "Papa,  I Told You Not To Be Too

Hasty With Jack,"

 

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 71

 

 

Kennedy And I Had Just Tossed A Coin To Decide Whether It Should

Be A Comic Opera Or A Good Walk In The Mellow Spring Night Air And

The Opera Had Won,  But We Had Scarcely Begun To Argue The Vital

Point As To Where To Go,  When The Door Buzzer Sounded--A Sure Sign

That Some Box-Office Had Lost Four Dollars.

 

It Was A Much Agitated Middle-Aged Couple Who Entered As Craig

Threw Open The Door. Of Our Two Visitors,  The Woman Attracted My

Attention First,  For On Her Pale Face The Lines Of Sorrow Were

Almost Visibly Deepening. Her Nervous Manner Interested Me

Greatly,  Though I Took Pains To Conceal The Fact That I Noticed

It. It Was Quickly Accounted For,  However,  By The Card Which The

Man Presented,  Bearing The Name "Mr. George Gilbert" And A Short

Scribble From First Deputy O'connor:

 

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 72

     Mr. And Mrs. Gilbert Desire To Consult You With Regard To The

     Mysterious Disappearance Of Their Daughter,  Georgette. I Am

     Sure I Need Say Nothing Further To Interest You Than That The

     M. P. Squad Is Completely Baffled.

 

      O'connor.

 

"H-M," Remarked Kennedy; "Not Strange For The Missing Persons

Squad To Be Baffled--At Least,  At This Case."

 

"Then You Know Of Our Daughter's Strange--Er--Departure?" Asked

Mr. Gilbert,  Eagerly Scanning Kennedy's Face And Using A Euphemism

That Would Fall Less Harshly On His Wife's Ears Than The Truth.

 

"Indeed,  Yes," Nodded Craig With Marked Sympathy: "That Is,  I Have

Read Most Of What The Papers Have Said. Let Me Introduce My

Friend,  Mr. Jameson. You Recall We Were Discussing The Georgette

Gilbert Case This Morning,  Walter?"

 

I Did,  And Perhaps Before I Proceed Further With The Story I

Should Quote At Least The Important Parts Of The Article In The

Morning Star Which Had Occasioned The Discussion. The Article Had

Been Headed,  "When Personalities Are Lost," And With The Gilbert

Case As A Text Many Instances Had Been Cited Which Had Later Been

Solved By The Return Of The Memory Of The Sufferer. In Part The

Article Had Said:

 

Mysterious Disappearances,  Such As That Of Georgette Gilbert,  Have

Alarmed The Public And Baffled The Police Before This,

Disappearances That In Their Suddenness,  Apparent Lack Of Purpose,

And Inexplicability,  Have Had Much In Common With The Case Of Miss

Gilbert.

 

Leaving Out Of Account The Class Of Disappearances Such As

Embezzlers,  Blackmailers,  And Other Criminals,  There Is Still A

Large Number Of Recorded Cases Where The Subjects Have Dropped Out

Of Sight Without Apparent Cause Or Reason And Have Left Behind

Them Untarnished Reputations. Of These A Small Percentage Are

Found To Have Met With Violence; Others Have Been Victims Of A

Suicidal Mania; And Sooner Or Later A Clue Has Come To Light,  For

The Dead Are Often Easier To Find Than The Living. Of The

Remaining Small Proportion There Are On Record A Number Of

Carefully Authenticated Cases Where The Subjects Have Been The

Victims Of A Sudden And Complete Loss Of Memory.

 

This Dislocation Of Memory Is A Variety Of Aphasia Known As

Amnesia,  And When The Memory Is Recurrently Lost And Restored It

Is An "Alternating Personality." The Psychical Researchers And

Psychologists Have Reported Many Cases Of Alternating Personality.

Studious Efforts Are Being Made To Understand And To Explain The

Strange Type Of Mental Phenomena Exhibited In These Cases,  But No

One Has As Yet Given A Final,  Clear,  And Comprehensive Explanation

Of Them. Such Cases Are By No Means Always Connected With

Disappearances,  But The Variety Known As The Ambulatory Type,

Where The Patient Suddenly Loses All Knowledge Of His Own Identity

And Of His Past And Takes Himself Off,  Leaving No Trace Or Clue,

Is The Variety Which The Present Case Calls To Popular Attention.

 

Then Followed A List Of A Dozen Or So Interesting Cases Of Persons

Who Had Vanished Completely And Had,  Some Several Days And Some

Even Years Later,  Suddenly "Awakened" To Their First Personality,

Returned,  And Taken Up The Thread Of That Personality Where It Had

Been Broken.

 

To Kennedy's Inquiry I Was About To Reply That I Recalled The

Conversation Distinctly,  When Mr. Gilbert Shot An Inquiring Glance

From Beneath His Bushy Eyebrows,  Quickly Shifting From My Face To

Kennedy's,  And Asked,  "And What Was Your Conclusion--What Do You

Think Of The Case? Is It Aphasia Or Amnesia,  Or Whatever The

Doctors Call It,  And Do You Think She Is Wandering About Somewhere

Unable To Recover Her Real Personality?"

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 73

 

"I Should Like To Have All The Facts At First Hand Before

Venturing An Opinion," Craig Replied With Precisely That Shade Of

Hesitancy That Might Reassure The Anxious Father And Mother,

Without Raising A False Hope.

 

Mr. And Mrs. Gilbert Exchanged Glances,  The Purport Of Which Was

That She Desired Him To Tell The Story.

 

"It Was Day Before Yesterday," Began Mr. Gilbert,  Gently Touching

His Wife's Trembling Hand That Sought His Arm As He Began

Rehearsing The Tragedy That Had Cast Its Shadow Across Their

Lives,  "Thursday,  That Georgette--Er--Since We Have Heard Of

Georgette." His Voice Faltered A Bit,  But He Proceeded: "As You

Know,  She Was Last Seen Walking On Fifth Avenue. The Police Have

Traced Her Since She Left Home That Morning. It Is Known That She

Went First To The Public Library,  Then That She Stopped At A

Department Store On The Avenue,  Where She Made A Small Purchase

Which She Had Charged To Our Family Account,  And Finally That She

Went To A Large Book-Store. Then--That Is The Last."

 

Mrs. Gilbert Sighed,  And Buried Her Face In A Lace Handkerchief As

Her Shoulders Shook Convulsively.

 

"Yes,  I Have Read That," Repeated Kennedy Gently,  Though With

Manifest Eagerness To Get Down To Facts That Might Prove More

Illuminating. "I Think I Need Hardly Impress Upon You The

Advantage Of Complete Frankness,  The Fact That Anything You May

Tell Me Is Of A Much More Confidential Nature Than If It Were Told

To The Police. Er--R,  Had Miss Gilbert Any--Love Affair,  Any

Trouble Of Such A Nature That It Might Have Preyed On Her Mind?"

 

Kennedy's Tactful Manner Seemed To Reassure Both The Father And

The Mother,  Who Exchanged Another Glance.

 

"Although We Have Said No To The Reporters," Mrs. Gilbert Replied

Bravely In Answer To The Nod Of Approval From Her Husband,  And

Much As If She Herself Were Making A Confession For Them Both,  "I

Fear That Georgette Had Had A Love Affair. No Doubt You Have Heard

Hints Of Dudley Lawton's Name In Connection With The Case? I Can't

Imagine How They Could Have Leaked Out,  For I Should Have Said

That That Old Affair Had Long Since Been Forgotten Even By The

Society Gossips. The Fact Is That Shortly After Georgette 'Came

Out,' Dudley Lawton,  Who Is Quite On The Road To Becoming One Of

The Rather Notorious Members Of The Younger Set,  Began To Pay Her

Marked Attentions. He Is A Fascinating,  Romantic Sort Of Fellow,

One That,  I Imagine,  Possesses Much Attraction For A Girl Who Has

Been Brought Up As Simply As Georgette Was,  And Who Has Absorbed A

Surreptitious Diet Of Modern Literature Such As We Now Know

Georgette Did. I Suppose You Have Seen Portraits Of Georgette In

The Newspapers And Know What A Dreamy And Artistic Nature Her Face

Indicates?"

 

Kennedy Nodded. It Is,  Of Course,  One Of The Cardinal Tenets Of

Journalism That All Women Are Beautiful,  But Even The Coarse

Screen Of The Ordinary Newspaper Half-Tone Had Not Been Able To

Conceal The Rather Exceptional Beauty Of Miss Georgette Gilbert.

If It Had,  All The Shortcomings Of The Newspaper Photographic Art

Would Have Been Quickly Glossed Over By The Almost Ardent

Descriptions By Those Ladies Of The Press Who Come Along About The

Second Day After An Event Of This Kind With Signed Articles

Analysing The Character And Motives,  The Life And Gowns Of The

Latest Actors In The Front-Page Stories.

 

"Naturally Both My Husband And Myself Opposed His Attentions From

The First. It Was A Hard Struggle,  For Georgette,  Of Course,

Assumed The Much-Injured Air Of Some Of The Heroines Of Her

Favourite Novels. But I,  At Least,  Believed That We Had Won And

That Georgette Finally Was Brought To Respect And,  I Hoped,

Understand Our Wishes In The Matter. I Believe So Yet. Mr. Gilbert

In A Roundabout Way Came To An Understanding With Old Mr. Dudley

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 74

Lawton,  Who Possesses A Great Influence Over His Son,  And--Well,

Dudley Lawton Seemed To Have Passed Out Of Georgette's Life. I

Believed So Then,  At Least,  And I See No Reason For Not Believing

So Yet. I Feel That You Ought To Know This,  But Really I Don't

Think It Is Right To Say That Georgette Had A Love Affair. I

Should Rather Say That She Had Had A Love Affair,  But That It Had

Been Forgotten,  Perhaps A Year Ago."

 

Mrs. Gilbert Paused Again,  And It Was Evident That Though She Was

Concealing Nothing She Was Measuring Her Words Carefully In Order

Not To Give A False Impression.

 

"What Does Dudley Lawton Say About The Newspapers Bringing His

Name Into The Case?" Asked Kennedy,  Addressing Mr. Gilbert.

 

"Nothing," Replied He. "He Denies That He Has Even Spoken To Her

For Nearly A Year. Apparently He Has No Interest In The Case. And

Yet I Cannot Quite Believe That Lawton Is As Uninterested As He

Seems. I Know That He Has Often Spoken About Her To Members Of The

Cosmos Club Where He Lives,  And That He Reads Practically

Everything That The Newspapers Print About The Case."

 

"But You Have No Reason To Think That There Has Ever Been Any

Secret Communication Between Them? Miss Georgette Left No Letters

Or Anything That Would Indicate That Her Former Infatuation

Survived?"

 

"None Whatever," Repeated Mr. Gilbert Emphatically. "We Have Gone

Over Her Personal Effects Very Carefully,  And I Can't Say They

Furnish A Clue. In Fact,  There Were Very Few Letters. She Rarely

Kept A Letter. Whether It Was Merely From Habit Or For Some

Purpose,  I Can't Say."

 

"Besides Her Liking For Dudley Lawton And Her Rather Romantic

Nature,  There Are No Other Things In Her Life That Would Cause A

Desire For Freedom?" Asked Kennedy,  Much As A Doctor Might Test

The Nerves Of A Patient. "She Had No Hobbies?"

 

"Beyond The Reading Of Some Books Which Her Mother And I Did Not

Altogether Approve Of,  I Should Say No--No Hobbies."

 

"So Far,  I Suppose,  It Is True That Neither You Nor The Police

Have Received Even A Hint As To Where She Went After Leaving The

Book-Store?"

 

"Not A Hint. She Dropped Out As Completely As If The Earth Had

Swallowed Her."

 

"Mrs. Gilbert," Said Kennedy,  As Our Visitors Rose To Go,  "You May

Rest Assured That If It Is Humanly Possible To Find Your Daughter

I Shall Leave No Stone Unturned Until I Have Probed To The Bottom

Of This Mystery. I Have Seldom Had A Case That Hung On More

Slender Threads,  Yet If I Can Weave Other Threads To Support It I

Feel That We Shall Soon Find That The Mystery Is Not So Baffling

As The Missing Persons Squad Has Found It So Far."

 

Scarcely Had The Gilberts Left When Kennedy Put On His Hat,

Remarking: "We'll At Least Get Our Walk,  If Not The Show. Let's

Stroll Around To The Cosmos Club. Perhaps We May Catch Lawton In."

 

Luckily We Chanced To Find Him There In The Reading-Room. Lawton

Was,  As Mrs. Gilbert Had Said,  A Type That Is Common Enough In New

York And Is Very Fascinating To Many Girls. In Fact,  He Was One Of

Those Fellows Whose Sins Are Readily Forgiven Because They Are

Always Interesting. Not A Few Men Secretly Admire Though Publicly

Execrate The Lawton Type.

 

I Say We Chanced To Find Him In. That Was About All We Found. Our

Interview Was Most Unsatisfactory. For My Part,  I Could Not

Determine Whether He Was Merely Anxious To Avoid Any Notoriety In

Connection With The Case Or Whether He Was Concealing Something

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 75

That Might Compromise Himself.

 

"Really,  Gentlemen," He Drawled,  Puffing Languidly On A Cigarette

And Turning Slowly Toward The Window To Watch The Passing Throng

Under The Lights Of The Avenue,  "Really I Don't See How I Can Be

Of Any Assistance. You See,  Except For A Mere Passing Acquaintance

Miss Gilbert And I Had Drifted Entirely Apart--Entirely Apart--

Owing To Circumstances Over Which I,  At Least,  Had No Control."

 

"I Thought Perhaps You Might Have Heard From Her Or About Her,

Through Some Mutual Friend," Remarked Kennedy,  Carefully

Concealing Under His Nonchalance What I Knew Was Working In His

Mind--A Belief That,  After All,  The Old Attachment Had Not Been So

Dead As The Gilberts Had Fancied.

 

"No,  Not A Breath,  Either Before This Sad Occurrence Or,  Of

Course,  After. Believe Me,  If I Could Add One Fact That Would

Simplify The Search For Georgette--Ah,  Miss Gilbert--Ah--I Would

Do So In A Moment," Replied Lawton Quickly,  As If Desirous Of

Getting Rid Of Us As Soon As Possible. Then Perhaps As If

Regretting The Brusqueness With Which He Had Tried To End The

Interview,  He Added,  "Don't Misunderstand Me. The Moment You Have

Discovered Anything That Points To Her Whereabouts,  Let Me Know

Immediately. You Can Count On Me--Provided You Don't Get Me Into

The Papers. Good-Night,  Gentlemen. I Wish You The Best Of

Success."

 

"Do You Think He Could Have Kept Up The Acquaintance Secretly?" I

Asked Craig As We Walked Up The Avenue After This Baffling

Interview. "Could He Have Cast Her Off When He Found That In Spite

Of Her Parents' Protests She Was Still In His Power?"

 

"It's Impossible To Say What A Man Of Dudley Lawton's Type Could

Do," Mused Kennedy,  "For The Simple Reason That He Himself Doesn't

Know Until He Has To Do It. Until We Have More Facts,  Anything Is

Both Possible And Probable."

 

There Was Nothing More That Could Be Done That Night,  Though After

Our Walk We Sat Up For An Hour Or Two Discussing Probabilities. It

Did Not Take Me Long To Reach The End Of My Imagination And Give

Up The Case,  But Kennedy Continued To Revolve The Matter In His

Mind,  Looking At It From Every Angle And Calling Upon All The Vast

Store Of Information That He Had Treasured Up In That Marvellous

Brain Of His,  Ready To Be Called On Almost As If His Mind Were

Card-Indexed.

 

"Murders,  Suicides,  Robberies,  And Burglaries Are,  After All,

Pretty Easily Explained," He Remarked,  After A Long Period Of

Silence On My Part,  "But The Sudden Disappearance Of People Out Of

The Crowded City Into Nowhere Is Something That Is Much Harder To

Explain. And It Isn't So Difficult To Disappear As Some People

Imagine,  Either. You Remember The Case Of The Celebrated Arctic

Explorer Whose Picture Had Been Published Scores Of Times In Every

Illustrated Paper. He Had No Trouble In Disappearing And Then

Reappearing Later,  When He Got Ready.

 

"Yet Experience Has Taught Me That There Is Always A Reason For

Disappearances. It Is Our Next Duty To Discover That Reason.

Still,  It Won't Do To Say That Disappearances Are Not Mysterious.

Disappearances Except For Money Troubles Are All Mysterious. The

First Thing In Such A Case Is To Discover Whether The Person Has

Any Hobbies Or Habits Or Fads. That Is What I Tried To Find Out

From The Gilberts. I Can't Tell Yet Whether I Succeeded."

 

Kennedy Took A Pencil And Hastily Jotted Down Something On A Piece

Of Paper Which He Tossed Over To Me. It Read:

 

1. Love,  Family Trouble.

 

2. A Romantic Disposition.

 

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 76

. Temporary Insanity,  Self-Destruction.

 

4. Criminal Assault.

 

5. Aphasia.

 

6. Kidnapping.

 

"Those Are The Reasons Why People Disappear,  Eliminating Criminals

And Those Who Have Financial Difficulties. Dream On That And See

If You Can Work Out The Answer In Your Subliminal Consciousness.

Good-Night."

 

Needless To Say,  I Was No Further Advanced In The Morning Than At

Midnight,  But Kennedy Seemed To Have Evolved At Least A Tentative

Programme. It Started With A Visit To The Public Library,  Where He

Carefully Went Over The Ground Already Gone Over By The Police.

Finding Nothing,  He Concluded That Miss Gilbert Had Not Found What

She Wanted At The Library And Had Continued The Quest,  Even As He

Was Continuing The Quest Of Herself.

 

His Next Step Was To Visit The Department-Store. The Purchase Had

Been An Inconsequential Affair Of Half A Dozen Handkerchiefs,  To

Be Sent Home. This Certainly Did Not Look Like A Premeditated

Disappearance; But Craig Was Proceeding On The Assumption That

This Purchase Indicated Nothing Except That There Had Been A Sale

Of Handkerchiefs Which Had Caught Her Eye. Having Stopped At The

Library First And A Book-Shop Afterward,  He Assumed That She Had

Also Visited The Book-Department Of The Store. But Here Again

Nobody Seemed To Recall Her Or That She Had Asked For Anything In

Particular.

 

Our Last Hope Was The Book-Shop. We Paused For A Moment To Look At

The Display In The Window,  But Only For A Moment,  For Craig

Quickly Pulled Me Along Inside. In The Window Was A Display Of

Books Bearing The Sign:

 

Books On New Thought,  Occultism,  Clairvoyance,  Mesmerism

 

Instead Of Attempting To Go Over The Ground Already Traversed By

The Police,  Who Had Interrogated The Numerous Clerks Without

Discovering Which One,  If Any,  Had Waited On Miss Gilbert,  Kennedy

Asked At Once To See The Record Of Sales Of The Morning On Which

She Had Disappeared. Running His Eye Quickly Down The Record,  He

Picked Out A Work On Clairvoyance And Asked To See The Young Woman

Who Had Made The Sale. The Clerk Was,  However,  Unable To Recall To

Whom She Had Sold The Book,  Though She Finally Admitted That She

Thought It Might Have Been A Young Woman Who Had Some Difficulty

In Making Up Her Mind Just Which One Of The Numerous Volumes She

Wanted. She Could Not Say Whether The Picture Kennedy Showed Her

Of Miss Gilbert Was That Of Her Customer,  Nor Was She Sure That

The Customer Was Not Escorted By Some One. Altogether It Was

Nearly As Hazy As Our Interview With Lawton.

 

"Still," Remarked Kennedy Cheerfully,  "It May Furnish A Clue,

After All. The Clerk At Least Was Not Positive That It Was Not

Miss Gilbert To Whom She Sold The Book. Since We Are Down In This

Neighbourhood,  Let Us Drop In And See Mr. Gilbert Again. Perhaps

Something May Have Happened Since Last Night."

 

Mr. Gilbert Was In The Dry-Goods Business In A Loft Building In

The New Dry-Goods Section On Fourth Avenue. One Could Almost Feel

That A Tragedy Had Invaded Even His Place Of Business. As We

Entered,  We Could See Groups Of Clerks,  Evidently Discussing The

Case. It Was No Wonder,  I Felt,  For The Head Of The Firm Was

Almost Frantic,  And Beside The Loss Of His Only Daughter The Loss

Of His Business Would Count As Nothing,  At Least Until The Keen

Edge Of His Grief Was Worn Off.

 

"Mr. Gilbert Is Out," Replied His Secretary,  In Answer To Our

Inquiry. "Haven't You Heard? They Have Just Discovered The Body 

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 77

His Daughter In A Lonely Spot In The Croton Aqueduct. The Report

Came In From The Police Just A Few Minutes Ago. It Is Thought That

She Was Murdered In The City And Carried There In An Automobile."

 

The News Came With A Stinging Shock. I Felt That,  After All,  We

Were Too Late. In Another Hour The Extras Would Be Out,  And The

News Would Be Spread Broadcast. The Affair Would Be In The Hands

Of The Amateur Detectives,  And There Was No Telling How Many

Promising Clues Might Be Lost.

 

"Dead!" Exclaimed Kennedy,  As He Jammed His Hat On His Head And

Bolted For The Door. "Hurry,  Walter. We Must Get There Before The

Coroner Makes His Examination."

 

I Don't Know How We Managed To Do It,  But By Dint Of Subway,

Elevated,  And Taxicab We Arrived On The Scene Of The Tragedy Not

Very Long After The Coroner. Mr. Gilbert Was There,  Silent,  And

Looking As If He Had Aged Many Years Since The Night Before; His

Hand Shook And He Could Merely Nod Recognition To Us.

 

Already The Body Had Been Carried To A Rough Shanty In The

Neighbourhood,  And The Coroner Was Questioning Those Who Had Made

The Discovery,  A Party Of Italian Labourers On The Water

Improvement Near By. They Were A Vicious Looking Crew,  But They

Could Tell Nothing Beyond The Fact That One Of Them Had Discovered

The Body In A Thicket Where It Could Not Possibly Have Lain Longer

Than Overnight. There Was No Reason,  As Yet,  To Suspect Any Of

Them,  And Indeed,  As A Much Travelled Automobile Road Ran Within A

Few Feet Of The Thicket,  There Was Every Reason To Believe That

The Murder,  If Murder It Was,  Had Been Committed Elsewhere And

That The Perpetrator Had Taken This Means Of Getting Rid Of His

Unfortunate Victim.

 

Drawn And Contorted Were The Features Of The Poor Girl,  As If She

Had Died In Great Physical Agony Or After A Terrific Struggle.

Indeed,  Marks Of Violence On Her Delicate Throat And Neck Showed

Only Too Plainly That She Had Been Choked.

 

As Kennedy Bent Over The Form Of The Once Lovely Georgette,  He

Noted The Clenched Hands. Then He Looked At Them More Closely. I

Was Standing A Little Behind Him,  For Though Craig And I Had Been

Through Many Thrilling Adventures,  The Death Of A Human Being,

Especially Of A Girl Like Miss Gilbert,  Filled Me With Horror And

Revulsion. I Could See,  However,  That He Had Noted Something

Unusual. He Pulled Out A Little Pocket Magnifying Glass And Made

An Even More Minute Examination Of The Hands. At Last He Rose And

Faced Us,  Almost As If In Triumph. I Could Not See What He Had

Discovered--At Least It Did Not Seem To Be Anything Tangible,  Like

A Weapon.

 

Quickly He Opened The Pocketbook Which She Had Carried. It Seemed

To Be Empty,  And He Was About To Shut It When Something White,

Sticking In One Corner,  Caught His Eye. Craig Pulled Out A

Clipping From A Newspaper,  And We Crowded About Him To Look At It.

It Was A Large Clipping From The Section Of One Of The

Metropolitan Journals Which Carries A Host Of Such Advertisements

As "Spirit Medium," "Psychic Palmist," "Yogi Mediator," "Magnetic

Influences," "Crystal Gazer," "Astrologer," "Trance Medium," And

The Like. At Once I Thought Of The Sallow,  Somewhat Mystic

Countenance Of Dudley,  And The Idea Flashed,  Half-Formed,  In My

Mind That Somehow This Clue,  Together With The Purchase Of The

Book On Clairvoyance,  Might Prove The Final Link Necessary.

 

But The First Problem In Kennedy's Mind Was To Keep In Touch With

What The Authorities Were Doing. That Kept Us Busy For Several

Hours,  During Which Craig Was In Close Consultation With The

Coroner's Physician. The Physician Was Of The Opinion That Miss

Gilbert Had Been Drugged As Well As Strangled,  And For Many Hours,

Down In His Laboratory,  His Chemists Were Engaged In Trying To

Discover From Tests Of Her Blood Whether The Theory Was True. One

After Another The Ordinary Poisons Were Eliminated,  Until It Began

To Look Hopeless.

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 78

So Far Kennedy Had Been Only An Interested Spectator,  But As The

Different Tests Failed,  He Had Become More And More Keenly Alive.

At Last It Seemed As If He Could Wait No Longer.

 

"Might I Try One Or Two Reactions With That Sample?" He Asked Of

The Physician Who Handed Him The Test Tube In Silence.

 

For A Moment Or Two Craig Thoughtfully Regarded It,  While With One

Hand He Fingered The Bottles Of Ether,  Alcohol,  Distilled Water,

And The Many Reagents Standing Before Him. He Picked Up One And

Poured A Little Liquid Into The Test Tube. Then,  Removing The

Precipitate That Was Formed,  He Tried To Dissolve It In Water. Not

Succeeding,  He Tried The Ether And Then The Alcohol. Both Were

Successful.

 

"What Is It?" We Asked As He Held The Tube Up Critically To The

Light.

 

"I Can't Be Sure Yet," He Answered Slowly. "I Thought At First

That It Was Some Alkaloid. I'll Have To Make Further Tests Before

I Can Be Positive Just What It Is. If I May Retain This Sample I

Think That With Other Clues That I Have Discovered I May Be Able

To Tell You Something Definite Soon."

 

The Coroner's Physician Willingly Assented,  And Craig Quickly

Dispatched The Tube,  Carefully Sealed,  To His Laboratory.

 

"That Part Of Our Investigation Will Keep," He Remarked As We Left

The Coroner's Office. "To-Night I Think We Had Better Resume The

Search Which Was So Unexpectedly Interrupted This Morning. I

Suppose You Have Concluded,  Walter,  That We Can Be Reasonably Sure

That The Trail Leads Back Through The Fortune-Tellers And

Soothsayers Of New York,--Which One,  It Would Be Difficult To Say.

The Obvious Thing,  Therefore,  Is To Consult Them All. I Think You

Will Enjoy That Part Of It,  With Your Newspaperman's Liking For

The Bizarre."

 

The Fact Was That It Did Appeal To Me,  Though At The Moment I Was

Endeavouring To Formulate A Theory In Which Dudley Lawton And An

Accomplice Would Account For The Facts.

 

It Was Early In The Evening As We Started Out On Our Tour Of The

Clairvoyants Of New York. The First Whom Kennedy Selected From The

Advertisements In The Clipping Described Himself As "Hata,  The

Veiled Prophet,  Born With A Double Veil,  Educated In Occult

Mysteries And Hindu Philosophy In Egypt And India." Like All Of

Them His Advertisement Dwelt Much On Love And Money:

 

   The Great Questions Of Life Are Quickly Solved,  Failure

   Turned To Success,  Sorrow To Joy,  The Separated Are Brought

   Together,  Foes Made Friends. Truths Are Laid Bare To His

   Mysterious Mind. He Gives You Power To Attract And Control

   Those Whom You May Desire,  Tells You Of Living Or Dead,  Your

   Secret Troubles,  The Cause And Remedy. Advice On All Affairs

   Of Life,  Love,  Courtship,  Marriage,  Business,  Speculations,

   Investments. Overcomes Rivals,  Enemies,  And All Evil Influences.

   Will Tell You How To Attract,  Control,  And Change The

   Thought,  Intentions,  Actions,  Or Character Of Any One You

   Desire.

 

Hata Was A Modest Adept Who Professed To Be Able To Explain The

Whole Ten Stages Of Yoga. He Had Established Himself On A Street

Near Times Square,  Just Off Broadway,  And There We Found Several

Automobiles And Taxicabs Standing At The Curb,  A Mute Testimony To

The Wealth Of At Least Some Of His Clientele.

 

A Solemn-Faced Coloured Man Ushered Us Into A Front Parlour And

Asked If We Had Come To See The Professor. Kennedy Answered That

We Had.

 

"Will You Please Write Your Names And Addresses On The Outside

Sheet Of This Pad,  Then Tear It Off And Keep It?" Asked The

Attendant. "We Ask All Visitors To Do That Simply As A Guarantee

Of Good Faith. Then If You Will Write Under It What You Wish To

Find Out From The Professor I Think It Will Help You Concentrate.

But Don't Write While I Am In The Room,  And Don't Let Me See The

Writing."

 

"A Pretty Cheap Trick," Exclaimed Craig When The Attendant Had

Gone. "That's How He Tells The Gullible Their Names Before They

Tell Him. I've A Good Notion To Tear Off Two Sheets. The Second Is

Chemically Prepared,  With Paraffin,  I Think. By Dusting It Over

With Powdered Charcoal You Can Bring Out What Was Written On The

First Sheet Over It. Oh,  Well,  Let's Let Him Get Something Across,

Anyway. Here Goes,  Our Names And Addresses,  And Underneath I'll

Write,  'What Has Become Of Georgette Gilbert?'"

 

Perhaps Five Minutes Later The Negro Took The Pad,  The Top Sheet

Having Been Torn Off And Placed In Kennedy's Pocket. He Also Took

A Small Fee Of Two Dollars. A Few Minutes Later We Were Ushered

Into The Awful Presence Of The "Veiled Prophet," A Tall,  Ferret-

Eyed Man In A Robe That Looked Suspiciously Like A Brocaded

Dressing-Gown Much Too Large For Him.

 

Sure Enough,  He Addressed Us Solemnly By Name And Proceeded

Directly To Tell Us Why We Had Come.

 

"Let Us Look Into The Crystal Of The Past,  Present,  And Future And

Read What It Has To Reveal," He Added Solemnly,  Darkening The

Room,  Which Was Already Only Dimly Lighted. Then Hata,  The

Crystal-Gazer,  Solemnly Seated Himself In A Chair. Before Him,  In

His Hands,  Reposing On A Bag Of Satin,  Lay A Huge Oval Piece Of

Glass. He Threw Forward His Head And Riveted His Eyes On The Milky

Depths Of The Crystal. In A Moment He Began To Talk,  First

Ramblingly,  Then Coherently.

 

"I See A Man,  A Dark Man," He Began. "He Is Talking Earnestly To A

Young Girl. She Is Trying To Avoid Him. Ah--He Seizes Her By Both

Arms. They Struggle. He Has His Hand At Her Throat. He Is Choking

Her."

 

I Was Thinking Of The Newspaper Descriptions Of Lawton,  Which The

Fakir Had Undoubtedly Read,  But Kennedy Was Leaning Forward Over

The Crystal-Gazer,  Not Watching The Crystal At All,  Nor With His

Eyes On The Clairvoyant's Face.

 

"Her Tongue Is Protruding From Her Mouth,  Her Eyes Are Bulging---"

 

"Yes,  Yes," Urged Kennedy. "Go On." "She Falls. He Strikes Her. He

Flees. He Goes To---"

 

Kennedy Laid His Hand Ever So Lightly On The Arm Of The

Clairvoyant,  Then Quickly Withdrew It.

 

"I Cannot See Where He Goes. It Is Dark,  Dark. You Will Have To

Come Back To-Morrow When The Vision Is Stronger."

 

The Thing Stung Me By Its Crudity. Kennedy,  However,  Seemed Elated

By Our Experience As We Gained The Street.

 

"Craig," I Remonstrated,  "You Don't Mean To Say You Attach Any

Importance To Vapourings Like That? Why,  There Wasn't A Thing The

Fellow Couldn't Have Imagined From The Newspapers,  Even The Clumsy

Description Of Dudley Lawton."

 

"We'll See," He Replied Cheerfully,  As We Stopped Under A Light To

Read The Address Of The Next Seer,  Who Happened To Be In The Same

Block.

 

It Proved To Be The Psychic Palmist Who Called Himself "The

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 79

Pandit." He Also Was "Born With A Strange And Remarkable Power--

Not Meant To Gratify The Idle Curious,  But To Direct,  Advise,  And

Help Men And Women"--At The Usual Low Fee. He Said In Print That

He Gave Instant Relief To Those Who Had Trouble In Love,  And Also

Positively Guaranteed To Tell Your Name And The Object Of Your

Visit. He Added:

 

  Love,  Courtship,  Marriage. What Is More Beautiful Than

   The True Unblemished Love Of One Person For Another? What

   Is Sweeter,  Better,  Or More To Be Desired Than Perfect Harmony

   And Happiness? If You Want To Win The Esteem,  Love,  And

   Everlasting Affection Of Another,  See The Pandit,  The Greatest

   Living Master Of The Occult Science.

 

Inasmuch As This Seer Fell Into A Passion At The Other Incompetent

Soothsayers In The Next Column (And Almost Next Door) It Seemed As

If We Must Surely Get Something For Our Money From The Pandit.

 

Like Hata,  The Pandit Lived In A Large Brownstone House. The Man

Who Admitted Us Led Us Into A Parlour Where Several People Were

Seated About As If Waiting For Some One. The Pad And Writing

Process Was Repeated With Little Variation. Since We Were The

Latest Comers We Had To Wait Some Time Before We Were Ushered Into

The Presence Of The Pandit,  Who Was Clad In A Green Silk Robe.

 

The Room Was Large And Had Very Small Windows Of Stained Glass. At

One End Of The Room Was An Altar On Which Burned Several Candles

Which Gave Out An Incense. The Atmosphere Of The Room Was Heavy

With A Fragrance That Seemed To Combine Cologne With Chloroform.

 

The Pandit Waved A Wand,  Muttering Strange Sounds As He Did So,

For In Addition To His Palmistry,  Which He Seemed Not Disposed To

Exhibit That Night,  He Dealt In Mysteries Beyond Human Ken. A

Voice,  Quite Evidently From A Phonograph Buried In The Depths Of

The Altar,  Answered In An Unknown Language Which Sounded Much Like

"Al-Ya Wa-Aa Haal-Ya Waa-Ha." Across The Dim Room Flashed A Pale

Blue Light With A Crackling Noise,  The Visible Rays From A Crookes

Tube,  I Verily Believe. The Pandit,  However,  Said It Was The Soul

Of A Saint Passing Through. Then He Produced Two Silken Robes,  One

Red,  Which He Placed On Kennedy's Shoulders,  And One Violet,  Which

He Threw Over Me.

 

From The Air Proceeded Strange Sounds Of Weird Music And Words.

The Pandit Seemed To Fall Asleep,  Muttering. Apparently,  However,

Kennedy And I Were Bad Subjects,  For After Some Minutes Of This He

Gave It Up,  Saying That The Spirits Had No Revelation To Make To-

Night In The Matter In Which We Had Called. Inasmuch As We Had Not

Written On The Pad Just What That Matter Was,  I Was Not Surprised.

Nor Was I Surprised When The Pandit Laid Off His Robe And Said

Unctuously,  "But If You Will Call To-Morrow And Concentrate,  I Am

Sure That I Can Secure A Message That Will Be Helpful About Your

Little Matter."

 

Kennedy Promised To Call,  But Still He Lingered. The Pandit,

Anxious To Get Rid Of Us,  Moved Toward The Door. Kennedy Sidled

Over Toward The Green Robe Which The Pandit Had Laid On A Chair.

 

"Might I Have Some Of Your Writings To Look Over In The Meantime?"

Asked Craig As If To Gain Time.

 

"Yes,  But They Will Cost You Three Dollars A Copy--The Price I

Charge All My Students," Answered The Pandit With Just A Trace Of

A Gleam Of Satisfaction At Having At Last Made An Impression.

 

He Turned And Entered A Cabinet To Secure The Mystic Literature.

The Moment He Had Disappeared Kennedy Seized The Opportunity He

Had Been Waiting For. He Picked Up The Green Robe And Examined The

Collar And Neck Very Carefully Under The Least Dim Of The Lights

In The Room. He Seemed To Find What He Wished,  Yet He Continued To

Examine The Robe Until The Sound Of Returning Footsteps Warned Him

To Lay It Down Again. He Had Not Been Quite Quick Enough. The

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 80

Pandit Eyed Us Suspiciously,  Then He Rang A Bell. The Attendant

Appeared Instantly,  Noiselessly.

 

"Show These Men Into The Library," He Commanded With Just The

Faintest Shade Of Trepidation. "My Servant Will Give You The

Book," He Said To Craig. "Pay Him."

 

It Seemed That We Had Suddenly Been Looked Upon With Disfavour,

And I Half Suspected He Thought We Were Spies Of The Police,  Who

Had Recently Received Numerous Complaints Of The Financial

Activities Of The Fortune Tellers,  Who Worked In Close Harmony

With Certain Bucket-Shop Operators In Fleecing The Credulous Of

Their Money By Inspired Investment Advice. At Any Rate,  The

Attendant Quickly Opened A Door Into The Darkness. Treading

Cautiously I Followed Craig. The Door Closed Behind Us. I Clenched

My Fists,  Not Knowing What To Expect.

 

"The Deuce!" Exclaimed Kennedy. "He Passed Us Out Into An Alley.

There Is The Street Not Twenty Feet Away. The Pandit Is A Clever

One,  All Right."

 

It Was Now Too Late To See Any Of The Other Clairvoyants On Our

List,  So That With This Unceremonious Dismissal We Decided To

Conclude Our Investigations For The Night.

 

The Next Morning We Wended Our Way Up Into The Bronx,  Where One Of

The Mystics Had Ensconced Himself Rather Out Of The Beaten Track Of

Police Protection,  Or Persecution,  One Could Not Say Which. I Was

Wondering What Sort Of Vagary Would Come Next. It Proved To Be

"Swami,  The Greatest Clairvoyant,  Psychic Palmist,  And Yogi

Mediator Of Them All." He Also Stood Alone In His Power,  For He

Asserted:

 

   Names Friends,  Enemies,  Rivals,  Tells Whom And When You

   Will Marry,  Advises You Upon Love,  Courtship,  Marriage,

   Business,  Speculation,  Transactions Of Every Nature. If You Are

   Worried,  Perplexed,  Or In Trouble Come To This Wonderful

   Man. He Reads Your Life Like An Open Book; He Overcomes

   Evil Influences,  Reunites The Separated,  Causes Speedy And

   Happy Marriage With The One Of Your Choice,  Tells How To

   Influence Any One You Desire,  Tells Whether Wife Or Sweetheart

   Is True Or False. Love,  Friendship,  And Influence Of

   Others Obtained And A Greater Share Of Happiness In Life

   Secured. The Key To Success Is That Marvellous,  Subtle,

   Unseen Power That Opens To Your Vision The Greatest Secrets

   Of Life. It Gives You Power Which Enables You To Control

   The Minds Of Men And Women.

 

The Swami Engaged To Explain The "Wonderful Karmic Law," And By

His Method One Could Develop A Wonderful Magnetic Personality By

Which He Could Win Anything The Human Heart Desired. It Was

Therefore With Great Anticipation That We Sought Out The Wonderful

Swami And,  Falling Into The Spirit Of His Advertisement,  Posed As

"Come-Ons" And Pleaded To Obtain This Wonderful Magnetism And A

Knowledge Of The Karmic Law--At A Ridiculously Low Figure,

Considering Its Inestimable Advantages To One Engaged In The

Pursuit Of Criminal Science. Naturally The Swami Was Pleased At

Two Such Early Callers,  And His Narrow,  Half-Bald Head,  Long Slim

Nose,  Sharp Grey Eyes,  And Sallow,  Unwholesome Complexion Showed

His Pleasure In Every Line And Feature.

 

Rubbing His Hands Together As He Motioned Us Into The Next Room,

The Swami Seated Us On A Circular Divan With Piles Of Cushions

Upon It. There Were Clusters Of Flowers In Vases About The Room,

Which Gave It The Odour Of The Renewed Vitality Of The Year.

 

A Lackey Entered With A Silver Tray Of Cups Of Coffee And A Silver

Jar In The Centre. Talking Slowly And Earnestly About The "Great

Karmic Law," The Swami Bade Us Drink The Coffee,  Which Was Of A

Vile,  Muddy,  Turkish Variety. Then From The Jar He Took A Box Of

Rock Crystal Containing A Sort Of Greenish Compound Which He

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 81

Kneaded Into A Little Gum--Gum Tragacanth,  I Afterward Learned,--

And Bade Us Taste. It Was Not At All Unpleasant To The Taste,  And

As Nothing Happened,  Except The Suave Droning Of The Mystic Before

Us,  We Ate Several Of The Gum Pellets.

 

I Am At A Loss To Describe Adequately Just The Sensations That I

Soon Experienced. It Was As If Puffs Of Hot And Cold Air Were

Alternately Blown On My Spine,  And I Felt A Twitching Of My Neck,

Legs,  And Arms. Then Came A Subtle Warmth. The Whole Thing Seemed

Droll; The Noise Of The Swami's Voice Was Most Harmonious. His And

Kennedy's Faces Seemed Transformed. They Were Human Faces,  But

Each Had A Sort Of Animal Likeness Back Of It,  As Lavater Has

Said. The Swami Seemed To Me To Be The Fox,  Kennedy The Owl. I

Looked In The Glass,  And I Was The Eagle. I Laughed Outright.

 

It Was Sensuous In The Extreme. The Beautiful Paintings On The

Walls At Once Became Clothed In Flesh And Blood. A Picture Of A

Lady Hanging Near Me Caught My Eye. The Countenance Really Smiled

And Laughed And Varied From Moment To Moment. Her Figure Became

Rounded And Living And Seemed To Stir In The Frame. The Face Was

Beautiful But Ghastly. I Seemed To Be Borne Along On A Sea Of

Pleasure By Currents Of Voluptuous Happiness.

 

The Swami Was Affected By A Profound Politeness. As He Rose And

Walked About The Room,  Still Talking,  He Salaamed And Bowed. When

I Spoke It Sounded Like A Gun,  With An Echo Long Afterward

Rumbling In My Brain. Thoughts Came To Me Like Fury,  Bewildering,

Sometimes As Points Of Light In The Most Exquisite Fireworks.

Objects Were Clothed In Most Fantastic Garbs. I Looked At My Two

Animal Companions. I Seemed To Read Their Thoughts. I Felt Strange

Affinities With Them,  Even With The Swami. Yet It Was All By The

Psychological Law Of The Association Of Ideas,  Though I Was No

Longer Master But The Servant Of Those Ideas.

 

As For Kennedy,  The Stuff Seemed To Affect Him Much Differently

Than It Did Myself. Indeed,  It Seemed To Rouse In Him Something

Vicious. The More I Smiled And The More The Swami Salaamed,  The

More Violent I Could See Craig Getting,  Whereas I Was Lost In A

Maze Of Dreams That I Would Not Have Stopped If I Could. Seconds

Seemed To Be Years; Minutes Ages. Things At Only A Short Distance

Looked Much As They Do When Looked At Through The Inverted End Of

A Telescope. Yet It All Carried With It An Agreeable Exhilaration

Which I Can Only Describe As The Heightened Sense One Feels On The

First Spring Day Of The Year.

 

At Last The Continued Plying Of The Drug Seemed To Be Too Much For

Kennedy. The Swami Had Made A Profound Salaam. In An Instant

Kennedy Had Seized With Both Hands The Long Flowing Hair At The

Back Of The Swami's Bald Forehead,  And He Tugged Until The Mystic

Yelled With Pain And The Tears Stood In His Eyes.

 

With A Leap I Roused Myself From The Train Of Dreams And Flung

Myself Between Them. At The Sound Of My Voice And The Pressure Of

My Grasp,  Craig Sullenly And Slowly Relaxed His Grip. A Vacant

Look Seemed To Steal Into His Face,  And Seizing His Hat,  Which Lay

On A Near-By Stool,  He Stalked Out In Silence,  And I Followed.

 

Neither Of Us Spoke For A Moment After We Had Reached The Street,

But Out Of The Corner Of My Eye I Could See That Kennedy's Body

Was Convulsed As If With Suppressed Emotion.

 

"Do You Feel Better In The Air?" I Asked Anxiously,  Yet Somewhat

Vexed And Feeling A Sort Of Lassitude And Half Regret At The

Reality Of Life And Not Of The Dreams.

 

It Seemed As If He Could Restrain Himself No Longer. He Burst Out

Into A Hearty Laugh. "I Was Just Watching The Look Of Disgust On

Your Face," He Said As He Opened His Hand And Showed Me Three Or

Four Of The Gum Lozenges That He Had Palmed Instead Of Swallowing.

"Ha,  Ha! I Wonder What The Swami Thinks Of His Earnest Effort To

Expound The Karmic Law."

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 82

 

It Was Beyond Me. With The Swami's Concoction Still Shooting

Thoughts Like Sky Rockets Through My Brain I Gave It Up And

Allowed Kennedy To Engineer Our Next Excursion Into The Occult.

 

One More Seer Remained To Be Visited. This One Professed To "Hold

Your Life Mirror" And By His "Magnetic Monochrome," Whatever That

Might Be,  He Would "Impart To You An Attractive Personality,

Mastery Of Being,  For Creation And Control Of Life Conditions."

 

He Described Himself As The "Guru," And,  Among Other Things,  He

Professed To Be A Sun-Worshipper. At Any Rate,  The Room Into Which

We Were Admitted Was Decorated With The Four-Spoked Wheel,  Or

Wheel And Cross,  The Winged Circle,  And The Winged Orb. The Guru

Himself Was A Swarthy Individual With A Purple Turban Wound Around

His Head. In His Inner Room Were Many Statuettes,  Photographs Of

Other Gurus Of The Faith,  And On Each Of The Four Walls Were

Mysterious Symbols In Plaster Representing A Snake Curved In A

Circle,  Swallowing His Tail,  A Five-Pointed Star,  And In The

Centre Another Winged Sphere.

 

Craig Asked The Guru To Explain The Symbols,  To Which He Replied

With A Smile: "The Snake Represents Eternity,  The Star Involution

And Evolution Of The Soul,  While The Winged Sphere--Eh,  Well,  That

Represents Something Else. Do You Come To Learn Of The Faith?"

 

At This Gentle Hint Craig Replied That He Did,  And The Utmost

Amicability Was Restored By The Purchase Of The Green Book Of The

Guru,  Which Seemed To Deal With Everything Under The Sun,  And

Particularly The Revival Of Ancient Asiatic Fire-Worship With Many

Forms And Ceremonies,  Together With Posturing And Breathing That

Rivalled The "Turkey Trot," The "Bunny Hug," And The "Grizzly

Bear." The Book,  As We Turned Over Its Pages,  Gave Directions For

Preparing Everything From Food To Love-Philtres And The Elixir Of

Life. One Very Interesting Chapter Was Devoted To "Electric

Marriage," Which Seemed To Come To Those Only Who,  After Searching

Patiently,  At Last Found Perfect Mates. Another Of The Guru's

Tenets Seemed To Be Purification By Eliminating All False Modesty,

Bathing In The Sun,  And While Bathing Engaging In Any Occupation

Which Kept The Mind Agreeably Occupied. On The First Page Was The

Satisfying Legend,  "There Is Nothing In The World That A Disciple

Can Give To Pay The Debt To The Guru Who Has Taught Him One

Truth."

 

As We Talked,  It Seemed Quite Possible To Me That The Guru Might

Exert A Very Powerful Hypnotic Influence Over His Disciples Or

Those Who Came To Seek His Advice. Besides This Indefinable

Hypnotic Influence,  I Also Noted The More Material Lock On The

Door To The Inner Sanctuary.

 

"Yes," The Guru Was Saying To Kennedy,  "I Can Secure You One Of

The Love-Pills From India,  But It Will Cost You--Er--Ten Dollars."

I Think He Hesitated,  To See How Much The Traffic Would Bear,  From

One To One Hundred,  And Compromised With Only One Zero After The

Unit. Kennedy Appeared Satisfied,  And The Guru Departed With

Alacrity To Secure The Specially Imported Pellet.

 

In A Corner Was A Sort Of Dressing-Table On Which Lay A Comb And

Brush. Kennedy Seemed Much Interested In The Table And Was

Examining It When The Guru Returned. Just As The Door Opened He

Managed To Slip The Brush Into His Pocket And Appear Interested In

The Mystic Symbols On The Wall Opposite.

 

"If That Doesn't Work," Remarked The Guru In Remarkably Good

English,  "Let Me Know,  And You Must Try One Of My Charm Bottles.

But The Love-Pills Are Fine. Good-Day."

 

Outside Craig Looked At Me Quizzically. "You Wouldn't Believe It,

Walter,  Would You?" He Said. "Here In This Twentieth Century In

New York,  And In Fact In Every Large City Of The World--Love-

Philtres,  Love-Pills,  And All The Rest Of It. And It Is Not Among

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 83

The Ignorant That These Things Are Found,  Either. You Remember We

Saw Automobiles Waiting Before Some Of The Places."

 

"I Suspect That All Who Visit The Fakirs Are Not So Gullible,

After All," I Replied Sententiously.

 

"Perhaps Not. I Think I Shall Have Something Interesting To Say

To-Night As A Result Of Our Visits,  At Least."

 

During The Remainder Of The Day Kennedy Was Closely Confined In

His Laboratory With His Microscopes,  Slides,  Chemicals,  Test-

Tubes,  And Other Apparatus. As For Myself,  I Put In The Time

Speculating Which Of The Fakirs Had Been In Some Mysterious Way

Connected With The Case And In What Manner. Many Were The Theories

Which I Had Formed And The Situations I Conjured Up,  And In Nearly

All I Had One Central Figure,  The Young Man Whose Escapades Had

Been The Talk Of Even The Fast Set Of A Fast Society.

 

That Night Kennedy,  With The Assistance Of First Deputy O'connor,

Who Was Not Averse To Taking Any Action Within The Law Toward The

Soothsayers,  Assembled A Curiously Cosmopolitan Crowd In His

Laboratory. Besides The Gilberts Were Dudley Lawton And His

Father,  Hata,  The Pandit,  The Swami,  And The Guru--The Latter Four

Persons In High Dudgeon At Being Deprived Of The Lucrative Profits

Of A Sunday Night.

 

Kennedy Began Slowly,  Leading Gradually Up To His Point: "A New

Means Of Bringing Criminals To Justice Has Been Lately Studied By

One Of The Greatest Scientific Detectives Of Crime In The World,

The Man To Whom We Are Indebted For Our Most Complete Systems Of

Identification And Apprehension." Craig Paused And Fingered The

Microscope Before Him Thoughtfully. "Human Hair," He Resumed,  "Has

Recently Been The Study Of That Untiring Criminal Scientist,  M.

Bertillon. He Has Drawn Up A Full,  Classified,  And Graduated Table

Of All The Known Colours Of The Human Hair,  A Complete Palette,  So

To Speak,  Of Samples Gathered In Every Quarter Of The Globe.

Henceforth Burglars,  Who Already Wear Gloves Or Paint Their

Fingers With A Rubber Composition For Fear Of Leaving Finger-

Prints,  Will Have To Wear Close-Fitting Caps Or Keep Their Heads

Shaved. Thus He Has Hit Upon A New Method Of Identification Of

Those Sought By The Police. For Instance,  From Time To Time The

Question Arises Whether Hair Is Human Or Animal. In Such Cases The

Microscope Tells The Answer Truthfully.

 

"For A Long Time I Have Been Studying Hair,  Taking Advantage Of

Those Excellent Researches By M. Bertillon. Human Hair Is Fairly

Uniform,  Tapering Gradually. Under The Microscope It Is

Practically Always Possible To Distinguish Human Hair From Animal.

I Shall Not Go Into The Distinctions,  But I May Add That It Is

Also Possible To Determine Very Quickly The Difference Between All

Hair,  Human Or Animal,  And Cotton With Its Corkscrew-Like Twists,

Linen With Its Jointed Structure,  And Silk,  Which Is Long,  Smooth,

And Cylindrical."

 

Again Kennedy Paused As If To Emphasise This Preface. "I Have

Here," He Continued,  "A Sample Of Hair." He Had Picked Up A

Microscope Slide That Was Lying On The Table. It Certainly Did Not

Look Very Thrilling--A Mere Piece Of Glass,  That Was All. But On

The Glass Was What Appeared To Be Merely A Faint Line. "This

Slide," He Said,  Holding It Up,  "Has What Must Prove An

Unescapable Clue To The Identity Of The Man Responsible For The

Disappearance Of Miss Gilbert. I Shall Not Tell You Yet Who He Is,

For The Simple Reason That,  Though I Could Make A Shrewd Guess,  I

Do Not Yet Know What The Verdict Of Science Is,  And In Science We

Do Not Guess Where We Can Prove.

 

"You Will Undoubtedly Remember That When Miss Gilbert's Body Was

Discovered,  It Bore No Evidence Of Suicide,  But On The Contrary

The Marks Of Violence. Her Fists Were Clenched,  As If She Had

Struggled With All Her Power Against A Force That Had Been Too

Much For Her. I Examined Her Hands,  Expecting To Find Some

Part 3 Chapter 7 (The White Slave) Pg 84

Evidence Of A Weapon She Had Used To Defend Herself. Instead,  I

Found What Was More Valuable. Here On This Slide Are Several Hairs

That I Found Tightly Grasped In Her Rigid Hands."

 

I Could Not Help Recalling Kennedy's Remark Earlier In The Case--

That It Hung On Slender Threads. Yet How Strong Might Not Those

Threads Prove!

 

"There Was Also In Her Pocketbook A Newspaper Clipping Bearing The

Advertisements Of Several Clairvoyants," He Went On. "Mr. Jameson

And Myself Had Already Discovered What The Police Had Failed To

Find,  That On The Morning Of The Day On Which She Disappeared Miss

Gilbert Had Made Three Distinct Efforts,  Probably,  To Secure Books

On Clairvoyance. Accordingly,  Mr. Jameson And Myself Have Visited

Several Of The Fortune-Tellers And Practitioners Of The Occult

Sciences In Which We Had Reason To Believe Miss Gilbert Was

Interested. They All,  By The Way,  Make A Specialty Of Giving

Advice In Money Matters And Solving The Problems Of Lovers. I

Suspect That At Times Mr. Jameson Has Thought That I Was Demented,

But I Had To Resort To Many And Various Expedients To Collect The

Specimens Of Hair Which I Wanted. From The Police,  Who Used Mr.

Lawton's Valet,  I Received Some Hair From His Head. Here Is

Another Specimen From Each Of The Advertisers,  Hata,  The Swami,

The Pandit,  And The Guru. There Is Just One Of These Specimens

Which Corresponds In Every Particular Of Colour,  Thickness,  And

Texture With The Hair Found So Tightly Grasped In Miss Gilbert's

Hand."

 

As Craig Said This I Could Feel A Sort Of Gasp Of Astonishment

From Our Little Audience. Still He Was Not Quite Ready To Make His

Disclosure.

 

"Lest I Should Be Prejudiced," He Pursued Evenly,  "By My Own

Rather Strong Convictions,  And In Order That I Might Examine The

Samples Without Fear Or Favour,  I Had One Of My Students At The

Laboratory Take The Marked Hairs,  Mount Them,  Number Them,  And Put

In Numbered Envelopes The Names Of The Persons Who Furnished Them.

But Before I Open The Envelope Numbered The Same As The Slide

Which Contains The Hair Which Corresponds Precisely With That Hair

Found In Miss Gilbert's Hand--And It Is Slide No. 2---" Said

Kennedy,  Picking Out The Slide With His Finger And Moving It On

The Table With As Much Coolness As If He Were Moving A Chessman On

A Board Instead Of Playing In The Terrible Game Of Human Life,

"Before I Read The Name I Have Still One More Damning Fact To

Disclose."

 

Craig Now Had Us On Edge With Excitement,  A Situation Which I

Sometimes Thought He Enjoyed More Keenly Than Any Other In His

Relentless Tracing Down Of A Criminal.

 

"What Was It That Caused Miss Gilbert's Death?" Asked Kennedy.

"The Coroner's Physician Did Not Seem To Be Thoroughly Satisfied

With The Theory Of Physical Violence Alone. Nor Did I. Some One,  I

Believe,  Exerted A Peculiar Force In Order To Get Her Into His

Power. What Was That Force? At First I Thought It Might Have Been

The Hackneyed Knockout Drops,  But Tests By The Coroner's Physician

Eliminated That. Then I Thought It Might Be One Of The Alkaloids,

Such As Morphine,  Cocaine,  And Others. But It Was Not Any Of The

Usual Things That Was Used To Entice Her Away From Her Family And

Friends. From Tests That I Have Made I Have Discovered The One

Fact Necessary To Complete My Case,  The Drug Used To Lure Her And

Against Which She Fought In Deadly Struggle."

 

He Placed A Test Tube In A Rack Before Us. "This Tube," He

Continued,  "Contains One Of The Most Singular And,  Among Us,  Least

Known Of The Five Common Narcotics Of The World--Tobacco,  Opium,

Coca,  Betel Nut,  And Hemp. It Can Be Smoked,  Chewed,  Used As A

Drink,  Or Taken As A Confection. In The Form Of A Powder It Is

Used By The Narghile Smoker. As A Liquid It Can Be Taken As An

Oily Fluid Or In Alcohol. Taken In Any Of These Forms,  It

Literally Makes The Nerves Walk,  Dance,  And Run. It Heightens The

Feelings And Sensibilities To Distraction,  Producing What Is

Really Hysteria. If The Weather Is Clear,  This Drug Will Make Life

Gorgeous; If It Rains,  Tragic. Slight Vexation Becomes Deadly

Revenge; Courage Becomes Rashness; Fear,  Abject Terror; And Gentle

Affection Or Even A Passing Liking Is Transformed Into Passionate

Love. It Is The Drug Derived From The Indian Hemp,  Scientifically

Named Cannabis Indica,  Better Known As Hashish,  Or Bhang,  Or A

Dozen Other Names In The East. Its Chief Characteristic Is That It

Has A Profound Effect On The Passions. Thus,  Under Its Influence,

Natives Of The East Become Greatly Exhilarated,  Then Debased,  And

Finally Violent,  Rushing Forth On The Streets With The Cry,  'Amok,

Amok,'--'Kill,  Kill'--As We Say,  'Running Amuck.' An Overdose Of

This Drug Often Causes Insanity,  While In Small Quantities Our

Doctors Use It As A Medicine. Any One Who Has Read The Brilliant

Theophile Gautier's 'Club Des Hachichens' Or Bayard Taylor's

Experience At Damascus Knows Something Of The Effect Of Hashish,

However.

 

"In Reconstructing The Story Of Georgette Gilbert,  As Best I Can,

I Believe That She Was Lured To The Den Of One Of The Numerous

Cults Practised In New York,  Lured By Advertisements Offering

Advice In Hidden Love Affairs. Led On By Her Love For A Man Whom

She Could Not And Would Not Put Out Of Her Life,  And By Her

Affection For Her Parents,  She Was Frantic. This Place Offered

Hope,  And To It She Went In All Innocence,  Not Knowing That It Was

Only The Open Door To A Life Such As The Most Lurid Disorderly

Resorts Of The Metropolis Could Scarcely Match. There Her

Credulity Was Preyed Upon,  And She Was Tricked Into Taking This

Drug,  Which Itself Has Such Marked And Perverting Effect. But,

Though She Must Have Been Given A Great Deal Of The Drug,  She Did

Not Yield,  As Many Of The Sophisticated Do. She Struggled

Frantically,  Futilely. Will And Reason Were Not Conquered,  Though

They Sat Unsteadily On Their Thrones. The Wisp Of Hair So Tightly

Clasped In Her Dead Hand Shows That She Fought Bitterly To The

End."

 

Kennedy Was Leaning Forward Earnestly,  Glaring At Each Of Us In

Turn. Lawton Was Twisting Uneasily In His Chair,  And I Could See

That His Fists Were Doubled Up And That He Was Holding Himself In

Leash As If Waiting For Something,  Eyeing Us All Keenly. The Swami

Was Seized With A Violent Fit Of Trembling,  And The Other Fakirs

Were Staring In Amazement.

 

Quickly I Stepped Between Dudley Lawton And Kennedy,  But As I Did

So,  He Leaped Behind Me,  And Before I Could Turn He Was Grappling

Wildly With Some One On The Floor.

 

"It's All Right,  Walter," Cried Kennedy,  Tearing Open The Envelope

On The Table. "Lawton Has Guessed Right. The Hair Was The Swami's.

Georgette Gilbert Was One Victim Who Fought And Rescued Herself

From A Slavery Worse Than Death. And There Is One Mystic Who Could

Not Foresee Arrest And The Death House At Sing Sing In His

Horoscope."

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 85

 

We Were Lunching With Stevenson Williams,  A Friend Of Kennedy's,

At The Insurance Club,  One Of The Many New Downtown Luncheon

Clubs,  Where The Noon Hour Is So Conveniently Combined With

Business.

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 86

"There Isn't Much That You Can't Insure Against Nowadays,"

Remarked Williams When The Luncheon Had Progressed Far Enough To

Warrant A Tentative Reference To The Obvious Fact That He Had Had

A Purpose In Inviting Us To The Club. "Take My Own Company,  For

Example,  The Continental Surety. We Have Lately Undertaken To

Write Forgery Insurance."

 

"Forgery Insurance?" Repeated Kennedy. "Well,  I Should Think You'd

Be Doing A Ripping Business--Putting Up The Premium Rate About

Every Day In This Epidemic Of Forgery That Seems To Be Sweeping

Over The Country."

 

Williams,  Who Was One Of The Officers Of The Company,  Smiled

Somewhat Wearily,  I Thought. "We Are," He Replied Drily. "That Was

Precisely What I Wanted To See You About."

 

"What? The Premiums Or The Epidemic?"

 

"Well--Er--Both,  Perhaps. I Needn't Say Much About The Epidemic,

As You Call It. To You I Can Admit It; To The Newspapers,  Never.

Still,  I Suppose You Know That It Is Variously Estimated That The

Forgers Of The Country Are Getting Away With From Ten To Fifteen

Million Dollars A Year. It Is Just One Case That I Was Thinking

About--One On Which The Regular Detective Agencies We Employ Seem

To Have Failed Utterly So Far. It Involves Pretty Nearly One Of

Those Fifteen Millions."

 

"What? One Case? A Million Dollars?" Gasped Kennedy,  Gazing

Fixedly At Williams As If He Found It Difficult To Believe.

 

"Exactly," Replied Williams Imperturbably,  "Though It Was Not Done

All At One Fell Swoop,  Of Course,  But Gradually,  Covering A Period

Of Some Months. You Have Doubtless Heard Of The By-Products

Company Of Chicago?"

 

Craig Nodded.

 

"Well,  It Is Their Case," Pursued Williams,  Losing His Quiet

Manner And Now Hurrying Ahead Almost Breathlessly. "You Know They

Own A Bank Out There Also,  Called The By-Products Bank. That's How

We Come To Figure In The Case,  By Having Insured Their Bank

Against Forgery. Of Course Our Liability Runs Up Only To $50,000.

But The Loss To The Company As Well As To Its Bank Through This

Affair Will Reach The Figure I Have Named. They Will Have To Stand

The Balance Beyond Our Liability And,  Well,  Fifty Thousand Is Not

A Small Sum For Us To Lose,  Either. We Can't Afford To Lose It

Without A Fight."

 

"Of Course Not. But You Must Have Some Suspicions,  Some Clues. You

Must Have Taken Some Action In Tracing The Thing Out,  Whatever Is

Back Of It."

 

"Surely. For Instance,  Only The Other Day We Had The Cashier Of

The Bank,  Bolton Brown,  Arrested,  Though He Is Out On Bail Now. We

Haven't Anything Directly Against Him,  But He Is Suspected Of

Complicity On The Inside,  And I May Say That The Thing Is So

Gigantic That There Must Have Been Some One On The Inside

Concerned With It. Among Other Things We Have Found That Bolton

Brown Has Been Leading A Rather Fast Life,  Quite Unknown To His

Fellow-Officials. We Know That He Has Been Speculating Secretly In

The Wheat Corner That Went To Pieces,  But The Most Significant

Thing Is That He Has Been Altogether Too Intimate With An

Adventuress,  Adele De-Mott,  Who Has Had Some Success As A Woman Of

High Finance In Various Cities Here And In Europe And Even In

South America. It Looks Bad For Him From The Commonsense

Standpoint,  Though Of Course I'm Not Competent To Speak Of The

Legal Side Of The Matter. But,  At Any Rate,  We Know That The

Insider Must Have Been Some One Pretty Close To The Head Of The

By-Products Company Or The By-Products Bank."

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 87

 

"What Was The Character Of The Forgeries?" Asked Kennedy.

 

"They Seem To Have Been Of Two Kinds. As Far As We Are Concerned

It Is The Check Forgeries Only That Interest The Surety Company.

For Some Time,  Apparently,  Checks Have Been Coming Into The Bank

For Sums All The Way From A Hundred Dollars To Five Thousand. They

Have Been So Well Executed That Some Of Them Have Been Certified

By The Bank,  All Of Them Have Been Accepted When They Came Back

From Other Banks,  And Even The Officers Of The Company Don't Seem

To Be Able To Pick Any Flaws In Them Except As To The Payee And

The Amounts For Which They Were Drawn. They Have The Correct

Safety Tint On The Paper And Are Stamped With Rubber Stamps That

Are Almost Precisely Like Those Used By The By-Products Company.

 

"You Know That Banking Customs Often Make Some Kinds Of Fraud

Comparatively Easy. For Instance No Bank Will Pay Out A Hundred

Dollars Or Often Even A Dollar Without Identification,  But They

Will Certify A Check For Almost Any Office Boy Who Comes In With

It. The Common Method Of Forgers Lately Has Been To Take Such A

Certified Forged Check,  Deposit It In Another Bank,  Then Gradually

Withdraw It In A Few Days Before There Is Time To Discover The

Forgery. In This Case They Must Have Had The Additional Advantage

That The Insider In The Company Or Bank Could Give Information And

Tip The Forger Off If The Forgery Happened To Be Discovered."

 

"Who Is The Treasurer Of The Company?" Asked Craig Quickly.

 

"John Carroll--Merely A Figurehead,  I Understand. He's In New York

Now,  Working With Us,  As I Shall Tell You Presently. If There Is

Any One Else Besides Brown In It,  It Might Be Michael Dawson,  The

Nominal Assistant But Really The Active Treasurer. There You Have

Another Man Whom We Suspect,  And,  Strangely Enough,  Can't Find.

Dawson Was The Assistant Treasurer Of The Company,  You Understand,

Not Of The Bank."

 

"You Can't Find Him? Why?" Asked Kennedy,  Considerably Puzzled.

 

"No,  We Can't Find Him. He Was Married A Few Days Ago,  Married A

Pretty Prominent Society Girl In The City,  Miss Sibyl Sanderson.

It Seems They Kept The Itinerary Of Their Honeymoon Secret,  More

As A Joke On Their Friends Than Anything Else,  They Said,  For Miss

Sanderson Was A Well-Known Beauty And The Newspapers Bothered The

Couple A Good Deal With Publicity That Was Distasteful. At Least

That Was His Story. No One Knows Where They Are Or Whether They'll

Ever Turn Up Again.

 

"You See,  This Getting Married Had Something To Do With The

Exposure In The First Place. For The Major Part Of The Forgeries

Consists Not So Much In The Checks,  Which Interest My Company,  But

In Fraudulently Issued Stock Certificates Of The By-Products

Company. About A Million Of The Common Stock Was Held As Treasury

Stock--Was Never Issued.

 

"Some One Has Issued A Large Amount Of It,  All Properly Signed And

Sealed. Whoever It Was Had A Little Office In Chicago From Which

The Stock Was Sold Quietly By A Confederate,  Probably A Woman,  For

Women Seem To Rope In The Suckers Best In These Get-Rich-Quick

Schemes. And,  Well,  If It Was Dawson The Honeymoon Has Given Him A

Splendid Chance To Make His Get-Away,  Though It Also Resulted In

The Exposure Of The Forgeries. Carroll Had To Take Up More Or Less

Active Duty,  With The Result That A New Man Unearthed The--But,

Say,  Are You Really Interested In This Case?"

 

Williams Was Leaning Forward,  Looking Anxiously At Kennedy And It

Would Not Have Taken A Clairvoyant To Guess What Answer He Wanted

To His Abrupt Question.

 

"Indeed I Am," Replied Craig,  "Especially As There Seems To Be A

Doubt About The Guilty Person On The Inside."

 

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 88

"There Is Doubt Enough,  All Right," Rejoined Williams,  "At Least I

Think So,  Though Our Detectives In Chicago Who Have Gone Over The

Thing Pretty Thoroughly Have Been Sure Of Fixing Something On

Bolton Brown,  The Cashier. You See The Blank Stock Certificates

Were Kept In The Company's Vault In The Bank To Which,  Of Course,

Brown Had Access. But Then,  As Carroll Argues,  Dawson Had Access

To Them,  Too,  Which Is Very True--More So For Dawson Than For

Brown,  Who Was In The Bank And Not In The Company. I'm All At Sea.

Perhaps If You're Interested You'd Better See Carroll. He's Here

In The City And I'm Sure I Could Get You A Good Fee Out Of The

Case If You Cared To Take It Up. Shall I See If I Can Get Him On

The Wire?"

 

We Had Finished Luncheon And,  As Craig Nodded,  Williams Dived Into

A Telephone Booth Outside The Dining-Room And In A Few Moments

Emerged,  Perspiring From The Closeness. He Announced That Carroll

Requested That We Call On Him At An Office In Wall Street,  A Few

Blocks Away,  Where He Made His Headquarters When He Was In New

York. The Whole Thing Was Done With Such Despatch That I Could Not

Help Feeling That Carroll Had Been Waiting To Hear From His Friend

In The Insurance Company. The Look Of Relief On Williams's Face

When Kennedy Said He Would Go Immediately Showed Plainly That The

Insurance Man Considered The Cost Of The Luncheon,  Which Had Been

No Slight Affair,  In The Light Of A Good Investment In The

Interest Of His Company,  Which Was "In Bad" For The Largest

Forgery Insurance Loss Since They Had Begun To Write That Sort Of

Business.

 

As We Hurried Down To Wall Street,  Kennedy Took Occasion To

Remark,  "Science Seems To Have Safeguarded Banks And Other

Institutions Pretty Well Against Outside Robbery. But Protection

Against Employees Who Can Manipulate Books And Records Does Not

Seem To Have Advanced As Rapidly. Sometimes I Think It May Have

Lessened. Greater Temptations Assail The Cashier Or Clerk With

Greater Opportunity For Speculation,  And The Banks,  As Many

Authorities Will Agree,  Have Not Made Enough Use Of The Machinery

Available To Put A Stop To Embezzlement. This Case Is Evidently

One Of The Results. The Careless Fellows At The Top,  Like This Man

Carroll Whom We Are Going To See,  Generally Put Forward As Excuse

The Statement That The Science Of Banking And Of Business Is So

Complex That A Rascal With Ingenuity Enough To Falsify The Books

Is Almost Impossible Of Detection. Yet When The Cat Is Out Of The

Bag As In Several Recent Cases The Methods Used Are Often Of The

Baldest And Most Transparent Sort,  Fictitious Names,  Dummies,  And

All Sorts Of Juggling And Kiting Of Checks. But I Hardly Think

This Is Going To Prove One Of Those Simple Cases."

 

John Carroll Was A Haggard And Unkempt Sort Of Man. He Looked To

Me As If The Defalcations Had Preyed On His Mind Until They Had

Become A Veritable Obsession. It Was Literally True That They Were

All That He Could Talk About,  All That He Was Thinking About. He

Was Paying Now A Heavy Penalty For Having Been A Dummy And

Honorary Officer.

 

"This Thing Has Become A Matter Of Life And Death With Me," He

Began Eagerly,  Scarcely Waiting For Us To Introduce Ourselves,  As

He Fixed His Unnaturally Bright Eyes On Us Anxiously. "I've Simply

Got To Find The Man Who Has So Nearly Wrecked The By-Products Bank

And Company. Find Him Or Not,  I Suppose I Am A Ruined Man,  Myself,

But I Hope I May Still Prove Myself Honest."

 

He Sighed And His Eyes Wandered Vacantly Out Of The Window As If

He Were Seeking Rest And Could Not Find It.

 

"I Understand That The Cashier,  Bolton Brown,  Has Been Arrested,"

Prompted Kennedy.

 

"Yes,  Bolton Brown,  Arrested," He Repeated Slowly,  "And Since He

Has Been Out On Bail He,  Too,  Seems To Have Disappeared. Now Let

Me Tell You About What I Think Of That,  Kennedy. I Know It Looks

Bad For Brown. Perhaps He's The Man. The Surety Company Says So,

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 89

Anyway. But We Must Look At This Thing Calmly."

 

He Was Himself Quite Excited,  As He Went On,  "You Understand,  I

Suppose,  Just How Much Brown Must Have Been Reasonably Responsible

For Passing The Checks Through The Bank? He Saw Personally About

As Many Of Them As--As I Did,  Which Was None Until The Exposure

Came. They Were Deposited In Other Banks By People Whom We Can't

Identify But Who Must Have Opened Accounts For The Purpose Of

Finally Putting Through A Few Bad Checks. Then They Came Back To

Our Bank In The Regular Channels And Were Accepted. By Various

Kinds Of Juggling They Were Covered Up. Why,  Some Of Them Looked

So Good That They Were Even Certified By Our Bank Before They Were

Deposited In The Other Banks. Now,  As Brown Claims,  He Never Saw

Checks Unless There Was Something Special About Them And There

Seemed At The Time To Be Nothing Wrong About These.

 

"But In The Public Mind I Know There Is Prejudice Against Any Bank

Official Who Speculates Or Leads A Fast Life,  And Of Course It Is

Warranted. Still,  If Brown Should Clear Himself Finally The Thing

Will Come Back To Dawson And Even If He Is Guilty,  It Will Make Me

The--Er--The Ultimate Goat. The Upshot Of It All Will Be That I

Shall Have To Stand The Blame,  If Not The Guilt,  And The Only Way

I Can Atone For My Laxity In The Past Is By Activity In Catching

The Real Offender And Perhaps By Restoring To The Company And The

Bank Whatever Can Yet Be Recovered."

 

"But," Asked Kennedy Sympathetically,  "What Makes You Think That

You Will Find Your Man,  Whoever He Proves To Be,  In New York?"

 

"I Admit That It Is Only A Very Slight Clue That I Have," He

Replied Confidentially. "It Is Just A Hint Dawson Dropped Once To

One Of The Men With Whom He Was Confidential In The Company. This

Clerk Told Me That A Long Time Ago Dawson Said He Had Always

Wanted To Go To South America And That Perhaps On His Honeymoon He

Might Get A Chance. This Is The Way I Figured It Out. You See,  He

Is Clever And Some Of These South American Countries Have No

Extradition Treaties With Us By Which We Could Reach Him,  Once He

Got There."

 

"Perhaps He Has Already Arrived In One Of Them With His Wife. What

Makes You Think He Hasn't Sailed Yet?"

 

"No,  I Don't Think He Has. You See,  She Wanted To Spend A Part Of

The Honeymoon At Atlantic City. I Learned That Indirectly From Her

Folks,  Who Profess To Know No Better Than We Do Where The Couple

Are. That Was An Additional Reason Why I Wanted To See If By

Coming To New York I Might Not Pick Up Some Trace Of Them,  Either

Here Or In Atlantic City."

 

"And Have You?"

 

"Yes,  I Think I Have." He Handed Us A Letter-Gram Which He Had

Just Received From Chicago. It Read: "Two More Checks Have Come In

To-Day From Atlantic City And New York. They Seem To Be In Payment

Of Bills,  As They Are For Odd Amounts. One Is From The Lorraine At

Atlantic City And The Other From The Hotel Amsterdam Of New York.

They Were Dated The 19th And 20th."

 

"You See," He Resumed As We Finished Reading,  "It Is Now The 23rd,

So That There Is A Difference Of Three Days. He Was Here On The

20th. Now The Next Ship That He Could Take After The 20th Sails

From Brooklyn On The 25th. If He's Clever He Won't Board That Ship

Except In A Disguise,  For He Will Know That By That Time Some One

Must Be Watching. Now I Want You To Help Me Penetrate That

Disguise. Of Course We Can't Arrest The Whole Shipload Of

Passengers,  But If You,  With Your Scientific Knowledge,  Could Pick

Him Out,  Then We Could Hold Him And Have Breathing Space To Find

Out Whether He Is Guilty Alone Or Has Been Working With Bolton

Brown."

 

Carroll Was Now Pacing The Office With Excitement As He Unfolded

His Scheme Which Meant So Much For Himself.

 

"H--M," Mused Kennedy. "I Suppose Dawson Was A Man Of Exemplary

Habits? They Almost Always Are. No Speculating Or Fast Living With

Him As With Brown?"

 

Carroll Paused In His Nervous Tread. "That's Another Thing I've

Discovered. On The Contrary,  I Think Dawson Was A Secret Drug

Fiend. I Found That Out After He Left. In His Desk At The By-

Products Office We Discovered Hypodermic Needles And A Whole

Outfit--Morphine,  I Think It Was. You Know How Cunningly A Real

Morphine Fiend Can Cover Up His Tracks."

 

Kennedy Was Now All Attention. As The Case Unrolled It Was

Assuming One New And Surprising Aspect After Another.

 

"The Lettergram Would Indicate That He Had Been Stopping At The

Lorraine In Atlantic City," Remarked Kennedy.

 

"So I Would Infer,  And At The Amsterdam In New York. But You Can

Depend On It That He Has Not Been Going Under His Own Name Nor,  I

Believe As Far As I Can Find Out,  Even Under His Own Face. I Think

The Fellow Has Already Assumed A Disguise,  For Nowhere Can I Find

Any Description That Even I Could Recognise."

 

"Strange," Murmured Kennedy. "I'll Have To Look Into It. And Only

Two Days In Which To Do It,  Too. You Will Pardon Me If I Excuse

Myself Now? There Are Certain Aspects Of The Case That I Hope I

Shall Be Able To Shed Some Light On By Going At Them At Once."

 

"You'll Find Dawson Clever,  Clever As He Can Be," Said Carroll,

Not Anxious To Have Kennedy Go As Long As He Would Listen To The

Story Which Was Bursting From His Overwrought Mind. "He Was Able

To Cover Up The Checks By Juggling The Accounts. But That Didn't

Satisfy Him. He Was After Something Big. So He Started In To Issue

The Treasury Stock,  Forging The Signatures Of The President And

The Treasurer,  That Is,  My Signature. Of Course That Sort Of Game

Couldn't Last Forever. Some One Was Going To Demand Dividends On

His Stock,  Or Transfer It,  Or Ask To Have It Recorded On The

Books,  Or Something That Would Give The Whole Scheme Away. From

Each Person To Whom He Sold Stock I Believe He Demanded Some Kind

Of Promise Not To Sell It Within A Certain Period,  And In That Way

We Figure That He Gave Himself Plenty Of Time To Realise Several

Hundred Thousand Dollars Quietly. It May Be That Some Of The

Forged Checks Represented Fake Interest Payments. Anyhow,  He's At

The End Of His Rope Now. We've Had An Exciting Chase. I Had

Followed Down Several False Clues Before The Real Significance Of

The Hint About South America Dawned On Me. Now I Have Gone As Far

As I Dare With It Without Calling In Outside Assistance. I Think

Now We Are Up With Him At Last--With Your Help."

 

Kennedy Was Anxious To Go,  But He Paused Long Enough To Ask

Another Question. "And The Girl?" He Broke In. "She Must Be In The

Game Or Her Letters To Some Of Her Friends Would Have Betrayed

Their Whereabouts. What Was She Like?"

 

"Miss Sanderson Was Very Popular In A Certain Rather Flashy Set In

Chicago. But Her Folks Were Bounders. They Lived Right Up To The

Limit,  Just As Dawson Did,  In My Opinion. Oh,  You Can Be Sure That

If A Proposition Like This Were Put Up To Her She'd Take A Chance

To Get Away With It. She Runs No Risks. She Didn't Do It Anyhow,

And As For Her Part,  After The Fact,  Why,  A Woman Is Always Pretty

Safe--More Sinned Against Than Sinning,  And All That. It's A Queer

Sort Of Honeymoon,  Hey?"

 

"Have You Any Copies Of The Forged Certificates?" Asked Craig.

 

"Yes,  Plenty Of Them. Since The Story Has Been Told In Print They

Have Been Pouring In. Here Are Several."

 

He Pulled Several Finely Engraved Certificates From His Pocket And

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 90

Kennedy Scrutinised Them Minutely.

 

"I May Keep These To Study At My Leisure?" He Asked.

 

"Certainly," Replied Carroll,  "And If You Want Any More I Can Wire

To Chicago For Them."

 

"No,  These Will Be Sufficient For The Present,  Thank You," Said

Craig. "I Shall Keep In Touch With You And Let You Know The Moment

Anything Develops."

 

Our Ride Uptown To The Laboratory Was Completed In Silence Which I

Did Not Interrupt,  For I Could See That Kennedy Was Thinking Out A

Course Of Action. The Quick Pace At Which He Crossed The Campus To

The Chemistry Building Told Me That He Had Decided On Something.

 

In The Laboratory Craig Hastily Wrote A Note,  Opened A Drawer Of

His Desk,  And Selected One From A Bunch Of Special Envelopes Which

He Seemed To Be Saving For Some Purpose. He Sealed It With Some

Care,  And Gave It To Me To Post Immediately. It Was Addressed To

Dawson At The Hotel Amsterdam.

 

On My Return I Found Him Deeply Engrossed In The Examination Of

The Forged Shares Of Stock. Having Talked With Him More Or Less In

The Past About Handwriting I Did Not Have To Be Told That He Was

Using A Microscope To Discover Any Erasures And That Photography

Both Direct And By Transmitted Light Might Show Something.

 

"I Can't See Anything Wrong With These Documents," He Remarked At

Length. "They Show No Erasures Or Alterations. On Their Face They

Look As Good As The Real Article. Even If They Are Tracings They

Are Remarkably Fine Work. It Certainly Is A Fact,  However,  That

They Superimpose. They Might All Have Been Made From The Same Pair

Of Signatures Of The President And Treasurer.

 

"I Need Hardly To Say To You,  Walter,  That The Microscope In Its

Various Forms And With Its Various Attachments Is Of Great

Assistance To The Document Examiner. Even A Low Magnification

Frequently Reveals A Drawing,  Hesitating Method Of Production,  Or

Patched And Reinforced Strokes As Well As Erasures By Chemicals Or

By Abrasion. The Stereoscopic Microscope,  Which Is Of Value In

Studying Abrasions And Alterations Since It Gives Depth,  In This

Case Tells Me That There Has Been Nothing Of That Sort Practised.

My Colour Comparison Microscope,  Which Permits The Comparison Of

The Ink On Two Different Documents Or Two Places On One Document

At The Same Time,  Tells Me Something. This Instrument With New And

Accurately Coloured Glasses Enables Me To Measure The Tints Of The

Ink Of These Signatures With The Greatest Accuracy And I Can Do

What Was Hitherto Impossible--Determine How Long The Writing Has

Been On The Paper. I Should Say It Was All Very Recent,

Approximately Within The Last Two Months Or Six Weeks,  And I

Believe That Whenever The Stock May Have Been Issued It At Least

Was All Forged At The Same Time.

 

"There Isn't Time Now To Go Into The Thing More Deeply,  But If It

Becomes Necessary I Can Go Back To It With The Aid Of The Camera

Lucida And The Microscopic Enlarger,  As Well As This Specially

Constructed Document Camera With Lenses Certified By The

Government. If It Comes To A Show-Down I Suppose I Shall Have To

Prove My Point With The Micrometer Measurements Down To The Fifty-

Thousandth Part Of An Inch.

 

"There Is Certainly Something Very Curious About These

Signatures," He Concluded. "I Don't Know What Measurements Would

Show,  But They Are Really Too Good. You Know A Forged Signature

May Be Of Two Kinds--Too Bad Or Too Good. These Are,  I Believe,

Tracings. If They Were Your Signature And Mine,  Walter,  I

Shouldn't Hesitate To Pronounce Them Tracings. But There Is Always

Some Slight Room For Doubt In These Special Cases Where A Man Sits

Down And Is In The Habit Of Writing His Signature Over And Over

Again On One Stock Or Bond After Another. He May Get So Used To It

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 91

That He Does It Automatically And His Signatures May Come Pretty

Close To Superimposing. If I Had Time,  Though,  I Think I Could

Demonstrate That There Are Altogether Too Many Points Of

Similarity For These To Be Genuine Signatures. But We've Got To

Act Quickly In This Case Or Not At All,  And I See That If I Am To

Get To Atlantic City To-Night I Can't Waste Much More Time Here. I

Wish You Would Keep An Eye On The Hotel Amsterdam While I Am Gone,

Walter,  And Meet Me Here,  To-Morrow. I'll Wire When I'll Be Back.

Good-Bye."

 

It Was Well Along In The Afternoon When Kennedy Took A Train For

The Famous Seaside Resort,  Leaving Me In New York With A Roving

Commission To Do Nothing. All That I Was Able To Learn At The

Hotel Amsterdam Was That A Man With A Van Dyke Beard Had Stung The

Office With A Bogus Check,  Although He Had Seemed To Come Well

Recommended. The Description Of The Woman With Him Who Seemed To

Be His Wife Might Have Fitted Either Mrs. Dawson Or Adele Demott.

The Only Person Who Had Called Had Been A Man Who Said He

Represented The By-Products Company And Was The Treasurer. He Had

Questioned The Hotel People Rather Closely About The Whereabouts

Of The Couple Who Had Paid Their Expenses With The Worthless Slip

Of Paper. It Was Not Difficult To Infer That This Man Was Carroll

Who Had Been Hot On The Trail,  Especially As He Said That He

Personally Would See The Check Paid If The Hotel People Would Keep

A Sharp Watch For The Return Of The Man Who Had Swindled Them.

 

Kennedy Wired As He Promised And Returned By An Early Train The

Next Day.

 

He Seemed Bursting With News. "I Think I'm On The Trail," He

Cried,  Throwing His Grip Into A Corner And Not Waiting For Me To

Ask Him What Success He Had Had. "I Went Directly To The Lorraine

And Began Frankly By Telling Them That I Represented The By-

Products Company In New York And Was Authorised To Investigate The

Bad Check Which They Had Received. They Couldn't Describe Dawson

Very Well--At Least Their Description Would Have Fitted Almost Any

One. One Thing I Think I Did Learn And That Was That His Disguise

Must Include A Van Dyke Beard. He Would Scarcely Have Had Time To

Grow One Of His Own And I Believe When He Was Last Seen In Chicago

He Was Clean-Shaven."

 

"But," I Objected,  "Men With Van Dyke Beards Are Common Enough."

Then I Related My Experience At The Amsterdam.

 

"The Same Fellow," Ejaculated Kennedy. "The Beard Seems To Have

Covered A Multitude Of Sins,  For While Every One Could Recall

That,  No One Had A Word To Say About His Features. However,

Walter,  There's Just One Chance Of Making His Identification Sure,

And A Peculiar Coincidence It Is,  Too. It Seems That One Night

This Man And A Lady Who May Have Been The Former Miss Sanderson,

Though The Description Of Her Like Most Amateur Descriptions

Wasn't Very Accurate,  Were Dining At The Lorraine. The Lorraine Is

Getting Up A New Booklet About Its Accommodations And A

Photographer Had Been Engaged To Take A Flashlight Of The Dining-

Room For The Booklet.

 

"No Sooner Had The Flash Been Lighted And The Picture Taken Than A

Man With A Van Dyke Beard--Your Friend Of The Amsterdam,  No Doubt,

Walter,--Rushed Up To The Photographer And Offered Him Fifty

Dollars For The Plate. The Photographer Thought At First It Was

Some Sport Who Had Reasons For Not Wishing To Appear In Print In

Atlantic City,  As Many Have. The Man Seemed To Notice That The

Photographer Was A Little Suspicious And He Hastened To Make Some

Kind Of Excuse About 'Wanting The Home Folks To See How Swell He

And His Wife Were Dining In Evening Dress.' It Was A Rather Lame

Excuse,  But The Fifty Dollars Looked Good To The Photographer And

He Agreed To Develop The Plate And Turn It Over With Some Prints

All Ready For Mailing The Next Day. The Man Seemed Satisfied And

The Photographer Took Another Flashlight,  This Time With One Of

The Tables Vacant.

 

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 92

Sure Enough,  The Next Day The Man With A Beard Turned Up For The

Plate. The Photographer Tells Me That He Had It All Wrapped Up

Ready To Mail,  Just To Call The Fellow's Bluff. The Man Was Equal

To The Occasion,  Paid The Money,  Wrote An Address On The Package

Which The Photographer Did Not See,  And As There Was A Box For

Mailing Packages Right At The Door On The Boardwalk There Was No

Excuse For Not Mailing It Directly. Now If I Could Get Hold Of

That Plate Or A Print From It I Could Identify Dawson In His

Disguise In A Moment. I've Started The Post-Office Trying To Trace

That Package Both At Atlantic City And In Chicago,  Where I Think

It Must Have Been Mailed. I May Hear From Them At Any Moment--At

Least,  I Hope."

 

The Rest Of The Afternoon We Spent In Canvassing The Drug Stores

In The Vicinity Of The Amsterdam,  Kennedy's Idea Being That If

Dawson Was A Habitual Morphine Fiend He Must Have Replenished His

Supply Of The Drug In New York,  Particularly If He Was

Contemplating A Long Journey Where It Might Be Difficult To

Obtain.

 

After Many Disappointments We Finally Succeeded In Finding A Shop

Where A Man Posing As A Doctor Had Made A Rather Large Purchase.

The Name He Gave Was Of Course Of No Importance. What Did Interest

Us Was That Again We Crossed The Trail Of A Man With A Van Dyke

Beard. He Had Been Accompanied By A Woman Whom The Druggist

Described As Rather Flashily Dressed,  Though Her Face Was Hidden

Under A Huge Hat And A Veil. "Looked Very Attractive," As The

Druggist Put It,  "But She Might Have Been A Negress For All I

Could Tell You Of Her Face."

 

"Humph," Grunted Kennedy,  As We Were Leaving The Store. "You

Wouldn't Believe It,  But It Is The Hardest Thing In The World To

Get An Accurate Description Of Any One. The Psychologists Have

Said Enough About It,  But You Don't Realise It Until You Are Up

Against It. Why,  That Might Have Been The Demott Woman Just As

Well As The Former Miss Sanderson,  And The Man Might Have Been

Bolton Brown As Well As Dawson,  For All We Know. They've Both

Disappeared Now. I Wish We Could Get Some Word About That

Photograph. That Would Settle It."

 

In The Last Mail That Night Kennedy Received Back The Letter Which

He Had Addressed To Michael Dawson. On It Was Stamped "Returned To

Sender. Owner Not Found."

 

Kennedy Turned The Letter Over Slowly And Looked At The Back Of It

Carefully.

 

"On The Contrary," He Remarked,  Half To Himself,  "The Owner Was

Found. Only He Returned The Letter Back To The Postman After He

Had Opened It And Found That It Was Just A Note Of No Importance

Which I Scribbled Just To See If He Was Keeping In Touch With

Things From His Hiding-Place,  Wherever It Is."

 

"How Do You Know He Opened It?" I Asked.

 

"Do You See Those Blots On The Back? I Had Several Of These

Envelopes Prepared Ready For Use When I Needed Them. I Had Some

Tannin Placed On The Flap And Then Covered Thickly With Gum. On

The Envelope Itself Was Some Iron Sulphate Under More Gum. I

Carefully Sealed The Letter,  Using Very Little Moisture. The Gum

Then Separated The Two Prepared Parts. Now If That Letter Were

Steamed Open The Tannin And The Sulphate Would Come Together,  Run,

And Leave A Smudge. You See The Blots? The Inference Is Obvious."

 

Clearly,  Then,  Our Chase Was Getting Warmer. Dawson Had Been In

Atlantic City At Least Within A Few Days. The Fruit Company

Steamer To South America On Which Carroll Believed He Was Booked

To Sail Under An Assumed Name And With An Assumed Face Was To Sail

The Following Noon. And Still We Had No Word From Chicago As To

The Destination Of The Photograph,  Or The Identity Of The Man In

The Van Dyke Beard Who Had Been So Particular To Disarm Suspicion

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 93

In The Purchase Of The Plate From The Photographer A Few Days

Before.

 

The Mail Also Contained A Message From Williams Of The Surety

Company With The Interesting Information That Bolton Brown's

Attorney Had Refused To Say Where His Client Had Gone Since He Had

Been Released On Bail,  But That He Would Be Produced When Wanted.

Adele Demott Had Not Been Seen For Several Days In Chicago And The

Police There Were Of The Opinion That She Had Gone To New York,

Where It Would Be Pretty Easy For Her To Pass Unnoticed. These

Facts Further Complicated The Case And Made The Finding Of The

Photograph Even More Imperative.

 

If We Were Going To Do Anything It Must Be Done Quickly. There Was

No Time To Lose. The Last Of The Fast Trains For The Day Had Left

And The Photograph,  Even Though It Were Found,  Could Not Possibly

Reach Us In Time To Be Of Use Before The Steamer Sailed From

Brooklyn. It Was An Emergency Such As Kennedy Had Never Yet Faced,

Apparently Physically Insuperable.

 

But,  As Usual,  Craig Was Not Without Some Resource,  Though It

Looked Impossible To Me To Do Anything But Make A Hit Or Miss

Arrest At The Boat. It Was Late In The Evening When He Returned

From A Conference With An Officer Of The Telegraph And Telephone

Company To Whom Williams Had Given Him A Card Of Introduction. The

Upshot Had Been That He Had Called Up Chicago And Talked For A

Long Time With Professor Clark,  A Former Classmate Of Ours Who Was

Now In The Technology School Of The University Out There. Kennedy

And Clark Had Been In Correspondence For Some Time,  I Knew,  About

Some Technical Matters,  Though I Had No Idea What It Was They

Concerned.

 

"There's One Thing We Can Always Do," I Remarked As We Walked

Slowly Over To The Laboratory From Our Apartment.

 

"What's That?" He Asked Absent-Mindedly,  More From Politeness Than

Anything Else.

 

"Arrest Every One With A Van Dyke Beard Who Goes On The Boat To-

Morrow," I Replied.

 

Kennedy Smiled. "I Don't Feel Prepared To Stand A Suit For False

Arrest," He Said Simply,  "Especially As The Victim Would Feel

Pretty Hot If We Caused Him To Miss His Boat. Men With Beards Are

Not So Uncommon,  After All."

 

We Had Reached The Laboratory. Linemen Were Stringing Wires Under

The Electric Lights Of The Campus From The Street To The Chemistry

Building And Into Kennedy's Sanctum.

 

That Night And Far Into The Morning Kennedy Was Working In The

Laboratory On A Peculiarly Complicated Piece Of Mechanism

Consisting Of Electromagnets,  Rolls,  And A Stylus And Numerous

Other Contrivances Which Did Not Suggest To My Mind Anything He

Had Ever Used Before In Our Adventures. I Killed Time As Best I

Could Watching Him Adjust The Thing With The Most Minute Care And

Precision. Finally I Came To The Conclusion That As I Was Not

Likely To Be Of The Least Assistance,  Even If I Had Been Initiated

Into What Was Afoot,  I Had As Well Retire.

 

"There Is One Thing You Can Do For Me In The Morning,  Walter,"

Said Kennedy,  Continuing To Work Over A Delicate Piece Of

Clockwork Which Formed A Part Of The Apparatus. "In Case I Do Not

See You Then,  Get In Touch With Williams And Carroll And Have Them

Come Here About Ten O'clock With An Automobile. If I Am Not Ready

For Them Then I'm Afraid I Never Shall Be,  And We Shall Have To

Finish The Job With The Lack Of Finesse You Suggested By Arresting

All The Bearded Men."

 

Kennedy Could Not Have Slept Much During The Night,  For Though His

Bed Had Been Slept In He Was Up And Away Before I Could See Him

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 94

Again. I Made A Hurried Trip Downtown To Catch Carroll And

Williams And Then Returned To The Laboratory,  Where Craig Had

Evidently Just Finished A Satisfactory Preliminary Test Of His

Machine.

 

"Still No Message," He Began In Reply To My Unspoken Question. He

Was Plainly Growing Restless With The Inaction,  Though Frequent

Talks Over Long-Distance With Chicago Seemed To Reassure Him.

Thanks To The Influence Of Williams He Had At Least A Direct Wire

From His Laboratory To The City Which Was Now The Scene Of Action.

 

As Nearly As I Could Gather From The One-Sided Conversations I

Heard And The Remarks Which Kennedy Dropped,  The Chicago Post-

Office Inspectors Were Still Searching For A Trace Of The Package

From Atlantic City Which Was To Reveal The Identity Of The Man Who

Had Passed The Bogus Checks And Sold The Forged Certificates Of

Stock. Somewhere In That Great City Was A Photograph Of The

Promoter And Of The Woman Who Was Aiding Him To Escape,  Taken In

Atlantic City And Sent By Mail To Chicago. Who Had Received It?

Would It Be Found In Time To Be Of Use? What Would It Reveal? It

Was Like Hunting For A Needle In A Haystack,  And Yet The Latest

Reports Seemed To Encourage Kennedy With The Hope That The

Authorities Were At Last On The Trail Of The Secret Office From

Which The Stock Had Been Sold. He Was Fuming And Wishing That He

Could Be At Both Ends Of The Line At Once.

 

"Any Word From Chicago Yet?" Appealed An Anxious Voice From The

Doorway.

 

We Turned. There Were Carroll And Williams Who Had Come For Us

With An Automobile To Go Over To Watch At The Wharf In Brooklyn

For Our Man. It Was Carroll Who Spoke. The Strain Of The Suspense

Was Telling On Him And I Could Readily Imagine That He,  Like So

Many Others Who Had Never Seen Kennedy In Action,  Had Not The

Faith In Craig's Ability Which I Had Seen Tested So Many Times.

 

"Not Yet," Replied Kennedy,  Still Busy About His Apparatus On The

Table. "I Suppose You Have Heard Nothing?"

 

"Nothing Since My Note Of Last Night," Returned Williams

Impatiently. "Our Detectives Still Insist That Bolton Brown Is The

Man To Watch,  And The Disappearance Of Adele Demott At This Time

Certainly Looks Bad For Him."

 

"It Does,  I Admit," Said Carroll Reluctantly. "What's All This

Stuff On The Table?" He Asked,  Indicating The Magnets,  Rolls,  And

Clockwork.

 

Kennedy Did Not Have Time To Reply,  For The Telephone Bell Was

Tinkling Insistently.

 

"I've Got Chicago On The Wire," Craig Informed Us,  Placing His

Hand Over The Transmitter As He Waited For Long-Distance To Make

The Final Connection. '"I'll Try To Repeat As Much Of The

Conversation As I Can So That You Can Follow It. Hello--Yes--This

Is Kennedy. Is That You,  Clark? It's All Arranged At This End.

How's Your End Of The Line? Have You A Good Connection? Yes? My

Synchroniser Is Working Fine Here,  Too. All Right. Suppose We Try

It. Go Ahead."

 

As Kennedy Gave A Few Final Touches To The Peculiar Apparatus On

The Table,  The Cylindrical Drum Before Us Began Slowly To Revolve

And The Stylus Or Needle Pressed Down On The Sensitised Paper With

Which The Drum Was Covered,  Apparently With Varying Intensity As

It Turned. Round And Round The Cylinder Revolved Like A

Graphophone.

 

"This," Exclaimed Kennedy Proudly,  "Is The 'Electric Eye,' The

Telelectrograph Invented By Thorne Baker In England. Clark And I

Have Been Intending To Try It Out For A Long Time. It At Last

Makes Possible The Electric Transmission Of Photographs,  Using The

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 95

Telephone Wires Because They Are Much Better For Such A Purpose

Than The Telegraph Wires."

 

Slowly The Needle Was Tracing Out A Picture On The Paper. It Was

Only A Thin Band Yet,  But Gradually It Was Widening,  Though We

Could Not Guess What It Was About To Reveal As The Ceaseless

Revolutions Widened The Photographic Print.

 

"I May Say," Explained Kennedy As We Waited Breathlessly,  "That

Another System Known As The Korn System Of Telegraphing Pictures

Has Also Been In Use In London,  Paris,  Berlin,  And Other Cities At

Various Times For Some Years. Korn's Apparatus Depends On The

Ability Of The Element Selenium To Vary The Strength Of An

Electric Current Passing Through It In Proportion To The

Brightness With Which The Selenium Is Illuminated. A New Field Has

Been Opened By These Inventions Which Are Now Becoming More And

More Numerous,  Since The Korn System Did The Pioneering.

 

"The Various Steps In Sending A Photograph By The Baker

Telelectrograph Are Not So Difficult To Understand,  After All.

First An Ordinary Photograph Is Taken And A Negative Made. Then A

Print Is Made And A Wet Plate Negative Is Printed On A Sheet Of

Sensitised Tinfoil Which Has Been Treated With A Single-Line

Screen. You Know A Halftone Consists Of A Photograph Through A

Screen Composed Of Lines Running Perpendicular To Each Other--A

Coarse Screen For Newspaper Work,  And A Fine Screen For Better

Work,  Such As In Magazines. Well,  In This Case The Screen Is

Composed Of Lines Running Parallel In One Direction Only,  Not

Crossing At Right Angles. A Halftone Is Composed Of Minute Points,

Some Light,  Some Dark. This Print Is Composed Of Long Shaded

Lines,  Some Parts Light,  Others Dark,  Giving The Effect Of A

Picture,  You Understand?"

 

"Yes,  Yes," I Exclaimed,  Thoroughly Excited. "Go On."

 

"Well," He Resumed As The Print Widened Visibly,  "This Tinfoil

Negative Is Wrapped Around A Cylinder At The Other End Of The Line

And A Stylus With A Very Delicate,  Sensitive Point Begins Passing

Over It,  Crossing The Parallel Lines At Right Angles,  Like The

Other Lines Of A Regular Halftone. Whenever The Point Of The

Stylus Passes Over One Of The Lighter Spots On The Photographic

Print It Sends On A Longer Electrical Vibration,  Over The Darker

Spots A Shorter Vibration. The Ever Changing Electrical Current

Passes Up Through The Stylus,  Vibrates With Ever Varying Degrees

Of Intensity Over The Thousand Miles Of Telephone Wire Between

Chicago And This Instrument Here At The Other End Of The Line.

 

"In This Receiving Apparatus The Current Causes Another Stylus To

Pass Over A Sheet Of Sensitised Chemical Paper Such As We Have

Here. The Receiving Stylus Passes Over The Paper Here

Synchronously With The Transmitting Stylus In Chicago. The

Impression Which Each Stroke Of The Receiving Stylus Makes On The

Paper Is Black Or Light,  According To The Length Of The Very

Quickly Changing Vibrations Of The Electric Current. White Spots

On The Photographic Print Come Out As Black Spots Here On The

Sensitised Paper Over Which This Stylus Is Passing,  And Vice

Versa. In That Way You Can See The Positive Print Growing Here

Before Your Very Eyes As The Picture Is Transmitted From The

Negative Which Clark Has Prepared And Is Sending From Chicago."

 

As We Bent Over Eagerly We Could Indeed Now See What The Thing Was

Doing. It Was Reproducing Faithfully In New York What Could Be

Seen By The Mortal Eye Only In Chicago.

 

"What Is It?" Asked Williams,  Still Half Incredulous In Spite Of

The Testimony Of His Eyes.

 

"It Is A Photograph Which I Think May Aid Us In Deciding Whether

It Is Dawson Or Brown Who Is Responsible For The Forgeries,"

Answered Kennedy,  "And It May Help Us To Penetrate The Man's

Disguise Yet,  Before He Escapes To South America Or Wherever He

Plans To Go."

 

"You'll Have To Hurry," Interposed Carroll,  Nervously Looking At

His Watch. "She Sails In An Hour And A Half And It Is A Long Ride

Over To The Pier Even With A Fast Car."

 

"The Print Is Almost Ready," Repeated Kennedy Calmly. "By The Way,

It Is A Photograph Which Was Taken At Atlantic City A Few Days Ago

For A Booklet Which The Lorraine Was Getting Out. The By-Products

Forger Happened To Get In It And He Bribed The Photographer To

Give Him The Plate And Take Another Picture For The Booklet Which

Would Leave Him Out. The Plate Was Sent To A Little Office In

Chicago,  Discovered By The Post-Office Inspectors,  Where The

Forged Stock Certificates Were Sold. I Understood From What Clark

Told Me Over The Telephone Before He Started To Transmit The

Picture That The Woman In It Looked Very Much Like Adele Demott.

Let Us See."

 

The Machine Had Ceased To Revolve. Craig Stripped A Still Wet

Photograph Off The Telelectrograph Instrument And Stood Regarding

It With Intense Satisfaction. Outside,  The Car Which Had Been

Engaged To Hurry Us Over To Brooklyn Waited. "Morphine Fiends,"

Said Kennedy As He Fanned The Print To Dry It,  "Are The Most

Unreliable Sort Of People. They Cover Their Tracks With Almost

Diabolical Cunning. In Fact They Seem To Enjoy It. For Instance,

The Crimes Committed By Morphinists Are Usually Against Property

And Character And Based Upon Selfishness,  Not Brutal Crimes Such

As Alcohol And Other Drugs Induce. Kleptomania,  Forgery,

Swindling,  Are Among The Most Common.

 

"Then,  Too,  One Of The Most Marked Phases Of Morphinism Is The

Pleasure Its Victims Take In Concealing Their Motives And Conduct.

They Have A Mania For Leading A Double Life,  And Enjoy The

Deception And Mask Which They Draw About Themselves. Persons Under

The Influence Of The Drug Have Less Power To Resist Physical And

Mental Impressions And They Easily Succumb To Temptations And

Suggestions From Others. Morphine Stands Unequalled As A Perverter

Of The Moral Sense. It Creates A Person Whom The Father Of Lies

Must Recognise As Kindred To Himself. I Know Of A Case Where A

Judge Charged A Jury That The Prisoner,  A Morphine Addict,  Was

Mentally Irresponsible For That Reason. The Judge Knew What He Was

Talking About. It Subsequently Developed That He Had Been A Secret

Morphine Fiend Himself For Years."

 

"Come,  Come," Broke In Carroll Impatiently,  "We're Wasting Time.

The Ship Sails In An Hour And Unless You Want To Go Down The Bay

On A Tug You've Got To Catch Dawson Now Or Never. The Morphine

Business Explains,  But It Does Not Excuse. Come On,  The Car Is

Waiting. How Long Do You Think It Will Take Us To Get Over To---"

 

"Police Headquarters?" Interrupted Craig. "About Fifteen Minutes.

This Photograph Shows,  As I Had Hoped,  The Real Forger. John

Carroll,  This Is A Peculiar Case. You Have Forged The Name Of The

President Of Your Company,  But You Have Also Traced Your Own Name

Very Cleverly To Look Like A Forgery. It Is What Is Technically

Known As Auto-Forgery,  Forging One's Own Handwriting. At Your

Convenience We'll Ride Down To Centre Street Directly."

 

Carroll Was Sputtering And Almost Frothing At The Mouth With Rage

Which He Made No Effort To Suppress. Williams Was Hesitating,

Nonplussed,  Until Kennedy Reached Over Unexpectedly And Grasped

Carroll By The Arm. As He Shoved Up Carroll's Sleeve He Disclosed

The Forearm Literally Covered With Little Punctures Made By The

Hypodermic Needle.

 

"It May Interest You," Remarked Kennedy,  Still Holding Carroll In

His Vise-Like Grip,  While The Drug Fiend's Shattered Nerves Caused

Him To Cower And Tremble,  "To Know That A Special Detective

Working For Me Has Located Mr. And Mrs. Dawson At Bar Harbor,

Where They Are Enjoying A Quiet Honeymoon. Brown Is Safely In The

Custody Of His Counsel,  Ready To Appear And Clear Himself As Soon

Part 3 Chapter 8 (The Forger) Pg 96

As The Public Opinion Which Has Been Falsely Inflamed Against Him

Subsides. Your Plan To Give Us The Slip At The Last Moment At The

Wharf And Board The Steamer For South America Has Miscarried. It

Is Now Too Late To Catch It,  But I Shall Send A Wireless That Will

Cause The Arrest Of Miss Demott The Moment The Ship Touches An

American Port At Colon,  Even If She Succeeds In Eluding The

British Authorities At Kingston. The Fact Is,  I Don't Much Care

About Her,  Anyway. Thanks To The Telelectrograph Here We Have The

Real Criminal."

 

Kennedy Slapped Down The Now Dry Print That Had Come In Over His

"Seeing Over A Wire" Machine. Barring The False Van Dyke Beard,  It

Was The Face Of John Carroll,  Forger And Morphine Fiend. Next Him

In The Picture In The Brilliant And Fashionable Dining-Room Of The

Lorraine Was Sitting Adele Demott Who Had Used Her Victim,  Bolton

Brown,  To Shield Her Employer,  Carroll.

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 97

 

 

"Craig,  Do You See That Fellow Over By The Desk,  Talking To The

Night Clerk?" I Asked Kennedy As We Lounged Into The Lobby Of The

New Hotel Vanderveer One Evening After Reclaiming Our Hats From

The Plutocrat Who Had Acquired The Checking Privilege. We Had

Dined On The Roof Garden Of The Vanderveer Apropos Of Nothing At

All Except Our Desire To Become Acquainted With A New Hotel.

 

"Yes," Replied Kennedy,  "What Of Him?"

 

"He's The House Detective,  Mcbride. Would You Like To Meet Him?

He's Full Of Good Stories,  An Interesting Chap. I Met Him At A

Dinner Given To The President Not Long Ago And He Told Me A Great

Yarn About How The Secret Service,  The Police,  And The Hotel

Combined To Guard The President During The Dinner. You Know,  A Big

Hotel Is The Stamping Ground For All Sorts Of Cranks And Crooks."

 

The House Detective Had Turned And Had Caught My Eye. Much To My

Surprise,  He Advanced To Meet Me.

 

"Say,--Er--Er--Jameson," He Began,  At Last Recalling My Name,

Though He Had Seen Me Only Once And Then For Only A Short Time.

"You're On The Star,  I Believe?"

 

"Yes," I Replied,  Wondering What He Could Want.

 

"Well--Er--Do You Suppose You Could Do The House A Little--Er--

Favour?" He Asked,  Hesitating And Dropping His Voice.

 

"What Is It?" I Queried,  Not Feeling Certain But That It Was A

Veiled Attempt To Secure A Little Free Advertising For The

Vanderveer. "By The Way,  Let Me Introduce You To My Friend

Kennedy,  Mcbride."

 

"Craig Kennedy?" He Whispered Aside,  Turning Quickly To Me. I

Nodded.

 

"Mr. Kennedy," Exclaimed The House Man Deferentially,  "Are You

Very Busy Just Now?"

 

"Not Especially So," Replied Craig. "My Friend Jameson Was Telling

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 98

Me That You Knew Some Interesting Yarns About Hotel Detective

Life. I Should Like To Hear You Tell Some Of Them,  If You Are Not

Yourself Too---"

 

"Perhaps You'd Rather See One Instead?" Interrupted The House

Detective,  Eagerly Scanning Craig's Face.

 

"Indeed,  Nothing Could Please Me More. What Is It--A 'Con' Man Or

A Hotel 'Beat'?"

 

Mcbride Looked About To Make Sure That No One Was Listening.

"Neither," He Whispered. "It's Either A Suicide Or A Murder. Come

Upstairs With Me. There Isn't A Man In The World I Would Rather

Have Met At This Very Instant,  Mr. Kennedy,  Than Yourself."

 

We Followed Mcbride Into An Elevator Which He Stopped At The

Fifteenth Floor. With A Nod To The Young Woman Who Was The Floor

Clerk,  The House Detective Led The Way Down The Thickly Carpeted

Hall,  Stopping At A Room Which,  We Could See Through The Transom,

Was Lighted. He Drew A Bunch Of Keys From His Pocket And Inserted

A Pass Key Into The Lock.

 

The Door Swung Open Into A Sumptuously Fitted Sitting-Room. I

Looked In,  Half Fearfully,  But,  Although All The Lights Were

Turned On,  The Room Was Empty. Mcbride Crossed The Room Quickly,

Opened A Door To A Bedroom,  And Jerked His Head Back With A Quick

Motion,  Signifying His Desire For Us To Follow.

 

Stretched Lifeless On The White Linen Of The Immaculate Bed Lay

The Form Of A Woman,  A Beautiful Woman She Had Been,  Too,  Though

Not With The Freshness Which Makes American Women So Attractive.

There Was Something Artificial About Her Beauty,  The Artificiality

Which Hinted At A Hidden Story Of A Woman With A Past.

 

She Was A Foreigner,  Apparently Of One Of The Latin Races,

Although At The Moment In The Horror Of The Tragedy Before Us I

Could Not Guess Her Nationality. It Was Enough For Me That Here

Lay This Cold,  Stony,  Rigid Beauty,  Robed In The Latest Creations

Of Paris,  Alone In An Elegantly Furnished Room Of An Exclusive

Hotel Where Hundreds Of Gay Guests Were Dining And Chatting And

Laughing Without A Suspicion Of The Terrible Secret Only A Few

Feet Distant From Them.

 

We Stood Awestruck For The Moment.

 

"The Coroner Ought To Be Here Any Moment," Remarked Mcbride And

Even The Callousness Of The Regular Detective Was Not Sufficient

To Hide The Real Feelings Of The Man. His Practical Sense Soon

Returned,  However,  And He Continued,  "Now,  Jameson,  Don't You

Think You Could Use A Little Influence With The Newspaper Men To

Keep This Thing Off The Front Pages? Of Course Something Has To Be

Printed About It. But We Don't Want To Hoodoo The Hotel Right At

The Start. We Had A Suicide The Other Day Who Left An Apologetic

Note That Was Played Up By Some Of The Papers. Now Comes This

Affair. The Management Are Just As Anxious To Have The Crime

Cleared Up As Any One--If It Is A Crime. But Can't It Be Done With

The Soft Pedal? We Will Stop At Nothing In The Way Of Expense--

Just So Long As The Name Of The Vanderveer Is Kept In The

Background. Only,  I'm Afraid The Coroner Will Try To Rub It In And

Make The Thing Sensational."

 

"What Was Her Name?" Asked Kennedy. "At Least,  Under What Name Was

She Registered?"

 

"She Was Registered As Madame De Nevers. It Is Not Quite A Week

Now Since She Came Here,  Came Directly From The Steamer

Tripolitania. See,  There Are Her Trunks And Things,  All Pasted

Over With Foreign Labels,  Not An American Label Among Them. I

Haven't The Slightest Doubt That Her Name Was Fictitious,  For As

Far As I Can See All The Ordinary Marks Of Identification Have

Been Obliterated. It Will Take Time To Identify Her At The Best,

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 99

And In The Meantime,  If A Crime Has Been Committed,  The Guilty

Person May Escape. What I Want Now,  Right Away,  Is Action."

 

"Has Nothing In Her Actions About The Hotel Offered Any Clue,  No

Matter How Slight?" Asked Kennedy.

 

"Plenty Of Things,  Replied Mcbride Quickly. "For One Thing,  She

Didn't Speak Very Much English And Her Maid Seemed To Do All The

Talking For Her,  Even To Ordering Her Meals,  Which Were Always

Served Here. I Did Notice Madame A Few Times About The Hotel,

Though She Spent Most Of Her Time In Her Rooms. She Was Attractive

As The Deuce,  And The Men All Looked At Her Whenever She Stirred

Out. She Never Even Noticed Them. But She Was Evidently Expecting

Some One,  For Her Maid Had Left Word At The Desk That If A Mr.

Gonzales Called,  She Was At Home; If Any One Else,  She Was Out.

For The First Day Or Two She Kept Herself Closely Confined,  Except

That At The End Of The Second Day She Took A Short Spin Through

The Park In A Taxicab--Closed,  Even In This Hot Weather. Where She

Went I Cannot Say,  But When They Returned The Maid Seemed Rather

Agitated. At Least She Was A Few Minutes Later When She Came All

The Way Downstairs To Telephone From A Booth,  Instead Of Using The

Room Telephone. At Various Times The Maid Was Sent Out To Execute

Certain Errands,  But Always Returned Promptly. Madame De Nevers

Was A Genuine Woman Of Mystery,  But As Long As She Was A Quiet

Mystery,  I Thought It No Business Of Ours To Pry Into The Affairs

Of Madame."

 

"Did She Have Any Visitors? Did This Mr. Gonzales Call?" Asked

Kennedy At Length.

 

"She Had One Visitor,  A Woman Who Called And Asked If A Madame De

Nevers Was Stopping At The Hotel," Answered Mcbride. "That Was

What The Clerk Was Telling Me When I Happened To Catch Sight Of

You. He Says That,  Obedient To The Orders From The Maid,  He Told

The Visitor That Madame Was Not At Home."

 

"Who Was This Visitor,  Do You Suppose?" Asked Craig. "Did She

Leave Any Card Or Message? Is There Any Clue To Her?"

 

The Detective Looked At Him Earnestly For A Time As If He

Hesitated To Retail What Might Be Merely Pure Gossip.

 

"The Clerk Does Not Know This Absolutely,  But From His

Acquaintance With Society News And The Illustrated Papers He Is

Sure That He Recognised Her. He Says That He Feels Positive That

It Was Miss Catharine Lovelace."

 

"The Southern Heiress," Exclaimed Kennedy. "Why,  The Papers Say

That She Is Engaged---"

 

"Exactly," Cut In Mcbride,  "The Heiress Who Is Rumoured To Be

Engaged To The Duc De Chateaurouge."

 

Kennedy And I Exchanged Glances. "Yes," I Added,  Recollecting A

Remark I Had Heard A Few Days Before From Our Society Reporter On

The Star,  "I Believe It Has Been Said That Chateaurouge Is In This

Country,  Incognito."

 

"A Pretty Slender Thread On Which To Hang An Identification,"

Mcbride Hastened To Remark. "Newspaper Photographs Are Not The

Best Means Of Recognising Anybody. Whatever There May Be In It,

The Fact Remains That Madame De Nevers,  Supposing That To Be Her

Real Name,  Has Been Dead For At Least A Day Or Two. The First

Thing To Be Determined Is Whether This Is A Death From Natural

Causes,  A Suicide,  Or A Murder. After We Have Determined That We

Shall Be In A Position To Run Down This Lovelace Clue."

 

Kennedy Said Nothing And I Could Not Gather Whether He Placed

Greater Or Less Value On The Suspicion Of The Hotel Clerk. He Had

Been Making A Casual Examination Of The Body On The Bed,  And

Finding Nothing He Looked Intently About The Room As If Seeking

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 100

Some Evidence Of How The Crime Had Been Committed.

 

To Me The Thing Seemed Incomprehensible,  That Without An Outcry

Being Overheard By Any Of The Guests A Murder Could Have Been Done

In A Crowded Hotel In Which The Rooms On Every Side Had Been

Occupied And People Had Been Passing Through The Halls At All

Hours. Had It Indeed Been A Suicide,  In Spite Of Mcbride's Evident

Conviction To The Contrary?

 

A Low Exclamation From Kennedy Attracted Our Attention. Caught In

The Filmy Lace Folds Of The Woman's Dress He Had Found A Few Small

And Thin Pieces Of Glass. He Was Regarding Them With An Interest

That Was Oblivious To Everything Else. As He Turned Them Over And

Over And Tried To Fit Them Together They Seemed To Form At Least A

Part Of What Had Once Been A Hollow Globe Of Very Thin Glass,

Perhaps A Quarter Of An Inch Or So In Diameter.

 

"How Was The Body Discovered?" Asked Craig At Length,  Looking Up

At Mcbride Quickly.

 

"Day Before Yesterday Madame's Maid Went To The Cashier," Repeated

The Detective Slowly As If Rehearsing The Case As Much For His Own

Information As Ours,  "And Said That Madame Had Asked Her To Say To

Him That She Was Going Away For A Few Days And That Under No

Circumstances Was Her Room To Be Disturbed In Her Absence. The

Maid Was Commissioned To Pay The Bill,  Not Only For The Time They

Had Been Here,  But Also For The Remainder Of The Week,  When Madame

Would Most Likely Return,  If Not Earlier. The Bill Was Made Out

And Paid.

 

"Since Then Only The Chambermaid Has Entered This Suite. The Key

To That Closet Over In The Corner Was Gone,  And It Might Have

Hidden Its Secret Until The End Of The Week Or Perhaps A Day Or

Two Longer,  If The Chambermaid Hadn't Been A Bit Curious. She

Hunted Till She Found Another Key That Fitted,  And Opened The

Closet Door,  Apparently To See What Madame Had Been So Particular

To Lock Up In Her Absence. There Lay The Body Of Madame,  Fully

Dressed,  Wedged Into The Narrow Space And Huddled Up In A Corner.

The Chambermaid Screamed And The Secret Was Out."

 

"And Madame De Nevers's Maid? What Has Become Of Her?" Asked

Kennedy Eagerly.

 

"She Has Disappeared," Replied Mcbride. "From The Moment When The

Bill Was Paid No One About The Hotel Has Seen Her."

 

"But You Have A Pretty Good Description Of Her,  One That You Could

Send Out In Order To Find Her If Necessary?"

 

"Yes,  I Think I Could Give A Pretty Good Description."

 

Kennedy's Eye Encountered The Curious Gaze Of Mcbride. "This May

Prove To Be A Most Unusual Case," He Remarked In Answer To The

Implied Inquiry Of The Detective. "I Suppose You Have Heard Of The

'Endormeurs' Of Paris?"

 

Mcbride Shook His Head In The Negative.

 

"It Is A French Word Signifying A Person Who Puts Another To

Sleep,  The Sleep Makers," Explained Kennedy. "They Are The Latest

Scientific School Of Criminals Who Use The Most Potent,  Quickest-

Acting Stupefying Drugs. Some Of Their Exploits Surpass Anything

Hitherto Even Imagined By The European Police. The American Police

Have Been Officially Warned Of The Existence Of The Endormeurs And

Full Descriptions Of Their Methods And Photographs Of Their

Paraphernalia Have Been Sent Over Here.

 

"There Is Nothing In Their Repertoire So Crude As Chloral Or

Knock-Out Drops. All The Derivatives Of Opium Such As Morphine,

Codeine,  Heroine,  Dionine,  Narceine,  And Narcotine,  To Say Nothing

Of Bromure D'etyle,  Bromoform,  Nitrite D'amyle,  And Amyline Are

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 101

Known To Be Utilised By The Endormeurs To Put Their Victims To

Sleep,  And The Skill Which They Have Acquired In The Use Of These

Powerful Drugs Establishes Them As One Of The Most Dangerous

Groups Of Criminals In Existence. The Men Are All Of Superior

Intelligence And Daring; The Chief Requisite Of The Women Is

Extreme Beauty As Well As Unscrupulousness.

 

"They Will Take A Little Thin Glass Ball Of One Of These Liquids,

For Instance,  Hold It In A Pocket Handkerchief,  Crush It,  Shove It

Under The Nose Of Their Victim,  And--Whiff!--The Victim Is

Unconscious. But Ordinarily The Endormeur Does Not Kill. He Is

Usually Satisfied To Stupefy,  Rob,  And Then Leave His Victim.

There Is Something More To This Case Than A Mere Suicide Or

Murder,  Mcbride. Of Course She May Have Committed Suicide With The

Drugs Of The Endormeurs; Then Again She May Merely Have Been

Rendered Unconscious By Those Drugs And Some Other Poison May Have

Been Administered. Depend On It,  There Is Something More Back Of

This Affair Than Appears On The Surface. Even As Far As I Have

Gone I Do Not Hesitate To Say That We Have Run Across The Work Of

One Or Perhaps A Band Of The Most Up-To-Date And Scientific

Criminals."

 

Kennedy Had Scarcely Finished When Mcbride Brought His Right Fist

Down With A Resounding Smack Into The Palm Of His Left Hand.

 

"Say," He Cried In Great Excitement,  "Here's Another Thing Which

May Or May Not Have Some Connection With The Case. The Evening

After Madame Arrived,  I Happened To Be Walking Through The Cafe,

Where I Saw A Face That Looked Familiar To Me. It Was That Of A

Dark-Haired,  Olive-Skinned Man,  A Fascinating Face,  But A Face To

Be Afraid Of. I Remembered Him,  I Thought,  From My Police

Experience,  As A Notorious Crook Who Had Not Been Seen In New York

For Years,  A Man Who In The Old Days Used To Gamble With Death In

South American Revolutions,  A Soldier Of Fortune.

 

"Well,  I Gave The Waiter,  Charley,  The Wink And He Met Me In The

Rear Of The Cafe,  Around A Corner. You Know We Have A Regular

System In The Hotel By Which I Can Turn All The Help Into Amateur

Sleuths. I Told Him To Be Very Careful About The Dark-Faced Man

And The Younger Man Who Was With Him,  To Be Particular To Wait On

Them Well,  And To Pick Up Any Scraps Of Conversation He Could.

 

"Charley Knows His Business,  And The Barest Perceptible Sign From

Me Makes Him An Obsequious Waiter. Of Course The Dark Man Didn't

Notice It At The Time,  But If He Had Been More Observant He Would

Have Seen That Three Times During His Chat With His Companion

Charley Had Wiped Off His Table With Lingering Hand. Twice He Had

Put Fresh Seltzer In His Drink. Like A Good Waiter Always Working

For A Big Tip He Had Hovered Near,  His Face Blank And His Eyes

Unobservant. But That Waiter Was An Important Link In My Chain Of

Protection Of The Hotel Against Crooks. He Was There To Listen And

To Tip Me Off,  Which He Did Between Orders.

 

"There Wasn't Much That He Overheard,  But What There Was Of It Was

So Suspicious That I Did Not Hesitate To Conclude That The Fellow

Was An Undesirable Guest. It Was Something About The Panama Canal,

And A Coaling Station Of A Steamship And Fruit Concern On The

Shore Of One Of The Latin American Countries. It Was,  He Said,  In

Reality To Be The Coaling Station Of A Certain European Power

Which He Did Not Name But Which The Younger Man Seemed To

Understand. They Talked Of Wharves And Tracts Of Land,  Of

Sovereignty And Blue Prints,  The Monroe Doctrine,  Value In Case Of

War,  And A Lot Of Other Things. Then They Talked Of Money,  And

Though Charley Was Most Assiduous At The Time All He Overheard Was

Something About 'Ten Thousand Francs' And 'Buying Her Off,' And

Finally A Whispered Confidence Of Which He Caught The Words,  'Just

A Blind To Get Her Over Here,  Away From Paris.' Finally The Dark

Man In An Apparent Burst Of Confidence Said Something About 'The

Other Plans Being The Real Thing After All,' And That The Whole

Affair Would Bring Him In Fifty Thousand Francs,  With Which He

Could Afford To Be Liberal. Charley Could Get No Inkling About

What That Other Thing Was.

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 102

"But I Felt Sure That He Had Heard Enough To Warrant The Belief

That Some Kind Of Confidence Game Was Being Discussed. To Tell The

Truth I Didn't Care Much What It Was,  At The Time. It Might Have

Been An Attempt Of The Dark-Visaged Fellow To Sell The Canal To A

Come-On. What I Wanted Was To Have It Known That The Vanderveer

Was Not To Be A Resort Of Such Gentry As This. But I'm Afraid It

Was Much More Serious Than I Thought At The Time.

 

"Well,  The Dark Man Finally Excused Himself And Sauntered Into The

Lobby And Up To The Desk,  With Me After Him Around The Opposite

Way. He Was Looking Over The Day's Arrivals On The Register When I

Concluded That It Was About Time To Do Something. I Was Standing

Directly Beside Him Lighting A Cigar. I Turned Quickly On Him And

Deliberately Trod On The Man's Patent Leather Shoe. He Faced Me

Furiously At Not Getting Any Apology. 'Sacre,' He Exclaimed,  'What

The--' But Before He Could Finish I Moved Still Closer And Pinched

His Elbow. A Dull Red Glow Of Suppressed Anger Spread Over His

Face,  But He Cut His Words Short. He Knew And I Knew He Knew. That

Is The Sign In The Continental Hotels When They Find A Crook And

Quietly Ask Him To Move On. The Man Turned On His Heel And Stalked

Out Of The Hotel. By And By The Young Man In The Cafe,

Considerably Annoyed At The Sudden Inattention Of The Waiter Who

Acted As If He Wasn't Satisfied With His Tip,  Strolled Through The

Lobby And Not Seeing His Dark-Skinned Friend,  Also Disappeared. I

Wish To Heaven I Had Had Them Shadowed. The Young Fellow Wasn't A

Come-On At All. There Was Something Afoot Between These Two,  Mark

My Words."

 

"But Why Do You Connect That Incident With This Case Of Madame De

Nevers?" Asked Kennedy,  A Little Puzzled.

 

"Because The Next Day,  And The Day That Madame's Maid Disappeared,

I Happened To See A Man Bidding Good-Bye To A Woman At The Rear

Carriage Entrance Of The Hotel. The Woman Was Madame's Maid And

The Man Was The Dark Man Who Had Been Seated In The Cafe."

 

"You Said A Moment Ago That You Had A Good Description Of The Maid

Or Could Write One. Do You Think You Could Locate Her?"

 

The Hotel Detective Thought A Minute Or Two. "If She Has Gone To

Any Of The Other Hotels In This City,  I Could," He Answered

Slowly. "You Know We Have Recently Formed A Sort Of Clearing

House,  We Hotel Detectives,  And We Are Working Together Now Very

Well,  Though Secretly. It Is Barely Possible That She Has Gone To

Another Hotel. The Very Brazenness Of That Would Be Its Safeguard,

She Might Think."

 

"Then I Can Leave That Part Of It To You,  Mcbride?" Asked Kennedy

Thoughtfully As If Laying Out A Programme Of Action In His Mind.

"You Will Set The Hotel Detectives On The Trail As Well As The

Police Of The City,  And Of Other Cities,  Will Make The Inquiries

At The Steamships And Railroads,  And All That Sort Of Thing? Try

To Find Some Trace Of The Two Men Whom You Saw In The Cafe At The

Same Time. But For The Present I Should Say Spare No Effort To

Locate That Girl."

 

"Trust It To Me," Agreed Mcbride Confidently.

 

A Heavy Tap Sounded At The Door And Mcbride Opened It. It Was The

Coroner.

 

I Shall Not Go Into The Lengthy Investigation Which The Coroner

Conducted,  Questioning One Servant And Employee After Another

Without Eliciting Any More Real Information Than We Had Already

Obtained So Concisely From The House Man. The Coroner Was,  Of

Course,  Angry At The Removal Of The Body From The Closet To The

Bed Because He Wanted To View It In The Position In Which It Had

Been Found,  But As That Had Been Done By The Servants Before

Mcbride Could Stop Them,  There Was Nothing To Do About It But

Accept The Facts.

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 103

"A Very Peculiar Case," Remarked The Coroner At The Conclusion Of

His Examination,  With The Air Of A Man Who Could Shed Much Light

On It From His Wide Experience If He Chose. "There Is Just One

Point That We Shall Have To Clear Up,  However. What Was The Cause

Of The Death Of The Deceased? There Is No Gas In The Room. It

Couldn't Have Been Illuminating Gas,  Then. No,  It Must Have Been A

Poison Of Some Kind. Then As To The Motive," He Added,  Trying To

Look Confident But Really Shooting A Tentative Remark At Craig And

The House Detective,  Who Said Nothing. "It Looks A Good Deal Like

That Other Suicide--At Least A Suicide Which Some One Has

Endeavoured To Conceal," He Added,  Hastily Recollecting The Manner

In Which The Body Had Been Found And His Criticisms Of The Removal

From The Closet. "Didn't I Tell You?" Rejoined Mcbride Dolefully

After We Had Left The Coroner Downstairs A Few Minutes Later. "I

Knew He Would Think The Hotel Was Hiding Something From Him."

 

"We Can't Help What He Thinks--Yet," Remarked Craig. "All We Can

Do Is To Run Down The Clues Which We Have. I Will Leave The Maid

To Be Found By Your Organisation,  Mcbride. Let Me See,  The

Theatres And Roof Gardens Must Be Letting Out By This Time. I Will

See If I Can Get Any Information From Miss Lovelace. Find Her

Address,  Walter,  And Call A Cab."

 

The Southern Heiress,  Who Had Attracted More Attention By Her

Beauty Than By Her Fortune Which Was Only Moderate As American

Fortunes Go Nowadays,  Lived In An Apartment Facing The Park,  With

Her Mother,  A Woman Whose Social Ambitions It Was Commonly Known

Had No Bounds And Were Often Sadly Imposed Upon.

 

Fortunately We Arrived At The Apartment Not Very Many Minutes

After The Mother And Daughter,  And Although It Was Late,  Kennedy

Sent Up His Card With An Urgent Message To See Them. They Received

Us In A Large Drawing-Room And Were Plainly Annoyed By Our Visit,

Though That Of Course Was Susceptible Of A Natural Interpretation.

 

"What Is It That You Wished To See Me About?" Began Mrs. Lovelace

In A Tone Which Was Intended To Close The Interview Almost Before

It Was Begun.

 

Kennedy Had Not Wished To See Her About Anything,  But Of Course He

Did Not Even Hint As Much In His Reply Which Was Made To Her But

Directed At Miss Lovelace.

 

"Could You Tell Me Anything About A Madame De Nevers Who Was

Staying At The Vanderveer?" Asked Craig,  Turning Quickly To The

Daughter So As To Catch The Full Effect Of His Question,  And Then

Waiting As If Expecting The Answer From Her.

 

The Young Lady's Face Blanched Slightly And She Seemed To Catch

Her Breath For An Instant,  But She Kept Her Composure Admirably In

Spite Of The Evident Shock Of Craig's Purposely Abrupt Question.

 

"I Have Heard Of Her," Miss Lovelace Replied With Forced Calmness

As He Continued To Look To Her For An Answer. "Why Do You Ask?"

 

"Because A Woman Who Is Supposed To Be Madame De Nevers Has

Committed Suicide At The Vanderveer And It Was Thought That

Perhaps You Could Identify Her."

 

By This Time She Had Become Perfect Mistress Of Herself Again,

From Which I Argued That Whatever Knowledge She Had Of Madame Was

Limited To The Time Before The Tragedy.

 

"I,  Identify Her? Why,  I Never Saw Her. I Simply Know That Such A

Creature Exists."

 

She Said It Defiantly And With An Iciness Which Showed More

Plainly Than In Mere Words That She Scorned Even An Acquaintance

With A Demi-Mondaine.

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 104

 

"Do You Suppose The Duc De Chateaurouge Would Be Able To Identify

Her? "Asked Kennedy Mercilessly. "One Moment,  Please," He Added,

Anticipating The Blank Look Of Amazement On Her Face. "I Have

Reason To Believe That The Duke Is In This Country Incognito--Is

He Not?"

 

Instead Of Speaking She Merely Raised Her Shoulders A Fraction Of

An Inch.

 

"Either In New York Or In Washington," Pursued Kennedy.

 

"Why Do You Ask Me?" She Said At Length. "Isn't It Enough That

Some Of The Newspapers Have Said So? If You See It In The

Newspapers,  It's So--Perhaps--Isn't It?"

 

We Were Getting Nowhere In This Interview,  At Least So I Thought.

Kennedy Cut It Short,  Especially As He Noted The Evident

Restlessness Of Mrs. Lovelace. However,  He Had Gained His Point.

Whether Or Not The Duke Was In New York Or Washington Or

Spitzbergen,  He Now Felt Sure That Miss Lovelace Knew Of,  And

Perhaps Something About,  Madame De Nevers. In Some Way The Dead

Woman Had Communicated With Her And Miss Lovelace Had Been The

Woman Whom The Hotel Clerk Had Seen At The Vanderveer. We Withdrew

As Gracefully As Our Awkward Position Permitted.

 

As There Was Nothing Else To Be Done At That Late Hour,  Craig

Decided To Sleep Soundly Over The Case,  His Infallible Method Of

Taking A Fresh Start After He Had Run Up A Cul-De-Sac.

 

Imagine Our Surprise In The Morning At Being Waited On By The

Coroner Himself,  Who In A Few Words Explained That He Was Far From

Satisfied With The Progress His Own Office Was Making With The

Case.

 

"You Understand," He Concluded After A Lengthy Statement Of

Confession And Avoidance,  "We Have No Very Good Laboratory

Facilities Of Our Own To Carry Out The Necessary Chemical,

Pathological,  And Bacteriological Investigations In Cases Of

Homicide And Suicide. We Are Often Forced To Resort To Private

Laboratories,  As You Know In The Past When I Have Had To Appeal To

You. Now,  Professor Kennedy,  If We Might Turn Over That Research

Part Of The Case To You,  Sir,  I Will Engage To See That A

Reasonable Bill For Your Professional Services Goes Through The

Office Of My Friend The City Comptroller Promptly."

 

Craig Snapped At The Opportunity,  Though He Did Not Allow The

Coroner To Gain That Impression.

 

"Very Well," Agreed That Official,  "I Shall See That All The

Necessary Organs For A Thorough Test As To The Cause Of The Death

Of This Woman Are Sent Up To The Chemistry Building Right Away."

 

The Coroner Was As Good As His Word,  And We Had Scarcely

Breakfasted And Arrived At Craig's Scientific Workshop Before That

Official Appeared,  Accompanied By A Man Who Carried In Uncanny

Jars The Necessary Materials For An Investigation Following An

Autopsy.

 

Kennedy Was Now In His Element. The Case Had Taken An Unexpected

Turn Which Made Him A Leading Factor In Its Solution. Whatever

Suspicions He May Have Entertained Unofficially The Night Before

He Could Now Openly And Quickly Verify.

 

He Took A Little Piece Of Lung Tissue And With A Sharp Sterilised

Knife Cut It Up. Then He Made It Slightly Alkaline With A Little

Sodium Carbonate,  Talking Half To Us And Half To Himself As He

Worked. The Next Step Was To Place The Matter In A Glass Flask In

A Water Bath Where It Was Heated. From The Flask A Bohemian Glass

Tube Led Into A Cool Jar And On A Part Of The Tube A Flame Was

Playing Which Heated It To Redness For Two Or Three Inches.

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 105

 

Several Minutes We Waited In Silence. Finally When The Process Had

Gone Far Enough,  Kennedy Took A Piece Of Paper Which Had Been

Treated With Iodised Starch,  As He Later Explained. He Plunged The

Paper Into The Cool Jar. Slowly It Turned A Strong Blue Tint.

 

Craig Said Nothing,  But It Was Evident That He Was More Than

Gratified By What Had Happened. He Quickly Reached For A Bottle On

The Shelves Before Him,  And I Could See From The Label On The

Brown Glass That It Was Nitrate Of Silver. As He Plunged A Little

In A Test-Tube Into The Jar A Strong Precipitate Was Gradually

Formed.

 

"It Is The Decided Reaction For Chloroform," He Exclaimed Simply

In Reply To Our Unspoken Questions.

 

"Chloroform," Repeated The Coroner,  Rather Doubtfully,  And It Was

Evident That He Had Expected A Poison And Had Not Anticipated Any

Result Whatever From An Examination Of The Lungs Instead Of The

Stomach To Which He Had Confined His Own Work So Far. "Could

Chloroform Be Discovered In The Lungs Or Viscera After So Many

Days? There Was One Famous Chloroform Case For Which A Man Is Now

Serving A Life Term In Sing Sing Which I Have Understood There Was

Grave Doubt In The Minds Of The Experts. Mind,  I Am Not Trying To

Question The Results Of Your Work Except As They Might Naturally

Be Questioned In Court. It Seems To Me That The Volatility Of

Chloroform Might Very Possibly Preclude Its Discovery After A

Short Time. Then Again,  Might Not Other Substances Be Generated In

A Dead Body Which Would Give A Reaction Very Much Like Chloroform?

We Must Consider All These Questions Before We Abandon The Poison

Theory,  Sir. Remember,  This Is The Summer Time Too,  And Chloroform

Would Evaporate Very Much More Rapidly Now Than In Winter."

 

Kennedy Smiled,  But His Confidence Remained Unshaken.

 

"I Am In A Position To Meet All Of Your Objections," He Explained

Simply. "I Think I Could Lay It Down As A Rule That By Proper

Methods Chloroform May Be Discovered In The Viscera Much Longer

After Death Than Is Commonly Supposed--In Summer From Six Days To

Three Weeks,  With A Practical Working Range Of Say Twelve Days,

While In Winter It May Be Found Even After Several Months--By The

Right Method. Certainly This Case Comes Within The Average Length

Of Time. More Than That,  No Substance Is Generated By The Process

Of Decomposition Which Will Vitiate The Test For Chloroform Which

I Have Just Made. Chloroform Has An Affinity For Water And Is Also

A Preservative,  And Hence From All These Facts I Think It Safe To

Conclude That Sometimes Traces Of It May Be Found For Two Weeks

After Its Administration,  Certainly For A Few Days."

 

"And Madame De Nevers?" Queried The Coroner,  As If The Turn Of

Events Was Necessitating A Complete Reconstruction Of His Theory

Of The Case.

 

"Was Murdered," Completed Kennedy In A Tone That Left Nothing More

To Be Said On The Subject.

 

"But," Persisted The Coroner,  "If She Was Murdered By The Use Of

Chloroform,  How Do You Account For The Fact That It Was Done

Without A Struggle? There Were No Marks Of Violence And I,  For

One,  Do Not Believe That Under Ordinary Circumstances Any One Will

Passively Submit To Such An Administration Without A Hard Fight."

 

From His Pocket Kennedy Drew A Small Pasteboard Box Filled With

Tiny Globes,  Some Bonbons And Lozenges,  A Small Hypodermic

Syringe,  And A Few Cigars And Cigarettes. He Held It Out In The

Palm Of His Hand So That We Could See It.

 

"This," He Remarked,  "Is The Standard Equipment Of The Endormeur.

Whoever Obtained Admittance To Madame's Rooms,  Either As A Matter

Of Course Or Secretly,  Must Have Engaged Her In Conversation,

Disarmed Suspicion,  And Then Suddenly She Must Have Found A Pocket

Handkerchief Unde

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 106

Under Her Nose. The Criminal Crushed A Globe Of

Liquid In The Handkerchief,  The Victim Lost Consciousness,  The

Chloroform Was Administered Without A Struggle,  All Marks Of

Identification Were Obliterated,  The Body Was Placed In The

Closet,  And The Maid--Either As Principal Or Accessory--Took The

Most Likely Means Of Postponing Discovery By Paying The Bill In

Advance At The Office,  And Then Disappeared."

 

Kennedy Slipped The Box Back Into His Pocket. The Coroner Had,  I

Think,  Been Expecting Craig's Verdict,  Although He Was Loath To

Abandon His Own Suicide Theory And Had Held It To The Last

Possible Moment. At Any Rate,  So Far He Had Said Little,

Apparently Preferring To Keep His Own Counsel As To His Course Of

Action And To Set His Own Machinery In Motion.

 

He Drew A Note From His Pocket,  However. "I Suppose," He Began

Tentatively,  Shaking The Note As He Glanced Doubtfully From It To

Us,  "That You Have Heard That Among The Callers On This

Unfortunate Woman Was A Lady Of High Social Position In This

City?"

 

"I Have Heard A Rumour To That Effect," Replied Kennedy As He

Busied Himself Cleaning Up The Apparatus He Had Just Used. There

Was Nothing In His Manner Even To Hint At The Fact That We Had

Gone Further And Interviewed The Young Lady In Question.

 

"Well," Resumed The Coroner,  "In View Of What You Have Just

Discovered I Don't Mind Telling You That I Believe It Was More

Than A Rumour. I Have Had A Man Watching The Woman And This Is A

Report I Received Just Before I Came Up Here."

 

We Read The Note Which He Now Handed To Us. It Was Just A Hasty

Line: "Miss Lovelace Left Hurriedly For Washington This Morning."

 

What Was The Meaning Of It? Clearly,  As We Probed Deeper Into The

Case,  Its Ramifications Grew Wider Than Anything We Had Yet

Expected. Why Had Miss Lovelace Gone To Washington,  Of All Places,

At This Torrid Season Of The Year?

 

The Coroner Had Scarcely Left Us,  More Mystified Than Ever,  When A

Telephone Message Came From Mcbride Saying That He Had Some

Important News For Us If We Would Meet Him At The St. Cenis Hotel

Within An Hour. He Would Say Nothing About It Over The Wire.

 

As Kennedy Hung Up The Receiver He Quietly Took A Pistol From A

Drawer Of His Desk,  Broke It Quickly,  And Looked Thoughtfully At

The Cartridges In The Cylinder. Then He Snapped It Shut And Stuck

It Into His Pocket.

 

"There's No Telling What We May Run Up Against Before We Get Back

To The Laboratory," He Remarked And We Rode Down To Meet Mcbride.

 

The Description Which The House Man Had Sent Out To The Other

Hotel Detectives The Night Before Had Already Produced A Result.

Within The Past Two Days A Man Answering The Description Of The

Younger Man Whom Mcbride Had Seen In The Cafe And A Woman Who

Might Very Possibly Have Been Madame's Maid Had Come To The St.

Cenis As M. And Mme. Duval. Their Baggage Was Light,  But They Had

Been At Pains To Impress Upon The Hotel That They Were Persons Of

Some Position And That It Was Going Direct From The Railroad To

The Steamer,  After Their Tour Of America. They Had,  As A Matter Of

Fact,  Done Nothing To Excite Suspicion Until The General Request

For Information Had Been Received.

 

The House Man Of The St. Cenis Welcomed Us Cordially Upon

Mcbride's Introduction And Agreed To Take Us Up To The Rooms Of

The Strange Couple If They Were Not In. As It Happened It Was The

Lunch Hour And They Were Not In The Room. Still,  Kennedy Dared Not

Be Too Particular In His Search Of Their Effects,  For He Did Not

Wish To Arouse Suspicion Upon Their Return,  At Least Not Yet.

 

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 107

It Seems To Me,  Craig," I Suggested After We Had Nosed About For

A Few Minutes,  Finding Nothing,  "That This Is Pre-Eminently A Case

In Which To Use The Dictograph As You Did In That Black Hand

Case."

 

He Shook His Head Doubtfully,  Although I Could See That The Idea

Appealed To Him. "The Dictograph Has Been Getting Too Much

Publicity Lately," He Said. "I'm Afraid They Would Discover It,

That Is,  If They Are At All The Clever People I Think Them.

Besides,  I Would Have To Send Up To The Laboratory To Get One And

By The Time The Messenger Returned They Might Be Back From Lunch.

No,  We've Got To Do Something Else,  And Do It Quickly."

 

He Was Looking About The Room In An Apparently Aimless Manner. On

The Side Wall Hung A Cheap Etching Of A Woodland Scene. Kennedy

Seemed Engrossed In It While The Rest Of Us Fidgeted At The Delay.

 

"Can You Get Me A Couple Of Old Telephone Instruments?" He Asked

At Length,  Turning To Us And Addressing The St. Cenis Detective.

 

The Detective Nodded And Disappeared Down The Hall. A Few Minutes

Later He Deposited The Instruments On A Table. Where He Got Them I

Do Not Know,  But I Suspect He Simply Lifted Them From Vacant

Rooms.

 

"Now Some Number 30 Copper Wire And A Couple Of Dry Cells,"

Ordered Kennedy,  Falling To Work Immediately On The Telephones.

The Detective Despatched A Bellboy Down To The Basement To Get The

Wire From The House Electrician.

 

Kennedy Removed The Transmitters Of The Telephones,  And Taking The

Carbon Capsules From Them Placed The Capsules On The Table

Carefully. Then He Lifted Down The Etching From The Wall And Laid

It Flat On Its Face Before Us. Quickly He Removed The Back Of The

Picture.

 

Pressing The Transmitter Fronts With The Carbon Capsules Against

The Paper And The Glass On The Picture He Mounted Them So That The

Paper And Glass Acted As A Large Diaphragm To Collect All The

Sounds In The Room.

 

"The Size Of This Glass Diaphragm," He Explained As We Gathered

Around In Intense Interest At What He Was Doing,  "Will Produce A

Strikingly Sensitive Microphone Action And The Merest Whisper Will

Be Reproduced With Startling Distinctness."

 

The Boy Brought The Wire Up And Also The News That The Couple In

Whose Room We Were Had Very Nearly Finished Luncheon And Might Be

Expected Back In A Few Minutes.

 

Kennedy Took The Tiny Wires,  And After Connecting Them Hung Up The

Picture Again And Ran Them Up Alongside The Picture Wires Leading

From The Huge Transmitter Up To The Picture Moulding. Along The

Top Of The Moulding And Out Through The Transom It Was Easy Enough

To Run The Wires And So Down The Hall To A Vacant Room,  Where

Craig Attached Them Quickly To One Of The Old Telephone Receivers.

 

Then We Sat Down In This Room To Await Developments From Our

Hastily Improvised Picture Frame Microphone Detective.

 

At Last We Could Hear The Elevator Door Close On Our Floor. A

Moment Later It Was Evident From The Expression Of Kennedy's Face

That Some One Had Entered The Room Which We Had Just Left. He Had

Finished Not A Moment Too Soon.

 

"It's A Good Thing That I Didn't Wait To Put A Dictograph There,"

He Remarked To Us. "I Thought I Wasn't Reckoning Without Reason.

The Couple,  Whoever They Are,  Are Talking In Undertones And

Looking About The Room To See If Anything Has Been Disturbed In

Their Absence."

 

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 108

Kennedy Alone,  Of Course,  Could Follow Over His End Of The

Telephone What They Said. The Rest Of Us Could Do Nothing But

Wait,  But From Notes Which Craig Jotted Down As He Listened To The

Conversation I Shall Reproduce It As If We Had All Heard It. There

Were Some Anxious Moments Until At Last They Had Satisfied

Themselves That No One Was Listening And That No Dictograph Or

Other Mechanical Eavesdropper,  Such As They Had Heard Of,  Was

Concealed In The Furniture Or Back Of It.

 

"Why Are You So Particular,  Henri?" A Woman's Voice Was Saying.

 

"Louise,  I've Been Thinking For A Long Time That We Are Surrounded

By Spies In These Hotels. You Remember I Told You What Happened At

The Vanderveer The Night You And Madame Arrived? I'm Sure That

Waiter Overheard What Gonzales And I Were Talking About."

 

"Well,  We Are Safe Now Anyhow. What Was It That You Would Not Tell

Me Just Now At Luncheon?" Asked The Woman,  Whom Kennedy Recognised

As Madame De Nevers's Maid.

 

"I Have A Cipher From Washington. Wait Until I Translate It."

 

There Was A Pause. "What Does It Say?" Asked The Woman

Impatiently.

 

"It Says," Repeated The Man Slowly,  "That Miss Lovelace Has Gone

To Washington. She Insists On Knowing Whether The Death Of Marie

Was A Suicide Or Not. Worse Than That The Secret Service Must Have

Wind Of Some Part Of Our Scheme,  For They Are Acting Suspiciously.

I Must Go Down There Or The Whole Affair May Be Exposed And Fall

Through. Things Could Hardly Be Worse,  Especially This Sudden Move

On Her Part."

 

"Who Was That Detective Who Forced His Way To See Her The Night

They Discovered Marie's Body?" Asked The Woman. "I Hope That That

Wasn't The Secret Service Also. Do You Think They Could Have

Suspected Anything?"

 

"I Hardly Think So," The Man Replied. "Beyond The Death Of Madame

They Suspect Nothing Here In New York,  I Am Convinced. You Are

Sure That All Her Letters Were Secured,  That All Clues To Connect

Her With The Business In Hand Were Destroyed,  And Particularly

That The Package She Was To Deliver Is Safe?"

 

"The Package? You Mean The Plans For The Coaling Station On The

Pacific Near The Canal? You See,  Henri,  I Know."

 

"Ha,  Ha,--Yes," Replied The Man. "Louise,  Shall I Tell You A

Secret? Can You Keep It?"

 

"You Know I Can,  Henri."

 

"Well,  Louise,  The Scheme Is Deeper Than Even You Think. We Are

Playing One Country Against Another,  America Against--You Know The

Government Our Friend Schmidt Works For In Paris. Now,  Listen.

Those Plans Of The Coaling Station Are A Fake--A Fake. It Is Just

A Commercial Venture. No Nation Would Be Foolish Enough To Attempt

Such A Thing,  Yet. We Know That They Are A Fake. But We Are Going

To Sell Them Through That Friend Of Ours In The United States War

Department. But That Is Only Part Of The Coup,  The Part That Will

Give Us The Money To Turn The Much Larger Coups We Have In The

Future. You Can Understand Why It Has All To Be Done So Secretly

And How Vexatious It Is That As Soon As One Obstacle Is Overcome A

Dozen New Ones Appear. Louise,  Here Is The Big Secret. By Using

Those Fake Plans As A Bait We Are Going To Obtain Something Which

When We All Return To Paris We Can Convert Into Thousands Of

Francs. There,  I Can Say No More. But I Have Told You So Much To

Impress Upon You The Extreme Need Of Caution."

 

"And How Much Does Miss Lovelace Know?"

 

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 109

Very Little--I Hope. That Is Why I Must Go To Washington Myself.

She Must Know Nothing Of This Coup Nor Of The Real De Nevers,  Or

The Whole Scheme May Fall Through. It Would Have Fallen Through

Before,  Louise,  If You Had Failed Us And Had Let Any Of De

Nevers's Letters Slip Through To Miss Lovelace. She Richly

Deserved Her Fate For That Act Of Treachery. The Affair Would Have

Been So Simple,  Otherwise. Luck Was With Us Until Her Insane

Jealousy Led Her To Visit Miss Lovelace. It Was Fortunate The

Young Lady Was Out When Madame Called On Her Or All Would Have

Been Lost. Ah,  We Owe You A Great Deal,  Louise,  And We Shall Not

Forget It,  Never. You Will Be Very Careful While I Am Gone?"

 

"Absolutely. When Will You Return To Me,  Henri?"

 

"To-Morrow Morning At The Latest. This Afternoon The False Coaling

Station Plans Are To Be Turned Over To Our Accomplice In The War

Department And In Exchange He Is To Give Us Something Else--The

Secret Of Which I Spoke. You See The Trail Leads Up Into High

Circles. It Is Very Much More Important Than You Suppose And

Discovery Might Lead To A Dangerous International Complication

Just Now."

 

"Then You Are To Meet Your Friend In Washington To-Night? When Do

You Start,  Henri? Don't Let The Time Slip By. There Must Be No

Mistake This Time As There Was When We Were Working For Japan And

Almost Had The Blue Prints Of Corregidor At Manila Only To Lose

Them On The Streets Of Calcutta."

 

"Trust Me. We Are To Meet About Nine O'clock And Therefore I Leave

On The Limited At Three-Thirty,  In About An Hour. From The Station

I Am Going Straight To The House On Z Street--Let Me See,  The

Cipher Says The Number Is 101--And Ask For A Man Named Gonzales. I

Shall Use The Name Montez. He Is To Appear,  Hand Over The Package-

-That Thing I Have Told You About--Then I Am To Return Here By One

Of The Midnight Trains. At Any Cost We Must Allow Nothing To

Happen Which Will Reach The Ears Of Miss Lovelace. I'll See You

Early To-Morrow Morning,  Ma Cherie,  And Remember,  Be Ready,  For

The Aquitania Sails At Ten. The Division Of The Money Is To Be

Made In Paris. Then We Shall All Go Our Separate Ways."

 

Kennedy Was Telephoning Frantically Through The Regular Hotel

Service To Find Out How The Trains Ran For Washington. The Only

One That Would Get There Before Nine Was The Three-Thirty; The

Next,  Leaving An Hour Later,  Did Not Arrive Until Nearly Eleven.

He Had Evidently Had Some Idea Of Causing Some Delay That Would

Result In Our Friend Down The Hall Missing The Limited,  But

Abandoned It. Any Such Scheme Would Simply Result In A Message To

The Gang In Washington Putting Them On Their Guard And Defeating

His Purpose.

 

"At All Costs We Must Beat This Fellow To It," Exclaimed Craig,

Waiting To Hear No More Over His Improvised Dictograph. "Come,

Walter,  We Must Catch The Limited For Washington Immediately.

Mcbride,  I Leave You And The Regular House Man To Shadow This

Woman. Don't Let Her Get Out Of Your Sight For A Moment."

 

As We Rode Across The City To The New Railroad Terminus Craig

Hastily Informed Me Of What He Had Overheard. We Took Up Our Post

So That We Could See The Outgoing Travellers,  And A Few Minutes

Later Craig Spotted Our Man From Mcbride's Description,  And

Succeeded In Securing Chairs In The Same Car In Which He Was To

Ride.

 

Taken Altogether It Was An Uneventful Journey. For Five Mortal

Hours We Sat In The Pullman Or Toyed With Food In The Dining-Car,

Never Letting The Man Escape Our Sight,  Yet Never Letting Him Know

That We Were Watching Him. Nevertheless I Could Not Help Asking

Myself What Good It Did. Why Did Not Kennedy Hire A Special If The

Affair Was So Important As It Appeared? How Were We To Get Ahead

Of Him In Washington Better Than In New York? I Knew That Some

Plan Lurked Behind The Calm And Inscrutable Face Of Kennedy As I

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 110

Tried To Read And Could Not.

 

The Train Had Come To A Stop In The Union Station. Our Man Was

Walking Rapidly Up The Platform In The Direction Of The Cab Stand.

Suddenly Kennedy Darted Ahead And For A Moment We Were Walking

Abreast Of Him.

 

"I Beg Your Pardon," Began Craig As We Came To A Turn In The

Shadow Of The Arc Lights,  "But Have You A Match?"

 

The Man Halted And Fumbled For His Match-Box. Instantly Kennedy's

Pocket Handkerchief Was At His Nose.

 

"Some Of The Medicine Of Your Own Gang Of Endormeurs," Ground Out

Kennedy,  Crushing Several Of The Little Glass Globes Under His

Handkerchief To Make Doubly Sure Of Their Effect.

 

The Man Reeled And Would Have Fallen If We Had Not Caught Him

Between Us. Up The Platform We Led Him In A Daze.

 

"Here," Shouted Craig To A Cabman,  "My Friend Is Ill. Drive Us

Around A Bit. It Will Sober Him Up. Come On,  Walter,  Jump In,  The

Air Will Do Us All Good."

 

Those Who Were In Washington During That Summer Will Remember The

Suppressed Activity In The State,  War,  And Navy Departments On A

Certain Very Humid Night. Nothing Leaked Out At The Time As To The

Cause,  But It Was Understood Later That A Crisis Was Narrowly

Averted At A Very Inopportune Season,  For The Heads Of The

Departments Were All Away,  The President Was At His Summer Home In

The North,  And Even Some Of The Under-Secretaries Were Out Of

Town. Hasty Messages Had Been Sizzling Over The Wires In Cipher

And Code For Hours.

 

I Recall That As We Rode A Little Out Of Our Way Past The Army

Building,  Merely To See If There Was Any Excitement,  We Found It A

Blaze Of Lights. Something Was Plainly Afoot Even At This Usually

Dull Period Of The Year. There Was Treachery Of Some Kind And Some

Trusted Employee Was Involved,  I Felt Instinctively. As For Craig

He Merely Glanced At The Insensible Figure Between Us And Remarked

Sententiously That To His Knowledge There Was Only One Nation That

Made A Practice Of Carrying Out Its Diplomatic And Other Coups In

The Hot Weather,  A Remark Which I Understood To Mean That Our

Mission Was More Than Commonly Important.

 

The Man Had Not Recovered When We Arrived Within Several Blocks Of

Our Destination,  Nor Did He Show Signs Of Recovery From His

Profound Stupor. Kennedy Stopped The Cab In A Side Street,  Pressed

A Bill Into The Cabman's Hand,  And Bade Him Wait Until We

Returned.

 

We Had Turned The Corner Of Z Street And Were Approaching The

House When A Man Walking In The Opposite Direction Eyed Us

Suspiciously,  Turned,  And Followed Us A Step Or Two.

 

"Kennedy!" He Exclaimed.

 

If A Fourteen-Inch Gun Had Exploded Behind Us I Could Not Have

Been More Startled. Here,  In Spite Of All Our Haste And Secrecy We

Were Followed,  Watched,  And Beaten.

 

Craig Wheeled About Suddenly. Then He Took The Man By The Arm.

"Come," He Said Quickly,  And We Three Dove Into The Shadow Of An

Alley.

 

As We Paused,  Kennedy Was The First To Speak. "By Jove,  Walter,

It's Burke Of The Secret Service," He Exclaimed.

 

"Good," Repeated The Man With Some Satisfaction. "I See That You

Still Have That Memory For Faces." He Was Evidently Referring To

Our Experiences Together Some Months Before With The Portrait

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 111

Parle And Identification In The Counterfeiting Case Which Craig

Cleared Up For Him.

 

For A Moment Or Two Burke And Kennedy Spoke In Whispers. Under The

Dim Light From The Street I Could See Kennedy's Face Intent And

Working With Excitement.

 

"No Wonder The War Department Is A Blaze Of Lights," He Exclaimed

As We Moved Out Of The Shadow Again,  Leaving The Secret Service

Man. "Burke,  I Had No Idea When I Took Up This Case That I Should

Be Doing My Country A Service Also. We Must Succeed At Any Hazard.

The Moment You Hear A Pistol Shot,  Burke,  We Shall Need You. Force

The Door If It Is Not Already Open. You Were Right As To The

Street But Not The Number. It Is That House Over There. Come On,

Walter."

 

We Mounted The Low Steps Of The House And A Negress Answered The

Bell. "Is Mr. Gonzales In?" Asked Kennedy.

 

The Hallway Into Which We Were Admitted Was Dark But It Opened

Into A Sitting-Room,  Where A Dim Light Was Burning Behind The

Thick Portieres. Without A Word The Negress Ushered Us Into This

Room,  Which Was Otherwise Empty.

 

"Tell Him Mr. Montez Is Here," Added Craig As We Sat Down.

 

The Negress Disappeared Upstairs,  And In A Few Minutes Returned

With The Message That He Would Be Down Directly.

 

No Sooner Had The Shuffle Of Her Footsteps Died Away Than Kennedy

Was On His Feet,  Listening Intently At The Door. There Was No

Sound. He Took A Chair And Tiptoed Out Into The Dark Hall With It.

Turning It Upside Down He Placed It At The Foot Of The Stairs With

The Four Legs Pointing Obliquely Up. Then He Drew Me Into A Corner

With Him.

 

How Long We Waited I Cannot Say. The Next I Knew Was A Muffled

Step On The Landing Above,  Then The Tread On The Stairs.

 

A Crash And A Deep Volley Of Oaths In French Followed As The Man

Pitched Headlong Over The Chair On The Dark Steps.

 

Kennedy Whipped Out His Revolver And Fired Pointblank At The

Prostrate Figure. I Do Not Know What The Ethics Are Of Firing On A

Man When He Is Down,  Nor Did I Have Time To Stop To Think.

 

Craig Grasped My Arm And Pulled Me Toward The Door. A Sickening

Odour Seemed To Pervade The Air. Upstairs There Was Shouting And

Banging Of Doors.

 

"Closer,  Walter," He Muttered,  "Closer To The Door,  And Open It A

Little,  Or We Shall Both Be Suffocated. It Was The Secret Service

Gun I Shot Off--The Pistol That Shoots Stupefying Gas From Its

Vapour-Filled Cartridges And Enables You To Put A Criminal Out Of

Commission Without Killing Him. A Pull Of The Trigger,  The Cap

Explodes,  The Gunpowder And The Force Of The Explosion Unite Some

Capsicum And Lycopodium,  Producing The Blinding,  Suffocating

Vapour Whose Terrible Effect You See. Here,  You Upstairs," He

Shouted,  "Advance An Inch Or So Much As Show Your Heads Over The

Rail And I Pump A Shot At You,  Too. Walter,  Take The Gun Yourself.

Fire At A Move From Them. I Think The Gases Have Cleared Away

Enough Now. I Must Get Him Before He Recovers Consciousness."

 

A Tap At The Door Came,  And Without Taking My Eyes Off The Stairs

I Opened It. Burke Slid In And Gulped At The Nauseous Atmosphere.

 

"What's Up?" He Gasped. "I Heard A Shot. Where's Kennedy?"

 

I Motioned In The Darkness. Kennedy's Electric Bull's-Eye Flashed

Up At That Instant And We Saw Him Deftly Slip A Bright Pair Of

Manacles On The Wrists Of The Man On The Floor,  Who Was Breathing

Heavily,  While Blood Flowed From A Few Slight Cuts Due To His

Fall.

 

Dexterously As A Pickpocket Craig Reached Into The Man's Coat,

Pulled Out A Packet Of Papers,  And Gazed Eagerly At One After

Another. From Among Them He Unfolded One Written In French To

Madame Marie De Nevers Some Weeks Before. I Translate:

 

Dear Marie: Herr Schmidt Informs Me That His Agent In The War

Department At Washington,  U. S. A.,  Has Secured Some Important

Information Which Will Interest The Government For Which Herr

Schmidt Is The Agent--Of Course You Know Who That Is.

 

It Is Necessary That You Should Carry The Packet Which Will Be

Handed To You (If You Agree To My Proposal) To New York By The

Steamer Tripolitania. Go To The Vandeveer Hotel And In A Few Days,

As Soon As A Certain Exchange Can Be Made,  Either Our Friend In

Washington Or Myself Will Call On You,  Using The Name Gonzales. In

Return For The Package Which You Carry He Will Hand You Another.

Lose No Time In Bringing The Second Package Back To Paris.

 

I Have Arranged That You Will Receive Ten Thousand Francs And Your

Expenses For Your Services In This Matter. Under No Conditions

Betray Your Connection With Herr Schmidt. I Was To Have Carried

The Packet To America Myself And Make The Exchange But Knowing

Your Need Of Money I Have Secured The Work For You. You Had Better

Take Your Maid,  As It Is Much Better To Travel With Distinction In

This Case. If,  However,  You Accept This Commission I Shall

Consider You In Honour Bound To Surrender Your Claim Upon My Name

For Which I Agree To Pay You Fifty Thousand Francs Upon My

Marriage With The American Heiress Of Whom You Know. Please Let Me

Know Immediately Through Our Mutual Friend Henri Duval Whether

This Proposal Is Satisfactory. Henri Will Tell You That Fifty

Thousand Is My Ultimatum,

 

Chateaurouge.

 

"The Scoundrel," Ground Out Kennedy. "He Lured His Wife From Paris

To New York,  Thinking The Paris Police Too Acute For Him,  I

Suppose. Then By Means Of The Treachery Of The Maid Louise And His

Friend Duval,  A Crook Who Would Even Descend To Play The Part Of

Valet For Him And Fall In Love With The Maid,  He Has Succeeded In

Removing The Woman Who Stood Between Him And An American Fortune."

 

"Marie," Rambled Chateaurouge As He Came Blinking,  Sneezing,  And

Choking Out Of His Stupor,  "Marie,  You Are Clever,  But Not Too

Clever For Me. This Blackmailing Must Stop. Miss Lovelace Knows

Something,  Thanks To You,  But She Shall Never Know All--Never--

Never. You--You--Ugh!--Stop. Do You Think You Can Hold Me Back Now

With Those Little White Hands On My Wrists? I Wrench Them Loose--

So--And--Ugh!--What's This? Where Am I?"

 

The Man Gazed Dazedly At The Manacles That Held His Wrists Instead

Of The Delicate Hands He Had Been Dreaming Of As He Lived Over The

Terrible Scene Of His Struggle With The Woman Who Was His Wife In

The Vanderveer.

 

"Chateaurouge," Almost Hissed Kennedy In His Righteous Wrath,

"Fake Nobleman,  Real Swindler Of Five Continents. Marie De Nevers

Alive Stood In The Way Of Your Marriage To The Heiress Miss

Lovelace. Dead,  She Prevents It Absolutely."

 

Craig Continued To Turn Over The Papers In His Hand,  As He Spoke.

At Last He Came To A Smaller Packet In Oiled Silk. As He Broke The

Seal He Glanced At It In Surprise,  Then Hurriedly Exclaimed,

"There,  Burke. Take These To The War Department And Tell Them They

Can Turn Out Their Lights And Stop Their Telegrams. This Seems To

Be A Copy Of Our Government's Plans For The Fortification Of The

Panama Canal,  Heights Of Guns,  Location Of Searchlights,  Fire

Control Stations,  Everything From Painstaking Search Of Official

And Confidential Records. That Is What This Fellow Obtained In

Part 3 Chapter 9 (The Unofficial Spy) Pg 112

Exchange For His False Blue Prints Of The Supposed Coaling Station

On The Pacific.

 

"I Leave The Secret Service To Find The Leak In The War

Department. What I Am Interested In Is Not The Man Who Played Spy

For Two Nations And Betrayed One Of Them. To Me This Adventurer

Who Calls Himself Chateaurouge Is Merely The Murderer Of Madame De

Nevers."

 

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 113

 

 

It Was A Rather Sultry Afternoon In The Late Summer When People

Who Had Calculated By The Calendar Rather Than By The Weather Were

Returning To The City From The Seashore,  The Mountains,  And

Abroad.

 

Except For The Week-Ends,  Kennedy And I Had Been Pretty Busy,

Though On This Particular Day There Was A Lull In The Succession

Of Cases Which Had Demanded Our Urgent Attention During The

Summer.

 

We Had Met At The Public Library,  Where Craig Was Doing Some

Special Research At Odd Moments In Criminology. Fifth Avenue Was

Still Half Deserted,  Though The Few Pedestrians Who Had Returned

Or Remained In Town Like Ourselves Were,  As Usual,  To Be Found

Mostly On The West Side Of The Street. Nearly Everybody,  I Have

Noticed,  Walks On The One Side Of Fifth Avenue,  Winter Or Summer.

 

As We Stood On The Corner Waiting For The Traffic Man's Whistle To

Halt The Crush Of Automobiles,  A Man On The Top Of A 'Bus Waved To

Kennedy.

 

I Looked Up And Caught A Glimpse Of Jack Herndon,  An Old College

Mate,  Who Had Had Some Political Aspirations And Had Recently Been

Appointed To A Position In The Customs House Of New York. Herndon,

I May Add,  Represented The Younger And Clean-Cut Generation Which

Is Entering Official Life With Great Advantage To Both Themselves

And Politics.

 

The 'Bus Pulled Up To The Curb,  And Jack Tore Down The Breakneck

Steps Hurriedly.

 

"I Was Just Thinking Of You,  Craig," He Beamed As We All Shook

Hands,  "And Wondering Whether You And Walter Were In Town. I Think

I Should Have Come Up To See You To-Night,  Anyhow."

 

"Why,  What's The Matter--More Sugar Frauds?" Laughed Kennedy. "Or

Perhaps You Have Caught Another Art Dealer Red-Handed?"

 

"No,  Not Exactly," Replied Herndon,  Growing Graver For The Moment.

"We're Having A Big Shake-Up Down At The Office,  None Of Your 'New

Broom' Business,  Either. Real Reform It Is,  This Time."

 

"And You--Are You Going Or Coming?" Inquired Craig With An

Interested Twinkle.

 

"Coming,  Craig,  Coming," Answered Jack Enthusiastically. "They've

Put Me In Charge Of A Sort Of Detective Force As A Special Deputy

Surveyor To Rout Out Some Smuggling That We Know Is Going On. If I

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 114

Make Good It Will Go A Long Way For Me--With All This Talk Of

Efficiency And Economy Down In Washington These Days."

 

"What's On Your Mind Now?" Asked Kennedy Observantly. "Can I Help

You In Any Way?"

 

Herndon Had Taken Each Of Us By An Arm And Walked Us Over To A

Stone Bench In The Shade Of The Library Building.

 

"You Have Read The Accounts In The Afternoon Papers Of The

Peculiar Death Of Mademoiselle Violette,  The Little French

Modiste,  Up Here On Forty-Sixth Street?" He Inquired.

 

"Yes," Answered Kennedy. "What Has That To Do With Customs

Reform?"

 

"A Good Deal,  I Fear," Herndon Continued. "It's Part Of A Case

That Has Been Bothering Us All Summer. It's The First Really Big

Thing I've Been Up Against And It's As Ticklish A Bit Of Business

As Even A Veteran Treasury Agent Could Wish."

 

Herndon Looked Thoughtfully At The Passing Crowd On The Other Side

Of The Balustrade And Continued. "It Started,  Like Many Of Our

Cases,  With The Anonymous Letter Writer. Early In The Summer The

Letters Began To Come In To The Deputy Surveyor's Office,  All

Unsigned,  Though Quite Evidently Written In A Woman's Hand,

Disguised Of Course,  And On Rather Dainty Notepaper. They Warned

Us Of A Big Plot To Smuggle Gowns And Jewellery From Paris.

Smuggling Jewellery Is Pretty Common Because Jewels Take Up Little

Space And Are Very Valuable. Perhaps It Doesn't Sound To You Like

A Big Thing To Smuggle Dresses,  But When You Realise That One Of

Those Filmy Lacy Creations May Often Be Worth Several Hundred,  If

Not Thousand,  Dollars,  And That It Needs Only A Few Of Them On

Each Ship That Comes In To Run Up Into The Thousands,  Perhaps

Hundreds Of Thousands In A Season,  You Will See How Essential It

Is To Break Up That Sort Of Thing. We've Been Getting After The

Individual Private Smugglers Pretty Sharply This Summer And We've

Had Lots Of Criticism. If We Could Land A Big Fellow And Make An

Object-Lesson Of The Extent Of The Thing I Believe It Would Leave

Our Critics Of The Press Without A Leg To Stand On.

 

"At Least That Was Why I Was Interested In The Letters. But It Was

Not Until A Few Days Ago That We Got A Tip That Gave Us A Real

Working Clue,  For The Anonymous Letters Had Been Very Vague As To

Names,  Dates,  And Places,  Though Bold Enough As To General

Charges,  As If The Writer Were Fearful Of Incriminating Herself--

Or Himself. Strange To Say,  This New Clue Came From The Wife Of

One Of The Customs Men. She Happened To Be In A Broadway Manicure

Shop One Day When She Heard A Woman Talking With The Manicurist

About Fall Styles,  And She Was All Attention When She Heard The

Customer Say,  'You Remember Mademoiselle Violette's--That Place

That Had The Exquisite Things Straight From Paris,  And So Cheaply,

Too? Well,  Violette Says She'll Have To Raise Her Prices So That

They Will Be Nearly As High As The Regular Stores. She Says The

Tariff Has Gone Up,  Or Something,  But It Hasn't,  Has It?'

 

"The Manicurist Laughed Knowingly,  And The Next Remark Caught The

Woman's Attention. 'No,  Indeed. But Then,  I Guess She Meant That

She Had To Pay The Duty Now. You Know They Are Getting Much

Stricter. To Tell The Truth,  I Imagine Most Of Violette's Goods

Were--Well--'

 

"'Smuggled?' Supplied The Customer In An Undertone.

 

"The Manicurist Gave A Slight Shrug Of The Shoulders And A Bright

Little Yes Of A Laugh.

 

"That Was All. But It Was Enough. I Set A Special Customs Officer

To Watch Mademoiselle,  A Clever Fellow. He Didn't Have Time To

Find Out Much,  But On The Other Hand I Am Sure He Didn't Do

Anything To Alarm Mademoiselle. That Would Have Been A Bad Game.

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 115

His Case Was Progressing Favourably And He Had Become Acquainted

With One Of The Girls Who Worked In The Shop. We Might Have Got

Some Evidence,  But Suddenly This Morning He Walked Up To My Desk

And Handed Me An Early Edition Of An Afternoon Paper. Mademoiselle

Violette Had Been Discovered Dead In Her Shop By The Girls When

They Came To Work This Morning. Apparently She Had Been There All

Night,  But The Report Was Quite Indefinite And I Am On My Way Up

There Now To Meet The Coroner,  Who Has Agreed To Wait For Me."

 

"You Think There Is Some Connection Between Her Death And The

Letters?" Put In Craig.

 

"Of Course I Can't Say,  Yet," Answered Herndon Dubiously. "The

Papers Seem To Think It Was A Suicide. But Then Why Should She

Commit Suicide? My Man Found Out That Among The Girls It Was

Common Gossip That She Was To Marry Jean Pierre,  The Fifth Avenue

Jeweller,  Of The Firm Of Lang Goods By Americans Abroad. Well,  The

Chief Of Our Men In Paris Cables Me That Pierre Is Known To Have

Made Extraordinarily Heavy Purchases Of Made-Up Jewellery This

Season. For One Thing,  We Believe He Has Acquired From A Syndicate

A Rather Famous Diamond Necklace Which It Has Taken Years To

Assemble And Match Up,  Worth About Three Hundred Thousand. You

Know The Duty On Made-Up Jewellery Is Sixty Per Cent.,  And Even If

He Brought The Stones In Loose It Would Be Ten Per Cent.,  Which On

A Valuation Of,  Say,  Two Hundred Thousand,  Means Twenty Thousand

Dollars Duty Alone. Then He Has A Splendid 'Dog Collar' Of Pearls,

And,  Oh,  A Lot Of Other Stuff. I Know Because We Get Our Tips From

All Sorts Of Sources And They Are Usually Pretty Straight. Some

Come From Dealers Who Are Sore About Not Making Sales Themselves.

So You See There Is A Good Deal At Stake In This Case And It May

Be That In Following It Out We Shall Kill More Than One Bird. I

Wish You'd Come Along With Me Up To Mademoiselle Violette's And

Give Me An Opinion."

 

Craig Had Already Risen From The Bench And We Were Walking Up The

Avenue.

 

The Establishment Of Mademoiselle Violette Consisted Of A Three-

Story And Basement Brownstone House In Which The Basement And

First Floor Had Been Remodelled For Business Purposes.

Mademoiselle's Place,  Which Was On The First Floor,  Was Announced

To The World By A Neat Little Oval Gilt Sign On The Handrailing Of

The Steps.

 

We Ascended And Rang The Bell. As We Waited I Noticed That There

Were Several Other Modistes On The Same Street,  While Almost

Directly Across Was A Sign Which Proclaimed That On September 15

Mademoiselle Gabrielle Would Open With A High Class Exhibition Of

Imported Gowns From Paris.

 

We Entered. The Coroner And An Undertaker Were Already There,  And

The Former Was Expecting Herndon. Kennedy And I Had Already Met

Him And He Shook Hands Cordially.

 

Mademoiselle Violette,  It Seemed,  Had Rented The Entire House And

Then Had Sublet The Basement To A Milliner,  Using The First Floor

Herself,  The Second As A Workroom For The Girls Whom She Employed,

While She Lived On The Top Floor,  Which Had Been Fitted For Light

Housekeeping With A Kitchenette. It Was In The Back Room Of The

Shop Itself On The First Floor That Her Body Had Been Discovered,

Lying On A Davenport.

 

"The Newspaper Reports Were Very Indefinite," Began Herndon,

Endeavouring To Take In The Situation. "I Suppose They Told Nearly

All The Story,  But What Caused Her Death? Have You Found That Out

Yet? Was It Poison Or Violence?"

 

The Coroner Said Nothing,  But With A Significant Glance At Kennedy

He Drew A Peculiar Contrivance From His Pocket. It Had Four Round

Holes In It And Through Each Hole He Slipped A Finger,  Then Closed

His Hand,  And Exhibited His Clenched Fist. It Looked As If He Wore

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 116

A Series Of Four Metal Rings On His Fingers.

 

"Brass Knuckles?" Suggested Herndon,  Looking Hastily At The Body,

Which Showed Not A Sign Of Violence On The Stony Face.

 

The Coroner Shook His Head Knowingly. Suddenly He Raised His Fist.

I Saw Him Press Hard With His Thumb On The Upper End Of The Metal

Contrivance. From The Other End,  Just Concealed Under His Little

Finger,  There Shot Out As If Released By A Magic Spring A Thin

Keen Little Blade Of The Brightest And Toughest Steel. He Was

Holding,  Instead Of A Meaningless Contrivance Of Four Rings,  A

Most Dangerous Kind Of Stiletto Or Dagger Upraised. He Lifted His

Thumb And The Blade Sprang Back Into Its Sheath Like An

Extinguished Spark Of Light.

 

"An Apache Dagger,  Such As Is Used In The Underworld Of Paris,"

Broke Out Kennedy,  His Eyes Gleaming With Interest.

 

The Coroner Nodded. "We Found It," He Said,  "Clasped Loosely In

Her Hand. But It Is Only By Expert Medical Testimony That We Can

Determine Whether It Was Placed On Her Fingers Before Or After

This Happened. We Have Photographed It,  And The Prints Are Being

Developed."

 

He Had Now Uncovered The Slight Figure Of The Little French

Modiste. On The Dress,  Instead Of The Profuse Flow Of Blood Which

We Had Expected To See,  There Was A Single Round Spot. And In The

White Marble Skin Of Her Breast Was A Little,  Nearly Microscopic

Puncture,  Directly Over The Heart.

 

"She Must Have Died Almost Instantly," Commented Kennedy,  Glancing

From The Apache Weapon To The Dead Woman And Back Again. "Internal

Hemorrhage. I Suppose You Have Searched Her Effects. Have You

Found Anything That Gives A Hint Among Them?"

 

"No," Replied The Coroner Doubtfully,  "I Can't Say We Have--Unless

It Is The Bundle Of Letters From Pierre,  The Jeweller. They Seem

To Have Been Engaged,  And Yet The Letters Stopped Abruptly,  And,

Well,  From The Tone Of The Last One From Him I Should Say There

Was A Quarrel Brewing."

 

An Exclamation From Herndon Followed. "The Same Notepaper And The

Same Handwriting As The Anonymous Letters," He Cried.

 

But That Was All. Go Over The Ground As Kennedy Might He Could

Find Nothing Further Than The Coroner And Herndon Had Already

Revealed.

 

"About These People,  Lang & Pierre," Asked Craig Thoughtfully When

We Had Left Mademoiselle's And Were Riding Downtown To The Customs

House With Herndon. "What Do You Know About Them? I Presume That

Lang Is In America,  If His Partner Is Abroad."

 

"Yes,  He Is Here In New York. I Believe The Firm Has A Rather

Unsavoury Reputation; They Have To Be Watched,  I Am Told. Then,

Too,  One Or The Other Of The Partners Makes Frequent Trips Abroad,

Mostly Pierre. Pierre,  As You See,  Was Very Intimate With

Mademoiselle,  And The Letters Simply Confirm What The Girls Told

My Detective. He Was Believed To Be Engaged To Her And I See No

Reason Now To Doubt That. The Fact Is,  Kennedy,  It Wouldn't

Surprise Me In The Least To Learn That It Was He Who Engineered

The Smuggling For Her As Well As Himself."

 

"What About The Partner? What Role Does He Play In Your

Suspicions?"

 

"That's Another Curious Feature. Lang Doesn't Seem To Bother Much

With The Business. He Is A Sort Of Silent Partner,  Although

Nominally The Head Of The Firm. Still,  They Both Seem Always To Be

Plentifully Supplied With Money And To Have A Good Trade. Lang

Lives Most Of The Time Up On The West Shore Of The Hudson,  And

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 117

Seems To Be More Interested In His Position As Commodore Of The

Riverledge Yacht Club Than In His Business Down Here. He Is Quite

A Sport,  A Great Motor-Boat Enthusiast,  And Has Lately Taken To

Hydroplanes."

 

"I Meant," Repeated Kennedy,  "What About Lang And Mademoiselle

Violette. Were They--Ah--Friendly?"

 

"Oh," Replied Herndon,  Seeming To Catch The Idea. "I See. Of

Course--Pierre Abroad And Lang Here. I See What You Mean. Why,  The

Girl Told My Man That Mademoiselle Violette Used To Go Motor-

Boating With Lang,  But Only When Her Fiance,  Pierre,  Was Along.

No,  I Don't Think She Ever Had Anything To Do With Lang,  If That's

What You Are Driving At. He May Have Paid Attentions To Her,  But

Pierre Was Her Lover,  And I Haven't A Doubt But That If Lang Made

Any Advances She Repelled Them. She Seems To Have Thought

Everything Of Pierre."

 

We Had Reached Herndon's Office By This Time. Leaving Word With

His Stenographer To Get The Very Latest Reports From La Montaigne,

He Continued Talking To Us About His Work.

 

"Dressmakers,  Milliners,  And Jewellers Are Our Worst Offenders

Now," He Remarked As We Stood Gazing Out Of The Window At The

Panorama Of The Bay Off The Sea-Wall Of The Battery. "Why,  Time

And Again We Unearth What Looks For All The World Like A

'Dressmakers' Syndicate,' Though This Case Is The First I've Had

That Involved A Death. Really,  I've Come To Look On Smuggling As

One Of The Fine Arts Among Crimes. Once The Smuggler,  Like The

Pirate And The Highwayman,  Was A Sort Of Gentleman-Rogue. But Now

It Has Become A Very Ladylike Art. The Extent Of It Is Almost

Beyond Belief,  Too. It Begins With The Steerage And Runs Right Up

To The Absolute Unblushing Cynicism Of The First Cabin. I Suppose

You Know That Women,  Particularly A Certain Brand Of Society

Women,  Are The Worst And Most Persistent Offenders. Why,  They Even

Boast Of It. Smuggling Isn't Merely Popular--It's Aristocratic.

But We're Going To Take Some Of The Flavour Out Of It Before We

Finish."

 

He Tore Open A Cable Message Which A Boy Had Brought In. "Now,

Take This,  For Instance," He Continued. "You Remember The Sign

Across The Street From Mademoiselle Violette's,  Announcing That A

Mademoiselle Gabrielle Was Going To Open A Salon Or Whatever They

Call It? Well,  Here's Another Cable From Our Paris Secret Service

With A Belated Tip. They Tell Us To Look Out For A Mademoiselle

Gabrielle--On La Montaigne,  Too. That's Another Interesting Thing.

You Know The Various Lines Are All Ranked,  At Least In Our

Estimation,  According To The Likelihood Of Such Offences Being

Perpetrated By Their Passengers. We Watch Ships From London,

Liverpool,  And Paris Most Carefully. Scandinavian Ships Are The

Least Likely To Need Watching. Well,  Miss Roberts?"

 

"We Have Just Had A Wireless About La Montaigne" Reported His

Stenographer,  Who Had Entered While He Was Speaking,  "And She Is

Three Hundred Miles East Of Sandy Hook. She Won't Dock Until To-

Morrow."

 

"Thank You. Well,  Fellows,  It Is Getting Late And That Means

Nothing More Doing To-Night. Can You Be Here Early In The Morning?

We'll Go Down The Bay And 'Bring In The Ship,' As Our Men Call It

When The Deputy Surveyor And His Acting Deputies Go Down To Meet

It At Quarantine. I Can't Tell You How Much I Appreciate Your

Kindness In Helping Me. If My Men Get Anything Connecting Lang

With Mademoiselle Violette's Case I'll Let You Know Immediately."

 

It Was A Bright Clear Snappy Morning,  In Contrast With The Heat Of

The Day Before,  When We Boarded The Revenue Tug At The Barge

Office. The Waters Of The Harbour Never Looked More Blue As They

Danced In The Early Sunlight,  Flecked Here And There By A Foaming

Whitecap As The Conflicting Tides Eddied About. The Shores Of

Staten Island Were Almost As Green As In The Spring,  And Even The

Haze Over The Brooklyn Factories Had Lifted. It Looked Almost Like

A Stage Scene,  Clear And Sharp,  New And Brightly Coloured.

 

Perhaps The Least Known And Certainly One Of The Least Recognised

Of The Government Services Is That Which Includes The Vigilant

Ships Of The Revenue Service. It Was Not A Revenue Cutter,

However,  On Which We Were Ploughing Down The Bay. The Cutter Lay,

White And Gleaming In The Morning Sun,  At Anchor Off Stapleton,

Like A Miniature Warship,  Saluting As We Passed. The Revenue Boats

Which Steam Down To Quarantine And Make Fast To The Incoming Ocean

Greyhounds Are Revenue Tugs.

 

Down The Bay We Puffed And Buffeted For About Forty Minutes Before

We Arrived At The Little Speck Of An Island That Is Quarantine.

Long Before We Were There We Sighted The Great La Montaigne Near

The Group Of Buildings On The Island,  Where She Had Been Waiting

Since Early Morning For The Tide And The Customs Officials. The

Tug Steamed Alongside,  And Quickly Up The High Ladders Swarmed The

Boarding Officer And The Deputy Collectors. We Followed Herndon

Straight To The Main Saloon,  Where The Collectors Began To Receive

The Declarations Which Had Been Made Out On Blanks Furnished To

The Passengers On The Voyage Over. They Had Had Several Days To

Write Them Out--The Less Excuse For Omissions.

 

Glancing At Each Hastily The Collector Detached From It The Slip

With The Number At The Bottom And Handed The Number Back,  To Be

Presented At The Inspector's Desk At The Pier,  Where Customs

Inspectors Were Assigned In Turn.

 

"Number 140 Is The One We Want To Watch," I Heard Herndon Whisper

To Kennedy. "That Tall Dark Fellow Over There."

 

I Followed His Direction Cautiously And Saw A Sparely Built,

Striking Looking Man Who Had Just Filed His Declaration And Was

Chatting Vivaciously With A Lady Who Was Just About To File Hers.

She Was A Clinging Looking Little Thing With That Sort Of Doll-

Like Innocence That Deceives Nobody.

 

"No,  You Don't Have To Swear To It," He Said. "You Used To Do

That,  But Now You Simply Sign Your Name--And Take A Chance," He

Added,  Smiling And Showing A Row Of Perfect Teeth.

 

"Number 156," Herndon Noted As The Collector Detached The Stub And

Handed It To Her. "That Was Mademoiselle Gabrielle."

 

The Couple Passed Out To The Deck,  Still Chatting Gaily.

 

"In The Old Days,  Before They Got To Be So Beastly Particular," I

Heard Him Say,  "I Always Used To Get The Courtesy Of The Port,  An

Official Expedite. But That Is Over Now."

 

The Ship Was Now Under Way,  Her Flags Snapping In The Brisk

Coolish Breeze That Told Of Approaching Autumn. We Had Passed Up

The Lower Bay And The Narrows,  And The Passengers Were Crowded

Forward To Catch The First Glimpse Of The Skyscrapers Of New York.

 

On Up The Bay We Ploughed,  Throwing The Spray Proudly As We Went

Herndon Employed The Time In Keeping A Sharp Watch On The Tall,

Thin Man. Incidentally He Sought Out The Wireless Operator And

From Him Learned That A Code Wireless Message Had Been Received

For Pierre,  Apparently From His Partner,  Lang.

 

"There Is No Mention Of Anything Dutiable In This Declaration By

140 Which Corresponds With Any Of The Goods Mentioned In The First

Cable From Paris," A Collector Remarked Unobtrusively To Herndon,

"Nor In 156 Corresponding To The Second Cable."

 

"I Didn't Suppose There Would Be," Was His Laconic Reply. "That's

Our Job--To Find The Stuff."

 

At Last La Montaigne Was Warped Into The Dock. The Piles Of First-

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 118

Class Baggage On The Ship Were Raucously Deposited On The Wharf

And Slowly The Passengers Filed Down The Plank To Meet The Line Of

White-Capped Uniformed Inspectors And Plain-Clothes Appraisers.

The Comedy And Tragedy Of The Customs Inspection Had Begun.

 

We Were Among The First To Land. Herndon Took Up A Position From

Which He Could See Without Being Seen. In The Semi-Light Of The

Little Windows In The Enclosed Sides Of The Pier,  Under The Steel

Girders Of The Arched Roof Like A Vast Hall,  There Was A Panorama

Of A Huge Mass Of Open Luggage.

 

At Last Number 140 Came Down,  Alone,  To The Roped-Off Dock. He

Walked Nonchalantly Over To The Little Deputy Surveyor's Desk,  And

An Inspector Was Quickly Assigned To Him. It Was All Done Neatly

In The Regular Course Of Business Apparently. He Did Not Know That

In The Orderly Rush The Sharpest Of Herndon's Men Had Been Picked

Out,  Much As A Trick Card Player Will Force A Card On His Victim.

 

Already The Customs Inspection Was Well Along. One Inspector Had

Been Assigned To About Each Five Passengers,  And Big Piles Of

Finery Were Being Remorselessly Tumbled Out In Shapeless Heaps And

Exposed To The Gaze Of That Part Of The Public Which Was Not Too

Much Concerned Over The Same Thing As To Its Own Goods And

Chattels. Reticules And Purses Were Being Inspected. Every Trunk

Was Presumed To Have A False Bottom,  And Things Wrapped Up In

Paper Were Viewed Suspiciously And Unrolled. Clothes Were Being

Shaken And Pawed. There Did Not Seem To Be Much Opportunity For

Concealment.

 

Herndon Now Had Donned The Regulation Straw Hat Of The Appraiser,

And Accompanied By Us,  Posing As Visitors,  Was Sauntering About.

At Last We Came Within Earshot Of The Spot Where The Inspector Was

Going Through The Effects Of 140.

 

Out Of The Corner Of My Eyes I Could See That A Dispute Was In

Progress Over Some Trifling Matter. The Man Was Cool And Calm.

"Call The Appraiser," He Said At Last,  With The Air Of A Man

Standing On His Rights. "I Object To This Frisking Of Passengers.

Uncle Sam Is Little Better Than A Pickpocket. Besides,  I Can't

Wait Here All Day. My Partner Is Waiting For Me Uptown."

 

Herndon Immediately Took Notice. But It Was Quite Evidently,  After

All,  Only An Altercation For The Benefit Of Those Who Were

Watching. I Am Sure He Knew He Was Being Watched,  But As The

Dispute Proceeded He Assumed The Look Of A Man Keenly Amused. The

Matter,  Involving Only A Few Dollars,  Was Finally Adjusted By His

Yielding Gracefully And With An Air Of Resignation. Still Herndon

Did Not Go And I Am Sure It Annoyed Him.

 

Suddenly He Turned And Faced Herndon. I Could Not Help Thinking,

In Spite Of All That He Must Be So Expert,  That,  If He Really Were

A Smuggler,  He Had All The Poise And Skill At Evasion That Would

Entitle Him To Be Called A Cast Master Of The Art.

 

"You See That Woman Over There?" He Whispered. "She Says She Is

Just Coming Home After Studying Music In Paris."

 

We Looked. It Was The Guileless Ingenue,  Mademoiselle Gabrielle.

 

"She Has Dutiable Goods,  All Right. I Saw Her Declaration. She Is

Trying To Bring In As Personal Effects Of A Foreign Resident Gowns

Which,  I Believe,  She Intends To Wear On The Stage. She's An

Actress."

 

There Was Nothing For Herndon To Do But To Act On The Tip. The Man

Had Got Rid Of Us Temporarily,  But We Knew The Inspector Would Be,

If Anything,  More Vigilant. I Think He Took Even Longer Than

Usual.

 

Mademoiselle Gabrielle And Her Maid Pouted And Fussed Over The

Renewed Examination Which Herndon Ordered. According To The

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 119

Inspector Everything Was New And Expensive; According To Her,  Old,

Shabby,  And Cheap. She Denied Everything,  Raged And Threatened.

But When,  Instead Of Ordering The Stamp "Passed" To Be Placed On

Her Half Dozen Trunks And Bags Which Contained In Reality Only A

Few Dutiable Articles,  Herndon Threatened To Order Them To The

Appraiser's Stores And Herself To Go To The Law Division If She

Did Not Admit The Points In Dispute,  There Was A Real Scene.

 

"Generally,  Madame," He Remonstrated,  Though I Could See He Was

Baffled At Finding Nothing Of The Goods He Had Really Expected To

Find,  "Generally Even For A First Offence The Goods Are

Confiscated And The Court Or District Attorney Is Content To Let

The Person Off With A Fine. If This Happens Again We'll Be More

Severe. So You Had Better Pay The Duty On These Few Little

Matters,  Without That."

 

If He Had Been Expecting To "Throw A Scare" Into Her,  It Did Not

Succeed. "Well,  I Suppose If I Must,  I Must," She Said,  And The

Only Result Of The Diversion Was That She Paid A Few Dollars More

Than Had Been Expected And Went Off In A High State Of Mind.

 

Herndon Had Disappeared For A Moment,  After A Whisper From

Kennedy,  To Instruct Two Of His Men To Shadow Mademoiselle

Gabrielle And,  Later,  Pierre. He Soon Rejoined Us And We Casually

Returned To The Vicinity Of Our Tall Friend,  Number 140,  For Whom

I Felt Even Less Respect Than Ever After His Apparently Ungallant

Action Toward The Lady He Had Been Talking With. He Seemed To

Notice My Attitude And He Remarked Defensively For My Benefit,

"Only A Patriotic Act."

 

His Inspector By This Time Had Finished A Most Minute Examination.

There Was Nothing That Could Be Discovered,  Not A False Book With

A Secret Spring That Might Disclose Instead Of Reading Matter A

Heap Of Almost Priceless Jewels,  Not A Suspicious Bulging Of Any

Garment Or Of The Lining Of A Trunk Or Grip. Some Of The Goods

Might Have Been On His Person,  But Not Much,  And Certainly There

Was No Excuse For Ordering A Personal Examination,  For He Could

Not Have Hidden A Tenth Part Of What We Knew He Had,  Even Under

The Proverbial Porous Plaster. He Was Impeccable. Accordingly

There Was Nothing For The Inspector To Do But To Declare A Polite

Armistice.

 

"So You Didn't Find 'Mona Lisa' In A False Bottom,  And My Trunks

Were Not Lined With Smuggled Cigars After All," He Rasped Savagely

As The Stamp "Passed" Was At Last Affixed And He Paid In Cash At

The Little Window With Its Sign,  "Pay Duty Here: U. S. Custom

House," Some Hundred Dollars Instead Of The Thousands Herndon Had

Been Hoping To Collect,  If Not To Seize.

 

All Through The Inspection,  An Extra Close Scrutiny Had Been Kept

On The Other Passengers As Well,  To Prevent Any Of Them From Being

In League With The Smugglers,  Though There Was No Direct Or

Indirect Evidence To Show That Any Of The Others Were.

 

We Were About To Leave The Wharf,  Also,  When Craig's Attention Was

Called To A Stack Of Trunks Still Remaining.

 

"Whose Are Those?" He Asked As He Lifted One. It Felt Suspiciously

Light.

 

"Some Of Them Belong To A Mr. Pierre And The Rest To A Miss

Gabrielle," Answered An Inspector. "Bonded For Troy And Waiting To

Be Transferred By The Express Company."

 

Here,  Perhaps,  At Last Was An Explanation,  And Craig Took

Advantage Of It. Could It Be That The Real Seat Of Trouble Was Not

Here But At Some Other Place,  That Some Exchange Was To Be Made En

Route Or Perhaps An Attempt At Bribery?

 

Herndon,  Too,  Was Willing To Run A Risk. He Ordered The Trunks

Opened Immediately. But To Our Disappointment They Were Almost

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 120

Empty. There Was Scarcely A Thing Of Value In Them. Most Of The

Contents Consisted Of Clothes That Had Plainly Been Made In

America And Were Being Brought Back Here. It Was Another False

Scent. We Had Been Played With And Baffled At Every Turn. Perhaps

This Had Been The Method Originally Agreed On. At Any Rate It Had

Been Changed.

 

"Could They Have Left The Goods In Paris,  After All?" I Queried.

 

"With The Fall And Winter Trade Just Coming On?" Kennedy Replied,

With An Air Of Finality That Set At Rest Any Doubts About His

Opinion On That Score. "I Thought Perhaps We Had A Case Of--What

Do You Call It,  Herndon,  When They Leave Trunks That Are To Be

Secretly Removed By Dishonest Expressmen From The Wharf At Night?"

 

"'Sleepers.' Oh,  We've Broken That Up,  Too. No Expressman Would

Dare Try It Now. I Must Confess This Thing Is Beyond Me,  Craig."

 

Kennedy Made No Answer. Evidently There Was Nothing To Do But To

Await Developments And See What Herndon's Men Reported. We Had

Been Beaten At Every Turn In The Game. Herndon Seemed To Feel That

There Was A Bitter Sting In The Defeat,  Particularly Because The

Smuggler Or Smugglers Had Actually Been In Our Grasp So Long To Do

With As We Pleased,  And Had So Cleverly Slipped Out Again,  Leaving

Us Holding The Bag.

 

Kennedy Was Especially Thoughtful As He Told Over The Facts Of The

Case In His Mind. "Of Course," He Remarked,  "Mademoiselle

Gabrielle Wasn't An Actress. But We Can't Deny That She Had Very

Little That Would Justify Herndon In Holding Her,  Unless He Simply

Wants A Newspaper Row."

 

"But I Thought Pierre Was Quite Intimate With Her At First," I

Ventured. "That Was A Dirty Trick Of His."

 

Craig Laughed. "You Mean An Old One. That Was Simply A Blind,  To

Divert Attention From Himself. I Suspect They Talked That Over

Between Themselves For Days Before."

 

It Was Plainly More Perplexing Than Ever. What Had Happened? Had

Pierre Been A Prestidigitator And Had He Merely Said Presto! When

Our Backs Were Turned And Whisked The Goods Invisibly Into The

Country? I Could Find No Explanation For The Little Drama On The

Pier. If Herndon's Men Had Any Genius In Detecting Smuggling,

Their Professional Opponent Certainly Had Greater Genius In

Perpetrating It.

 

We Did Not See Herndon Again Until After A Hasty Luncheon. He Was

In His Office And Inclined To Take A Pessimistic View Of The Whole

Affair. He Brightened Up When A Telephone Message Came In From One

Of His Shadows. The Men Trailing Pierre And Mademoiselle Gabrielle

Had Crossed Trails And Run Together At A Little French Restaurant

On The Lower West Side,  Where Pierre,  Lang,  And Mademoiselle

Gabrielle Had Met And Were Dining In A Most Friendly Spirit.

Kennedy Was Right. She Had Been Merely A Cog In The Machinery Of

The Plot.

 

The Man Reported That Even When A Newsboy Had Been Sent In By Him

With The Afternoon Papers Displaying In Big Headlines The Mystery

Of The Death Of Mademoiselle Violette,  They Had Paid No Attention.

It Seemed Evident That Whatever The Fate Of The Modiste,

Mademoiselle Gabrielle Had Quite Replaced Her In The Affections Of

Pierre. There Was Nothing For Us To Do But To Separate And Await

Developments.

 

It Was Late In The Afternoon When Craig And I Received A Hurried

Message From Herndon. One Of His Men Had Just Called Him Up Over

Long Distance From Riverledge. The Party Had Left The Restaurant

Hurriedly,  And Though They Had Taken The Only Taxicab In Sight He

Had Been Able To Follow Them In Time To Find Out That They Were

Going Up To Riverledge. They Were Now Preparing To Go Out For A

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 121

Sail In One Of Lang's Motor-Boats And He Would Be Unable,  Of

Course,  To Follow Them Further.

 

For The Remainder Of The Afternoon Kennedy Remained Pondering The

Case. At Last An Idea Seemed To Dawn On Him. He Found Herndon

Still At His Office And Made An Appointment To Meet On The

Waterfront Near La Montaigne's Pier,  After Dinner. The Change In

Kennedy's Spirits Was Obvious,  Though It Did Not In The Least

Enlighten My Curiosity. Even After A Dinner Which Was Lengthened

Out Considerably,  I Thought,  I Did Not Get Appreciably Nearer A

Solution,  For We Strolled Over To The Laboratory,  Where Craig

Loaded Me Down With A Huge Package Which Was Wrapped Up In Heavy

Paper.

 

We Arrived On The Corner Opposite The Wharf Just As It Was Growing

Dusk. The Neighbourhood Did Not Appeal To Me At Night,  And Even

Though There Were Two Of Us I Was Rather Glad When We Met Herndon,

Who Was Waiting In The Shadow Of A Fruit Stall.

 

But Instead Of Proceeding Across To The Pier By The Side Of Which

La Montaigne Was Moored,  We Cut Across The Wide Street And Turned

Down The Next Pier,  Where A Couple Of Freighters Were Lying. The

Odour Of Salt Water,  Sewage,  Rotting Wood,  And The Night Air Was

Not Inspiring. Nevertheless I Was Now Carried Away With The

Strangeness Of Our Adventure.

 

Halfway Down The Pier Kennedy Paused Before One Of The Gangways

That Was Shrouded In Darkness. The Door Was Opened And We Followed

Gingerly Across The Dirty Deck Of The Freight Ship. Below We Could

Hear The Water Lapping The Piles Of The Pier. Across A Dark Abyss

Lay The Grim Monster La Montaigne With Here And There A Light

Gleaming On One Of Her Decks. The Sounds Of The City Seemed Miles

Away.

 

"What A Fine Place For A Murder," Laughed Kennedy Coolly. He Was

Unwrapping The Package Which He Had Taken From Me. It Proved To Be

A Huge Reflector In Front Of Which Was Placed A Little Arrangement

Which,  Under The Light Of A Shaded Lantern Carried By Herndon,

Looked Like A Coil Of Wire Of Some Kind.

 

To The Back Of The Reflector Craig Attached Two Other Flexible

Wires Which Led To A Couple Of Dry Cells And A Cylinder With A

Broadened End,  Made Of Vulcanised Rubber. It Might Have Been A

Telephone Receiver,  For All I Could Tell In The Darkness.

 

While I Was Still Speculating On The Possible Use Of The Enormous

Parabolic Reflector,  A Slight Commotion On The Opposite Side Of

The Pier Distracted My Attention. A Ship Was Coming In And Was

Being Carefully And Quietly Berthed Alongside The Other Big Iron

Freighter On That Side. Herndon Had Left Us.

 

"The Mohican Is Here," He Remarked As He Rejoined Us. To My Look

Of Inquiry He Added,  "The Revenue Cutter."

 

Kennedy Had Now Finished And Had Pointed The Reflector Full At La

Montaigne. With A Whispered Hasty Word Of Caution And Advice To

Herndon,  He Drew Me Along With Him Down The Wharf Again.

 

At The Little Door Which Was Cut In The Barrier Guarding The Shore

End Of La Montaigne's Wharf Kennedy Stopped. The Customs Service

Night Watchman--There Is Always A Watchman Of Some Kind Aboard

Every Ship,  Passenger Or Freighter,  All The Time She Is In Port--

Seemed To Understand,  For He Admitted Us After A Word With

Kennedy.

 

Threading Our Way Carefully Among The Boxes,  And Bales,  And Crates

Which Were Piled High,  We Proceeded Down The Wharf. Under The

Electric Lights The Longshoremen Were Working Feverishly,  For The

Unloading And Loading Of A Giant Trans-Atlantic Vessel In The Rush

Season Is A Long And Tedious Process At Best,  Requiring Night Work

And Overtime,  For Every Moment,  Like Every Cubic Foot Of Space,

Counts.

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 122

Once Within The Door,  However,  No One Paid Much Attention To Us.

They Seemed To Take It For Granted That We Had Some Right There.

We Boarded The Ship By One Of The Many Entrances And Then

Proceeded Down To A Deck Where Apparently No One Was Working. It

Was More Like A Great House Than A Ship,  I Felt,  And I Wondered

Whether Kennedy's Search Was Not More Of A Hunt For A Needle In A

Haystack Than Anything Else. Yet He Seemed To Know What He Was

After.

 

We Had Descended To What I Imagined Must Be The Quarters Of The

Steward. About Us Were Many Large Cases And Chests,  Stacked Up And

Marked As Belonging To The Ship. Kennedy's Attention Was Attracted

To Them Immediately. All At Once It Flashed On Me What His Purpose

Was. In Some Of Those Cases Were The Smuggled Goods!

 

Before I Could Say A Word And Before Kennedy Had A Chance Even To

Try To Verify His Suspicions,  A Sudden Approach Of Footsteps

Startled Us. He Drew Me Into A Cabin Or Room Full Of Shelves With

Ship's Stores.

 

"Why Didn't You Bring Herndon Over And Break Into The Boxes,  If

You Think The Stuff Is Hidden In One Of Them?" I Whispered.

 

"And Let Those Higher Up Escape While Their Tools Take All The

Blame?" He Answered. "Sh-H."

 

The Men Who Had Come Into The Compartment Looked About As If

Expecting To See Some One.

 

"Two Of Them Came Down," A Gruff Voice Said. "Where Are They?"

 

From The Noise I Inferred That There Must Be Four Or Five Men,  And

From The Ease With Which They Shifted The Cases About Some Of Them

Must Have Been Pretty Husky Stevedores.

 

"I Don't Know," A More Polished But Unfamiliar Voice Answered.

 

The Door To Our Hiding-Place Was Opened Roughly And Then Banged

Shut Before We Realised It. With A Taunting Laugh,  Some One Turned

A Key In The Lock And Before We Could Move A Quick Shift Of

Packing Cases Against The Door Made Escape Impossible.

 

Here We Were Marooned,  Shanghaied,  As It Were,  Within Sight If Not

Call Of Herndon And Our Friends. We Had Run Up Against

Professional Smugglers,  Of Whom I Had Vaguely Read,  Disguised As

Stewards,  Deckhands,  Stokers,  And Other Workers.

 

The Only Other Opening To The Cabin Was A Sort Of Porthole,  More

For Ventilation Than Anything Else. Kennedy Stuck His Head Through

It,  But It Was Impossible For A Man To Squeeze Out. There Was One

Of The Lower Decks Directly Before Us While A Bright Arc Light

Gleamed Tantalisingly Over It,  Throwing A Round Circle Of Light

Into Our Prison. I Reflected Bitterly On Our Shipwreck Within

Sight Of Port.

 

Kennedy Remained Silent,  And I Did Not Know What Was Working In

His Mind. Together We Made Out The Outline Of The Freighter At The

Next Wharf And Speculated As To The Location Where We Had Left

Herndon With The Huge Reflector. There Was No Moon And It Was As

Black As Ink In That Direction,  But If We Could Have Got Out I

Would Have Trusted To Luck To Reach It By Swimming.

 

Below Us,  From The Restless Water Lapping On The Sides Of The Hulk

Of La Montaigne,  We Could Now Hear Muffled Sounds. It Was A Motor-

Boat Which Had Come Crawling Up The River Front,  With Lights

Extinguished,  And Had Pushed A Cautious Nose Into The Slip Where

Our Ship Lay At The Quay. None Of Your Romantic Low-Lying,  Rakish

Craft Of The Old Smuggling Yarns Was This,  Ready For Deeds Of

Desperation In The Dark Hours Of Midnight. It Was Just A Modern

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 123

Little Motor-Boat,  Up-To-Date,  And Swift.

 

"Perhaps We'll Get Out Of This Finally," I Grumbled As I

Understood Now What Was Afoot,  "But Not In Time To Be Of Any Use."

 

A Smothered Sound As Of Something Going Over The Vessel's Side

Followed. It Was One Of The Boxes Which We Had Seen Outside In The

Storeroom. Another Followed,  And A Third And A Fourth.

 

Then Came A Subdued Parley. "We Have Two Customs Detectives Locked

In A Cabin Here. We Can't Stay Now. You'll Have To Take Us And Our

Things Off,  Too."

 

"Can't Do It," Called Up Another Muffled Voice. "Make Your Things

Into A Little Bundle. We'll Take That,  But You'll Have To Get Past

The Nightwatchman Yourselves And Meet Us At Riverledge."

 

A Moment Later Something Else Went Over The Side,  And From The

Sound We Could Infer That The Engine Of The Motor-Boat Was Being

Started.

 

A Voice Sounded Mockingly Outside Our Door. "Bon Soir,  You Fellows

In There. We're Going Up The Dock. Sorry To Leave You Here Till

Morning,  But They'll Let You Out Then. Au Revoir."

 

Below I Could Hear Just The Faintest Well-Muffled Chug-Chug.

Kennedy In The Meantime Had Been Coolly Craning His Neck Out Of

Our Porthole Under The Rays Of The Arc Light Overhead. He Was

Holding Something In His Hand. It Seemed Like A Little Silver-

Backed Piece Of Thin Glass With A Flaring Funnel-Like Thing Back

Of It,  Which He Held Most Particularly. Though He Heard The

Parting Taunt Outside He Paid No Attention.

 

"You Go To The Deuce,  Whoever You Are," I Cried,  Beating On The

Door,  To Which Only A Coarse Laugh Echoed Back Down The

Passageway.

 

"Be Quiet,  Walter," Ordered Kennedy. "We Have Located The Smuggled

Goods In The Storeroom Of The Steward,  Four Wooden Cases Of Them.

I Think The Stuff Must Have Been Brought On The Ship In The Trunks

And Then Transferred To The Cases,  Perhaps After The Code Wireless

Message Was Received. But We Have Been Overpowered And Locked In A

Cabin With A Port Too Small To Crawl Through. The Cases Have Been

Lowered Over The Side Of The Ship To A Motor-Boat That Was Waiting

Below. The Lights On The Boat Are Out,  But If You Hurry You Can

Get It. The Accomplices Who Locked Us In Are Going To Disappear Up

The Wharf. If You Could Only Get The Night Watchman Quickly Enough

You Could Catch Them,  Too,  Before They Reach The Street."

 

I Had Turned,  Half Expecting To See Kennedy Talking To A Ship's

Officer Who Might Have Chanced On The Deck Outside. There Was No

One. The Only Thing Of Life Was The Still Sputtering Arc Light.

Had The Man Gone Crazy?

 

"What Of It?" I Growled. "Don't You Suppose I Know All That?

What's The Use Of Repeating It Now? The Thing To Do Is To Get Out

Of This Hole. Come,  Help Me At This Door. Maybe We Can Batter It

Down."

 

Kennedy Paid No Attention To Me,  However,  But Kept His Eyes Glued

On The Cimmerian Blackness Outside The Porthole.

 

He Had Done Nothing Apparently,  Yet A Long Finger Of Light Seemed

To Shoot Out Into The Sky From The Pier Across From Us And Begin

Waving Back And Forth As It Was Lowered To The Dark Waters Of The

River. It Was A Searchlight. At Once I Thought Of The Huge

Reflector Which I Had Seen Set Up. But That Had Been On Our Side

Of The Next Pier And This Light Came From The Far Side Where The

Mohican Lay.

 

"What Is It?" I Asked Eagerly. "What Has Happened?"

 

It Was As If A Prayer Had Been Answered From Our Dungeon On La

Montaigne.

 

"I Knew We Should Need Some Means To Communicate With Herndon," He

Explained Simply,  "And The Wireless Telephone Wasn't Practicable.

So I Have Used Dr. Alexander Graham Bell's Photophone. Any Of The

Lights On This Side Of La Montaigne,  I Knew,  Would Serve. What I

Did,  Walter,  Was Merely To Talk Into The Mouthpiece Back Of This

Little Silvered Mirror Which Reflects Light. The Vibrations Of The

Voice Caused A Diaphragm In It To Vibrate And Thus The Beam Of

Reflected Light Was Made To Pulsate. In Other Words,  This Little

Thing Is Just A Simple Apparatus To Transform The Air Vibrations

Of The Voice Into Light Vibrations.

 

"The Parabolic Reflector Over There Catches These Light Vibrations

And Focuses Them On The Cell Of Selenium Which You Perhaps Noticed

In The Centre Of The Reflector. You Remember Doubtless That The

Element Selenium Varies Its Electrical Resistance Under Light?

Thus There Are Reproduced Similar Variations In The Cell To Those

Vibrations Here In This Transmitter. The Cell Is Connected With A

Telephone Receiver And Batteries Over There--And There You Are. It

Is Very Simple. In The Ordinary Carbon Telephone Transmitter A

Variable Electrical Resistance Is Produced By Pressure,  Since

Carbon Is Not So Good A Conductor Under Pressure. Then These

Variations Are Transmitted Along Two Wires. This Photophone Is

Wireless. Selenium Even Emits Notes Under A Vibratory Beam Of

Light,  The Pitch Depending On The Frequency. Changes In The

Intensity Of The Light Focused By The Reflector On The Cell Alter

Its Electrical Resistance And Vary The Current From The Dry

Batteries. Hence The Telephone Receiver Over There Is Affected.

Bell Used The Photophone Or Radiophone Over Several Hundred Feet,

Ruhmer Over Several Miles. When You Thought I Was Talking To

Myself I Was Really Telling Herndon What Had Happened And What To

Do--Talking To Him Literally Over A Beam Of Light."

 

I Could Scarcely Believe It,  But An Exclamation From Kennedy As He

Drew His Head In Quickly Recalled My Attention. "Look Out On The

River,  Walter," He Cried. "The Mohican Has Her Searchlight

Sweeping Up And Down. What Do You See?"

 

The Long Finger Of Light Had Now Come To Rest. In Its Pathway I

Saw A Lightless Motor-Boat Bobbing Up And Down,  Crowding On All

Speed,  Yet Followed Relentlessly By The Accusing Finger. The River

Front Was Now Alive With Shouting.

 

Suddenly The Mohican Shot Out From Behind The Pier Where She Had

Been Hidden. In Spite Of Lang's Expertness It Was An Unequal Race.

Nor Would It Have Made Much Difference If It Had Been Otherwise,

For A Shot Rang Out From The Mohican Which Commanded Instant

Respect. The Powerful Revenue Cutter Rapidly Overhauled The Little

Craft.

 

A Hurried Tread Down The Passageway Followed. Cases Were Being

Shoved Aside And A Key In The Door Of Our Compartment Turned

Quickly. I Waited With Clenched Fists,  Prepared For An Attack.

 

"You're All Right?" Herndon's Voice Inquired Anxiously. "We've Got

That Steward And The Other Fellows All Right."

 

"Yes,  Come On," Shouted Craig. "The Cutter Has Made A Capture."

 

We Had Reached The Stern Of The Ship,  And Far Out In The River The

Mohican Was Now Headed Toward Us. She Came Alongside,  And Herndon

Quickly Seized A Rope,  Fastened It To The Rail,  And Let Himself

Down To The Deck Of The Cutter. Kennedy And I Followed.

 

"This Is A High-Handed Proceeding," I Heard A Voice That Must Have

Been Lang's Protesting. "By What Right Do You Stop Me? You Shall

Suffer For This."

 

Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 124

"The Mohican," Broke In Herndon,  "Has The Right To Appear Anywhere

From Southshoal Lightship Off Nantucket To The Capes Of The

Delaware,  Demand An Inspection Of Any Vessel's Manifest And

Papers,  Board Anything From La Montaigne To Your Little Motor-

Boat,  Inspect It,  Seize It,  If Necessary Put A Crew On It." He

Slapped The Little Cannon.

 

"That Commands Respect. Besides,  You Were Violating The

Regulations--No Lights."

 

On The Deck Of The Cutter Now Lay Four Cases. A Man Broke One Of

Them Open,  Then Another. Inside He Disclosed Thousands Of Dollars'

Worth Of Finery,  While From A Tray He Drew Several Large Chamois

Bags Of Glittering Diamonds And Pearls.

 

Pierre Looked On,  Crushed,  All His Jauntiness Gone.

 

"So," Exclaimed Kennedy,  Facing Him,  "You Have Your Jilted

Fiancee,  Mademoiselle Violette,  To Thank For This--Her Letters And

Her Suicide. It Wasn't As Easy As You Thought To Throw Her Over

For A New Soul Mate,  This Mademoiselle Gabrielle Whom You Were

Going To Set Up As A Rival In Business To Violette. Violette Has

Her Revenge For Making A Plaything Of Her Heart,  And If The Dead

Can Take Any Satisfaction She--"

 

With A Quick Movement Kennedy Anticipated A Motion Of Pierre's.

The Ruined Smuggler Had Contemplated Either An Attack On Himself

Or His Captor,  But Craig Had Seized Him By The Wrist And Ground

His Knuckles Into The Back Of Pierre's Clenched Fist Until He

Winced With Pain. An Apache Dagger Similar To That Which The

Little Modiste Had Used To End Her Life Tragedy Clattered To The

Deck Of The Ship,  A Mute Testimonial To The High Class Of Society

Pierre And His Associates Must Have Cultivated.

 

"None Of That,  Pierre," Craig Muttered,  Releasing Him. "You Can't

Cheat The Government Out Of Its Just Dues Even In The Matter Of

Punishment."

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 125

 

"I Won't Deny That I Had Some Expectations From The Old Man

Myself."

 

Kennedy's Client Was Speaking In A Low,  Full-Chested,  Vibrating

Voice,  With Some Emotion,  So Low That I Had Entered The Room

Without Being Aware That Any One Was There Until It Was Too Late

To Retreat.

 

"As His Physician For Over Twelve Years," The Man Pursued,  "I

Certainly Had Been Led To Hope To Be Remembered In His Will. But,

Professor Kennedy,  I Can't Put It Too Strongly When I Say That

There Is No Selfish Motive In My Coming To You About The Case.

There Is Something Wrong--Depend On That."

 

Craig Had Glanced Up At Me And,  As I Hesitated,  I Could See In An

Instant That The Speaker Was A Practitioner Of A Type That Is

Rapidly Passing Away,  The Old-Fashioned Family Doctor.

 

"Dr. Burnham,  I Should Like To Have You Know Mr. Jameson,"

Introduced Craig. "You Can Talk As Freely Before Him As You Have

To Me Alone. We Always Work Together."

 

I Shook Hands With The Visitor.

 

"The Doctor Has Succeeded In Interesting Me Greatly In A Case

Which Has Some Unique Features," Kennedy Explained. "It Has To Do

With Stephen Haswell,  The Eccentric Old Millionaire Of Brooklyn.

Have You Ever Heard Of Him?"

 

"Yes,  Indeed," I Replied,  Recalling An Occasional Article Which

Had Appeared In The Newspapers Regarding A Dusty And Dirty Old

House In That Part Of The Heights In Brooklyn Whence All That Is

Fashionable Had Not Yet Taken Flight,  A House Of Mystery,  Yet Not

More Mysterious Than Its Owner In His Secretive Comings And Goings

In The Affairs Of Men Of A Generation Beyond His Time. Further

Than The Facts That He Was Reputed To Be Very Wealthy And Led,  In

The Heart Of A Great City,  What Was As Nearly Like The Life Of A

Hermit As Possible,  I Knew Little Or Nothing. "What Has He Been

Doing Now?" I Asked.

 

"About A Week Ago," Repeated The Doctor,  In Answer To A Nod Of

Encouragement From Kennedy,  "I Was Summoned In The Middle Of The

Night To Attend Mr. Haswell,  Who,  As I Have Been Telling Professor

Kennedy,  Had Been A Patient Of Mine For Over Twelve Years. He Had

Been Suddenly Stricken With Total Blindness. Since Then He Appears

To Be Failing Fast,  That Is,  He Appeared So The Last Time I Saw

Him,  A Few Days Ago,  After I Had Been Superseded By A Younger Man.

It Is A Curious Case And I Have Thought About It A Great Deal. But

I Didn't Like To Speak To The Authorities; There Wasn't Enough To

Warrant That,  And I Should Have Been Laughed Out Of Court For My

Pains. The More I Have Thought About It,  However,  The More I Have

Felt It My Duty To Say Something To Somebody,  And So,  Having Heard

Of Professor Kennedy,  I Decided To Consult Him. The Fact Of The

Matter Is,  I Very Much Fear That There Are Circumstances Which

Will Bear Sharp Looking Into,  Perhaps A Scheme To Get Control Of

The Old Man's Fortune."

 

The Doctor Paused,  And Craig Inclined His Head,  As Much As To

Signify His Appreciation Of The Delicate Position In Which Burnham

Stood In The Case. Before The Doctor Could Proceed Further,

Kennedy Handed Me A Letter Which Had Been Lying Before Him On The

Table. It Had Evidently Been Torn Into Small Pieces And Then

Carefully Pasted Together.

 

The Superscription Gave A Small Town In Ohio And A Date About A

Fortnight Previous.

 

Dear Father [It Read]: I Hope You Will Pardon Me For Writing,  But

I Cannot Let The Occasion Of Your Seventy-Fifth Birthday Pass

Without A Word Of Affection And Congratulation. I Am Alive And

Well--Time Has Dealt Leniently With Me In That Respect,  If Not In

Money Matters. I Do Not Say This In The Hope Of Reconciling You To

Me. I Know That Is Impossible After All These Cruel Years. But I

Do Wish That I Could See You Again. Remember,  I Am Your Only Child

And Even If You Still Think I Have Been A Foolish One,  Please Let

Me Come To See You Once Before It Is Too Late. We Are Constantly

Travelling From Place To Place,  But Shall Be Here For A Few Days.

 

Your Loving Daughter,

 

Grace Haswell Martin.

 

"Some Fourteen Or Fifteen Years Ago," Explained The Doctor As I

Looked Up From Reading The Note,  "Mr. Haswell's Only Daughter

Eloped With An Artist Named Martin. He Had Been Engaged To Paint A

Portrait Of The Late Mrs. Haswell From A Photograph. It Was The

First Time That Grace Haswell Had Ever Been Able To Find

Expression For The Artistic Yearning Which Had Always Been

Repressed By The Cold,  Practical Sense Of Her Father. She

Remembered Her Mother Perfectly Since The Sad Bereavement Of Her

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 126

Girlhood And Naturally She Watched And Helped The Artist Eagerly.

The Result Was A Portrait Which Might Well Have Been Painted From

The Subject Herself Rather Than From A Cold Photograph.

 

"Haswell Saw The Growing Intimacy Of His Daughter And The Artist.

His Bent Of Mind Was Solely Toward Money And Material Things,  And

He At Once Conceived A Bitter And Unreasoning Hatred For Martin,

Who,  He Believed,  Had 'Schemed' To Capture His Daughter And An

Easy Living. Art Was As Foreign To His Nature As Possible.

Nevertheless They Went Ahead And Married,  And,  Well,  It Resulted

In The Old Man Disinheriting The Girl. The Young Couple

Disappeared Bravely To Make Their Way By Their Chosen Profession

And,  As Far As I Know,  Have Never Been Heard From Since Until Now.

Haswell Made A New Will And I Have Always Understood That

Practically All Of His Fortune Is To Be Devoted To Founding The

Technology Department In A Projected University Of Brooklyn."

 

"You Have Never Seen This Mrs. Martin Or Her Husband?" Asked

Kennedy.

 

"No,  Never. But In Some Way She Must Have Learned That I Had Some

Influence With Her Father,  For She Wrote To Me Not Long Ago,

Enclosing A Note For Him And Asking Me To Intercede For Her. I Did

So. I Took The Letter To Him As Diplomatically As I Could. The Old

Man Flew Into A Towering Rage,  Refused Even To Look At The Letter,

Tore It Up Into Bits,  And Ordered Me Never To Mention The Subject

To Him Again. That Is Her Note,  Which I Saved. However,  It Is The

Sequel About Which I Wish Your Help."

 

The Physician Folded Up The Patched Letter Carefully Before He

Continued. "Mr. Haswell,  As You Perhaps Know,  Has For Many Years

Been A Prominent Figure In Various Curious Speculations,  Or Rather

In Loaning Money To Many Curious Speculators. It Is Not Necessary

To Go Into The Different Schemes Which He Has Helped To Finance.

Even Though Most Of Them Have Been Unknown To The Public They Have

Certainly Given Him Such A Reputation That He Is Much Sought After

By Inventors.

 

"Not Long Ago Haswell Became Interested In The Work Of An Obscure

Chemist Over In Brooklyn,  Morgan Prescott. Prescott Claims,  As I

Understand,  To Be Able To Transmute Copper Into Gold. Whatever You

Think Of It Offhand,  You Should Visit His Laboratory Yourselves,

Gentlemen. I Am Told It Is Wonderful,  Though I Have Never Seen It

And Can't Explain It. I Have Met Prescott Several Times While He

Was Trying To Persuade Mr. Haswell To Back Him In His Scheme,  But

He Was Never Disposed To Talk To Me,  For I Had No Money To Invest.

So Far As I Know About It The Thing Sounds Scientific And

Plausible Enough. I Leave You To Judge Of That. It Is Only An

Incident In My Story And I Will Pass Over It Quickly. Prescott,

Then,  Believes That The Elements Are Merely Progressive Variations

Of An Original Substance Or Base Called 'Protyle,' From Which

Everything Is Derived. But This Fellow Prescott Goes Much Further

Than Any Of The Former Theorists. He Does Not Stop With Matter. He

Believes That He Has The Secret Of Life Also,  That He Can Make The

Transition From The Inorganic To The Organic,  From Inert Matter To

Living Protoplasm,  And Thence From Living Protoplasm To Mind And

What We Call Soul,  Whatever That May Be."

 

"And Here Is Where The Weird And Uncanny Part Of It Comes In,"

Commented Craig,  Turning From The Doctor To Me To Call My

Attention Particularly To What Was About To Follow.

 

"Having Arrived At The Point Where He Asserts That He Can Create

And Destroy Matter,  Life,  And Mind," Continued The Doctor,  As If

Himself Fascinated By The Idea,  "Prescott Very Naturally Does Not

Have To Go Far Before He Also Claims A Control Over Telepathy And

Even A Communication With The Dead. He Even Calls The Messages

Which He Receives By A Word Which He Has Coined Himself,

'Telepagrams.' Thus He Says He Has Unified The Physical,  The

Physiological,  And The Psychical--A System Of Absolute Scientific

Monism."

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 127

 

The Doctor Paused Again,  Then Resumed. "One Afternoon,  About A

Week Ago,  Apparently,  As Far As I Am Able To Piece Together The

Story,  Prescott Was Demonstrating His Marvellous Discovery Of The

Unity Of Nature. Suddenly He Faced Mr. Haswell.

 

"'Shall I Tell You A Fact,  Sir,  About Yourself?' He Asked Quickly.

'The Truth As I See It By Means Of My Wonderful Invention? If It

Is The Truth,  Will You Believe In Me? Will You Put Money Into My

Invention? Will You Share In Becoming Fabulously Rich?'

 

"Haswell Made Some Noncommittal Answer. But Prescott Seemed To

Look Into The Machine Through A Very Thick Plate-Glass Window,

With Haswell Placed Directly Before It. He Gave A Cry. 'Mr.

Haswell,' He Exclaimed,  'I Regret To Tell You What I See. You Have

Disinherited Your Daughter; She Has Passed Out Of Your Life And At

The Present Moment You Do Not Know Where She Is.'

 

"'That's True,' Replied The Old Man Bitterly,  'And More Than That

I Don't Care. Is That All You See? That's Nothing New.'

 

"'No,  Unfortunately,  That Is Not All I See. Can You Bear Something

Further? I Think You Ought To Know It. I Have Here A Most

Mysterious Telepagram.'

 

"'Yes. What Is It? Is She Dead?'

 

"'No,  It Is Not About Her. It Is About Yourself. To-Night At

Midnight Or Perhaps A Little Later,' Repeated Prescott Solemnly,

'You Will Lose Your Sight As A Punishment For Your Action.'

 

"'Pouf!' Exclaimed The Old Man In A Dudgeon,  'If That Is All Your

Invention Can Tell Me,  Good-Bye. You Told Me You Were Able To Make

Gold. Instead,  You Make Foolish Prophecies. I'll Put No Money Into

Such Tomfoolery. I'm A Practical Man,' And With That He Stamped

Out Of The Laboratory.

 

"Well,  That Night,  About One O'clock,  In The Silence Of The Lonely

Old House,  The Aged Caretaker,  Jane,  Whom He Had Hired After He

Banished His Daughter From His Life,  Heard A Wild Shout Of 'Help!

Help!' Haswell,  Alone In His Room On The Second Floor,  Was Groping

About In The Dark.

 

"'Jane,' He Ordered,  'A Light--A Light.'

 

"'I Have Lighted The Gas,  Mr. Haswell,' She Cried.

 

"A Groan Followed. He Had Himself Found A Match,  Had Struck It,

Had Even Burnt His Fingers With It,  Yet He Saw Nothing.

 

"The Blow Had Fallen. At Almost The Very Hour Which Prescott,  By

Means Of His Weird Telepagram Had Predicted,  Old Haswell Was

Stricken.

 

"'I'm Blind,' He Gasped. 'Send For Dr. Burnham.'

 

"I Went To Him Immediately When The Maid Roused Me,  But There Was

Nothing I Could Do Except Prescribe Perfect Rest For His Eyes And

Keeping In A Dark Room In The Hope That His Sight Might Be

Restored As Suddenly And Miraculously As It Had Been Taken Away.

 

"The Next Morning,  With His Own Hand,  Trembling And Scrawling In

His Blindness,  He Wrote The Following On A Piece Of Paper:

 

"'Mrs. Grace Martin.--Information Wanted About The Present

Whereabouts Of Mrs. Grace Martin,  Formerly Grace Haswell Of

Brooklyn."

 

Stephen Haswell,----Pierrepont St.,  Brooklyn.

 

"This Advertisement He Caused To Be Placed In All The New York

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 128

Papers And To Be Wired To The Leading Western Papers. Haswell

Himself Was A Changed Man After His Experience. He Spoke Bitterly

Of Prescott,  Yet His Attitude Toward His Daughter Was Completely

Reversed. Whether He Admitted To Himself A Belief In The

Prediction Of The Inventor,  I Do Not Know. Certainly He Scouted

Such An Idea In Telling Me About It.

 

"A Day Or Two After The Advertisements Appeared A Telegram Came To

The Old Man From A Little Town In Indiana. It Read Simply: 'Dear

Father: Am Starting For Brooklyn To-Day. Grace.'

 

"The Upshot Was That Grace Haswell,  Or Rather Grace Martin,

Appeared The Next Day,  Forgave And Was Forgiven With Much Weeping,

Although The Old Man Still Refused Resolutely To Be Reconciled

With And Receive Her Husband. Mrs. Martin Started In To Clean Up

The Old House. A Vacuum Cleaner Sucked A Ton Or Two Of Dust From

It. Everything Was Changed. Jane Grumbled A Great Deal,  But There

Was No Doubt A Great Improvement. Meals Were Served Regularly. The

Old Man Was Taken Care Of As Never Before. Nothing Was Too Good

For Him. Everywhere The Touch Of A Woman Was Evident In The House.

The Change Was Complete. It Even Extended To Me. Some Friend Had

Told Her Of An Eye And Ear Specialist,  A Dr. Scott,  Who Was

Engaged. Since Then,  I Understand,  A New Will Has Been Made,  Much

To The Chagrin Of The Trustees Of The Projected School. Of Course

I Am Cut Out Of The New Will,  And That With The Knowledge At Least

Of The Woman Who Once Appealed To Me,  But It Does Not Influence Me

In Coming To You."

 

"But What Has Happened Since To Arouse Suspicion?" Asked Kennedy,

Watching The Doctor Furtively.

 

"Why,  The Fact Is That,  In Spite Of All This Added Care,  The Old

Man Is Failing More Rapidly Than Ever. He Never Goes Out Except

Attended And Not Much Even Then. The Other Day I Happened To Meet

Jane On The Street. The Faithful Old Soul Poured Forth A Long

Story About His Growing Dependence On Others And Ended By

Mentioning A Curious Red Discoloration That Seems To Have Broken

Out Over His Face And Hands. More From The Way She Said It Than

From What She Said I Gained The Impression That Something Was

Going On Which Should Be Looked Into."

 

"Then You Perhaps Think That Prescott And Mrs. Martin Are In Some

Way Connected In This Case?" I Hazarded.

 

I Had Scarcely Framed The Question Before He Replied In An

Emphatic Negative. "On The Contrary,  It Seems To Me That If They

Know Each Other At All It Is With Hostility. With The Exception Of

The First Stroke Of Blindness"--Here He Lowered His Voice

Earnestly--"Practically Every Misfortune That Has Overtaken Mr.

Haswell Has Been Since The Advent Of This New Dr. Scott. Mind,  I

Do Not Wish Even To Breathe That Mrs. Martin Has Done Anything

Except What A Daughter Should Do. I Think She Has Shown Herself A

Model Of Forgiveness And Devotion. Nevertheless The Turn Of Events

Under The New Treatment Has Been So Strange That Almost It Makes

One Believe That There Might Be Something Occult About It--Or

Wrong With The New Doctor."

 

"Would It Be Possible,  Do You Think,  For Us To See Mr. Haswell?"

Asked Kennedy,  When Dr. Burnham Had Come To A Full Stop After

Pouring Forth His Suspicions. "I Should Like To See This Dr.

Scott. But First I Should Like To Get Into The Old House Without

Exciting Hostility."

 

The Doctor Was Thoughtful. "You'll Have To Arrange That Yourself,"

He Answered. "Can't You Think Up A Scheme? For Instance,  Go To Him

With A Proposal Like The Old Schemes He Used To Finance. He Is

Very Much Interested In Electrical Inventions. He Made His Money

By Speculation In Telegraphs And Telephones In The Early Days When

They Were More Or Less Dreams. I Should Think A Wireless System Of

Television Might At Least Interest Him And Furnish An Excuse For

Getting In,  Although I Am Told His Daughter Discourages All

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 129

Tangible Investment In The Schemes That Used To Interest His

Active Mind."

 

"An Excellent Idea," Exclaimed Kennedy. "It Is Worth Trying

Anyway. It Is Still Early. Suppose We Ride Over To Brooklyn With

You. You Can Direct Us To The House And We'll Try To See Him."

 

It Was Still Light When We Mounted The High Steps Of The House Of

Mystery Across The Bridge. Mrs. Martin,  Who Met Us In The Parlour,

Proved To Be A Stunning Looking Woman With Brown Hair And

Beautiful Dark Eyes. As Far As We Could See The Old House Plainly

Showed The Change. The Furniture And Ornaments Were Of A Period

Long Past,  But Everything Was Scrupulously Neat. Hanging Over The

Old Marble Mantel Was A Painting Which Quite Evidently Was That Of

The Long Since Deceased Mrs. Haswell,  The Mother Of Grace. In

Spite Of The Hideous Style Of Dress Of The Period After The War,

She Had Evidently Been A Very Beautiful Woman With Large Masses Of

Light Chestnut Hair And Blue Eyes Which The Painter Had Succeeded

In Catching With Almost Life-Likeness For A Portrait.

 

It Took Only A Few Minutes For Kennedy,  In His Most Engaging And

Plausible Manner,  To State The Hypothetical Reason Of Our Call.

Though It Was Perfectly Self-Evident From The Start That Mrs.

Martin Would Throw Cold Water On Anything Requiring An Outlay Of

Money Craig Accomplished His Full Purpose Of Securing An Interview

With Mr. Haswell. The Invalid Lay Propped Up In Bed,  And As We

Entered He Heard Us And Turned His Sightless Eyes In Our Direction

Almost As If He Saw.

 

Kennedy Had Hardly Begun To Repeat And Elaborate The Story Which

He Had Already Told Regarding His Mythical Friend Who Had At Last

A Commercial Wireless "Televue," As He Called It On The Spur Of

The Moment,  When Jane,  The Aged Caretaker,  Announced Dr. Scott.

The New Doctor Was A Youthfully Dressed Man,  Clean-Shaven,  But

With An Undefinable Air Of Being Much Older Than His Smooth Face

Led One To Suppose. As He Had A Large Practice,  He Said,  He Would

Beg Our Pardon For Interrupting But Would Not Take Long.

 

It Needed No Great Powers Of Observation To See That The Old Man

Placed Great Reliance On His New Doctor And That The Visit Partook

Of A Social As Well As A Professional Nature. Although They Talked

Low We Could Catch Now And Then A Word Or Phrase. Dr. Scott Bent

Down And Examined The Eyes Of His Patient Casually. It Was

Difficult To Believe That They Saw Nothing,  So Bright Was The Blue

Of The Iris.

 

"Perfect Rest For The Present," The Doctor Directed,  Talking More

To Mrs. Martin Than To The Old Man. "Perfect Rest,  And Then When

His Health Is Good,  We Shall See What Can Be Done With That

Cataract."

 

He Was About To Leave,  When The Old Man Reached Up And Restrained

Him,  Taking Hold Of The Doctor's Wrist Tightly,  As If To Pull Him

Nearer In Order To Whisper To Him Without Being Overheard. Kennedy

Was Sitting In A Chair Near The Head Of The Bed,  Some Feet Away,

As The Doctor Leaned Down. Haswell,  Still Holding His Wrist,

Pulled Him Closer. I Could Not Hear What Was Said,  Though Somehow

I Had An Impression That They Were Talking About Prescott,  For It

Would Not Have Been At All Strange If The Old Man Had Been Greatly

Impressed By The Alchemist.

 

Kennedy,  I Noticed,  Had Pulled An Old Envelope From His Pocket And

Was Apparently Engaged In Jotting Down Some Notes,  Glancing Now

And Then From His Writing To The Doctor And Then To Mr. Haswell.

 

The Doctor Stood Erect In A Few Moments And Rubbed His Wrist

Thoughtfully With The Other Hand,  As If It Hurt. At The Same Time

He Smiled On Mrs. Martin. "Your Father Has A Good Deal Of Strength

Yet,  Mrs. Martin," He Remarked. "He Has A Wonderful Constitution.

I Feel Sure That We Can Pull Him Out Of This And That He Has Many,

Many Years To Live."

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 130

 

Mr. Haswell,  Who Caught The Words Eagerly,  Brightened Visibly,  And

The Doctor Passed Out. Kennedy Resumed His Description Of The

Supposed Wireless Picture Apparatus Which Was To Revolutionise The

Newspaper,  The Theatre,  And Daily Life In General. The Old Man Did

Not Seem Enthusiastic And Turned To His Daughter With Some Remark.

 

"Just At Present," Commented The Daughter,  With An Air Of

Finality,  "The Only Thing My Father Is Much Interested In Is A Way

In Which To Recover His Sight Without An Operation. He Has Just

Had A Rather Unpleasant Experience With One Inventor. I Think It

Will Be Some Time Before He Cares To Embark In Any Other Such

Schemes."

 

Kennedy And I Excused Ourselves With Appropriate Remarks Of

Disappointment. From His Preoccupied Manner It Was Impossible For

Me To Guess Whether Craig Had Accomplished His Purpose Or Not.

 

"Let Us Drop In On Dr. Burnham Since We Are Over Here," He Said

When We Had Reached The Street. "I Have Some Questions To Ask

Him."

 

The Former Physician Of Mr. Haswell Lived Not Very Far From The

House We Had Just Left. He Appeared A Little Surprised To See Us

So Soon,  But Very Interested In What Had Taken Place.

 

"Who Is This Dr. Scott?" Asked Craig When We Were Seated In The

Comfortable Leather Chairs Of The Old-Fashioned Consulting-Room.

 

"Really,  I Know No More About Him Than You Do," Replied Burnham. I

Thought I Detected A Little Of Professional Jealousy In His Tone,

Though He Went On Frankly Enough,  "I Have Made Inquiries And I Can

Find Out Nothing Except That He Is Supposed To Be A Graduate Of

Some Western Medical School And Came To This City Only A Short

Time Ago. He Has Hired A Small Office In A New Building Devoted

Entirely To Doctors And They Tell Me That He Is An Eye And Ear

Specialist,  Though I Cannot See That He Has Any Practice. Beyond

That I Know Nothing About Him."

 

"Your Friend Prescott Interests Me,  Too," Remarked Kennedy,

Changing The Subject Quickly.

 

"Oh,  He Is No Friend Of Mine," Returned The Doctor,  Fumbling In A

Drawer Of His Desk. "But I Think I Have One Of His Cards Here

Which He Gave Me When We Were Introduced Some Time Ago At Mr.

Haswell's. I Should Think It Would Be Worth While To See Him.

Although He Has No Use For Me Because I Have Neither Money Nor

Influence,  Still You Might Take This Card. Tell Him You Are From

The University,  That I Have Interested You In Him,  That You Know A

Trustee With Money To Invest--Anything You Like That Is Plausible.

When Are You Going To See Him?"

 

"The First Thing In The Morning," Replied Kennedy. "After I Have

Seen Him I Shall Drop In For Another Chat With You. Will You Be

Here?"

 

The Doctor Promised,  And We Took Our Departure.

 

Prescott's Laboratory,  Which We Found The Next Day From The

Address On The Card,  Proved To Be Situated In One Of The Streets

Near The Waterfront Under The Bridge Approach,  Where The Factories

And Warehouses Clustered Thickly. It Was With A Great Deal Of

Anticipation Of Seeing Something Happen That We Threaded Our Way

Through The Maze Of Streets With The Cobweb Structure Of The

Bridge Carrying Its Endless Succession Of Cars Arching High Over

Our Heads. We Had Nearly Reached The Place When Kennedy Paused And

Pulled Out Two Pairs Of Glasses,  Those Huge Round Tortoiseshell

Affairs.

 

"You Needn't Mind These,  Walter," He Explained. "They Are Only

Plain Glass,  That Is,  Not Ground. You Can See Through Them As Well

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 131

As Through Air. We Must Be Careful Not To Excite Suspicion.

Perhaps A Disguise Might Have Been Better,  But I Think This Will

Do. There--They Add At Least A Decade To Your Age. If You Could

See Yourself You Wouldn't Speak To Your Reflection. You Look As

Scholarly As A Chinese Mandarin. Remember,  Let Me Do The Talking

And Do Just As I Do."

 

We Had Now Entered The Shop,  Stumbled Up The Dark Stairs,  And

Presented Dr. Burnham's Card With A Word Of Explanation Along The

Lines Which He Had Suggested. Prescott,  Surrounded By His Retorts,

Crucibles,  Burettes,  And Condensers,  Received Us Much More

Graciously Than I Had Had Any Reason To Anticipate. He Was A Man

In The Late Forties,  His Face Covered With A Thick Beard,  And His

Eyes,  Which Seemed A Little Weak,  Were Helped Out With Glasses

Almost As Scholarly As Ours.

 

I Could Not Help Thinking That We Three Bespectacled Figures

Lacked Only The Flowing Robes To Be Taken For A Group Of Mediaeval

Alchemists Set Down A Few Centuries Out Of Our Time In The Murky

Light Of Prescott's Sanctum. Yet,  Though He Accepted Us At Our

Face Value,  And Began To Talk Of His Strange Discoveries There Was

None Of The Old Familiar Prating About Matrix And Flux,  Elixir,

Magisterium,  Magnum Opus,  The Mastery And The Quintessence,  Those

Alternate Names For The Philosopher's Stone Which Paracelsus,

Simon Forman,  Jerome Cardan,  And The Other Mediaeval Worthies

Indulged In. This Experience At Least Was As Up-To-Date As The

Curies,  Becquerel,  Ramsay,  And The Rest.

 

"Transmutation," Remarked Prescott,  "Was,  As You Know,  Finally

Declared To Be A Scientific Absurdity In The Eighteenth Century.

But I May Say That It Is No Longer So Regarded. I Do Not Ask You

To Believe Anything Until You Have Seen; All I Ask Is That You

Maintain The Same Open Mind Which The Most Progressive Scientists

Of To-Day Exhibit In Regard To The Subject."

 

Kennedy Had Seated Himself Some Distance From A Curious Piece Or

Rather Collection Of Apparatus Over Which Prescott Was Working. It

Consisted Of Numerous Coils And Tubes.

 

"It May Seem Strange To You,  Gentlemen," Prescott Proceeded,  "That

A Man Who Is Able To Produce Gold From,  Say,  Copper Should Be

Seeking Capital From Other People. My Best Answer To That Old

Objection Is That I Am Not Seeking Capital,  As Such. The Situation

With Me Is Simply This. Twice I Have Applied To The Patent Office

For A Patent On My Invention. They Not Only Refuse To Grant It,

But They Refuse To Consider The Application Or Even To Give Me A

Chance To Demonstrate My Process To Them. On The Other Hand,

Suppose I Try This Thing Secretly. How Can I Prevent Any One From

Learning My Trade Secret,  Leaving Me,  And Making Gold On His Own

Account? Men Will Desert As Fast As I Educate Them. Think Of The

Economic Result Of That; It Would Turn The World Topsy-Turvy. I Am

Looking For Some One Who Can Be Trusted To The Last Limit To Join

With Me,  Furnish The Influence And Standing While I Furnish The

Brains And The Invention. Either We Must Get The Government

Interested And Sell The Invention To It,  Or We Must Get Government

Protection And Special Legislation. I Am Not Seeking Capital; I Am

Seeking Protection. First Let Me Show You Something."

 

He Turned A Switch,  And A Part Of The Collection Of Apparatus

Began To Vibrate.

 

"You Are Undoubtedly Acquainted With The Modern Theories Of

Matter," He Began,  Plunging Into The Explanation Of His Process.

"Starting With The Atom,  We Believe No Longer That It Is

Indivisible. Atoms Are Composed Of Thousands Of Ions,  As They Are

Called,--Really Little Electric Charges. Again,  You Know That We

Have Found That All The Elements Fall Into Groups. Each Group Has

Certain Related Atomic Weights And Properties Which Can Be And

Have Been Predicted In Advance Of The Discovery Of Missing

Elements In The Group. I Started With The Reasonable Assumption

That The Atom Of One Element In A Group Could Be Modified So As To

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 132

Become The Atom Of Another Element In The Group,  That One Group

Could Perhaps Be Transformed Into Another,  And So On,  If Only I

Knew The Force That Would Change The Number Or Modify The

Vibrations Of These Ions Composing The Various Atoms.

 

"Now For Years I Have Been Seeking That Force Or Combination Of

Forces That Would Enable Me To Produce This Change In The

Elements--Raising Or Lowering Them In The Scale,  So To Speak. I

Have Found It. I Am Not Going To Tell You Or Any Other Man Whom

You May Interest The Secret Of How It Is Done Until I Find Some

One I Can Trust As I Trust Myself. But I Am None The Less Willing

That You Should See The Results. If They Are Not Convincing,  Then

Nothing Can Be."

 

He Appeared To Be Debating Whether To Explain Further,  And Finally

Resumed: "Matter Thus Being In Reality A Manifestation Of Force Or

Ether In Motion,  It Is Necessary To Change And Control That Force

And Motion. This Assemblage Of Machines Here Is For That Purpose.

Now A Few Words As To My Theory."

 

He Took A Pencil And Struck A Sharp Blow On The Table. "There You

Have A Single Blow," He Said,  "Just One Isolated Noise. Now If I

Strike This Tuning Fork You Have A Vibrating Note. In Other Words,

A Succession Of Blows Or Wave Vibrations Of A Certain Kind Affects

The Ear And We Call It Sound,  Just As A Succession Of Other Wave

Vibrations Affects The Retina And We Have Sight. If A Moving

Picture Moves Slower Than A Certain Number Of Pictures A Minute

You See The Separate Pictures; Faster It Is One Moving Picture.

 

"Now As We Increase The Rapidity Of Wave Vibration And Decrease

The Wave Length We Pass From Sound Waves To Heat Waves Or What Are

Known As The Infra-Red Waves,  Those Which Lie Below The Red In The

Spectrum Of Light. Next We Come To Light,  Which Is Composed Of The

Seven Colours As You Know From Seeing Them Resolved In A Prism.

After That Are What Are Known As The Ultra-Violet Rays,  Which Lie

Beyond The Violet Of White Light. We Also Have Electric Waves,  The

Waves Of The Alternating Current,  And Shorter Still We Find The

Hertzian Waves,  Which Are Used In Wireless. We Have Only Begun To

Know Of X-Rays And The Alpha,  Beta,  And Gamma Rays From Them,  Of

Radium,  Radioactivity,  And Finally Of This New Force Which I Have

Discovered And Call 'Protodyne,' The Original Force.

 

"In Short,  We Find In The Universe Matter,  Force,  And Ether.

Matter Is Simply Ether In Motion,  Is Composed Of Corpuscles,

Electrically Charged Ions,  Or Electrons,  Moving Units Of Negative

Electricity About One One-Thousandth Part Of The Hydrogen Atom.

Matter Is Made Up Of Electricity And Nothing But Electricity. Let

Us See What That Leads To. You Are Acquainted With Mendeleeff's

Periodic Table?"

 

He Drew Forth A Huge Chart On Which All The Eighty Or So Elements

Were Arranged In Eight Groups Or Octaves And Twelve Series.

Selecting One,  He Placed His Finger On The Letters "Au," Under

Which Was Written The Number,  197.2. I Wondered What The Mystic

Letters And Figures Meant.

 

"That," He Explained,  "Is The Scientific Name For The Element Gold

And The Figure Is Its Atomic Weight. You Will See," He Added,

Pointing Down The Second Vertical Column On The Chart,  "That Gold

Belongs To The Hydrogen Group--Hydrogen,  Lithium,  Sodium,

Potassium,  Copper,  Rubidium,  Silver,  Caesium,  Then Two Blank

Spaces For Elements Yet To Be Discovered To Science,  Then Gold,

And Finally Another Unknown Element."

 

Running His Finger Along The Eleventh,  Horizontal Series,  He,

Continued: "The Gold Series--Not The Group--Reads Gold,  Mercury,

Thallium,  Lead,  Bismuth,  And Other Elements Known Only To Myself.

For The Known Elements,  However,  These Groups And Series Are Now

Perfectly Recognised By All Scientists; They Are Determined By The

Fixed Weight Of The Atom,  And There Is A Close Approximation To

Regularity.

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 133

 

"This Twelfth Series Is Interesting. So Far Only Radium,  Thorium,

And Uranium Are Generally Known. We Know That The Radioactive

Elements Are Constantly Breaking Down,  And One Often Hears

Uranium,  For Instance,  Called The 'Parent' Of Radium. Radium Also

Gives Off An Emanation,  And Among Its Products Is Helium,  Quite

Another Element. Thus The Transmutation Of Matter Is Well Known

Within Certain Bounds To All Scientists To-Day Like Yourself,

Professor Kennedy. It Has Even Been Rumoured But Never Proved That

Copper Has Been Transformed Into Lithium--Both Members Of The

Hydrogen-Gold Group,  You Will Observe. Copper To Lithium Is Going

Backward,  So To Speak. It Has Remained For Me To Devise This

Protodyne Apparatus By Which I Can Reverse That Process Of Decay

And Go Forward In The Table,  So To Put It--Can Change Lithium Into

Copper And Copper Into Gold. I Can Create And Destroy Matter By

Protodyne."

 

He Had Been Fingering A Switch As He Spoke. Now He Turned It On

Triumphantly. A Curious Snapping And Crackling Noise Followed,

Becoming More Rapid,  And As It Mounted In Intensity I Could Smell

A Pungent Odour Of Ozone Which Told Of An Electric Discharge. On

Went The Machine Until We Could Feel Heat Radiating From It. Then

Came A Piercing Burst Of Greenish-Blue Light From A Long Tube

Which Looked Like A Curious Mercury Vapour Lamp.

 

After A Few Minutes Of This Prescott Took A Small Crucible Of

Black Lead. "Now We Are Ready To Try It," He Cried In Great

Excitement. "Here I Have A Crucible Containing Some Copper. Any

Substance In The Group Would Do,  Even Hydrogen If There Was Any

Way I Could Handle The Gas. I Place It In The Machine--So. Now If

You Could Watch Inside You Would See It Change; It Is Now

Rubidium,  Now Silver,  Now Caesium. Now It Is A Hitherto Unknown

Element Which I Have Named After Myself,  Presium,  Now A Second

Unknown Element,  Cottium--Ah!--There We Have Gold."

 

He Drew Forth The Crucible,  And There Glowed In It A Little Bead

Or Globule Of Molten Gold.

 

"I Could Have Taken Lead Or Mercury And By Varying The Process

Done The Same Thing With The Gold Series As Well As The Gold

Group," He Said,  Regarding The Globule With Obvious Pride. "And I

Can Put This Gold Back And Bring It Out Copper Or Hydrogen,  Or

Better Yet,  Can Advance It Instead Of Cause It To Decay,  And Can

Get A Radioactive Element Which I Have Named Morganium--After My

First Name,  Morgan Prescott. Morganium Is A Radioactive Element

Next In The Series To Radium And Much More Active. Come Closer And

Examine The Gold."

 

Kennedy Shook His Head As If Perfectly Satisfied To Accept The

Result. As For Me I Knew Not What To Think. It Was All So

Plausible And There Was The Bead Of Gold,  Too,  That I Turned To

Craig For Enlightenment. Was He Convinced? His Face Was

Inscrutable.

 

But As I Looked I Could See That Kennedy Had Been Holding

Concealed In The Palm Of His Hand A Bit Of What Might Be A

Mineral. From My Position I Could See The Bit Of Mineral Glowing,

But Prescott Could Not.

 

"Might I Ask," Interrupted Kennedy,  "What That Curious Greenish Or

Bluish Light From The Tube Is Composed Of?"

 

Prescott Eyed Him Keenly For An Instant Through His Thick Glasses.

Craig Had Shifted His Gaze From The Bit Of Mineral In His Own

Hand,  But Was Not Looking At The Light. He Seemed To Be

Indifferently Contemplating Prescott's Hand As It Rested On The

Switch.

 

"That,  Sir," Replied Prescott Slowly,  "Is An Emanation Due To This

New Force,  Protodyne,  Which I Use. It Is A Manifestation Of

Energy,  Sir,  That May Run Changes Not Only Through The Whole Gamut

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 134

Of The Elements,  But Is Capable Of Transforming The Ether Itself

Into Matter,  Matter Into Life,  And Life Into Mind. It Is The

Outward Sign Of The Unity Of Nature,  The--"

 

"The Means By Which You Secure The Curious Telepagrams I Have

Heard Of?" Inquired Kennedy Eagerly.

 

Prescott Looked At Him Sharply,  And For A Moment I Thought His

Face Seemed To Change From A Livid White To An Apoplectic Red,

Although It May Have Been Only The Play Of The Weird Light. When

He Spoke It Was With No Show Of Even Suppressed Surprise.

 

"Yes," He Answered Calmly. "I See That You Have Heard Something Of

Them. I Had A Curious Case A Few Days Ago. I Had Hoped To Interest

A Certain Capitalist Of High Standing In This City. I Had Showed

Him Just What I Have Showed You,  And I Think He Was Impressed By

It. Then I Thought To Clinch The Matter By A Telepagram,  But For

Some Reason Or Other I Failed To Consult The Forces I Control As

To The Wisdom Of Doing So. Had I,  I Should Have Known Better. But

I Went Ahead In Self-Confidence And Enthusiasm. I Told Him Of A

Long Banished Daughter With Whom,  In His Heart,  He Was Really

Wishing To Become Reconciled But Was Too Proud To Say The Word. He

Resented It. He Started To Stamp Out Of This Room,  But Not Before

I Had Another Telepagram Which Told Of A Misfortune That Was Soon

To Overtake The Old Man Himself. If He Had Given Me A Chance I

Might Have Saved Him,  At Least Have Flashed A Telepagram To That

Daughter Myself,  But He Gave Me No Chance. He Was Gone.

 

"I Do Not Know Precisely What Happened After That,  But In Some Way

This Man Found His Daughter,  And To-Day She Is Living With Him. As

For My Hopes Of Getting Assistance From Him,  I Lost Them From The

Moment When I Made My Initial Mistake Of Telling Him Something

Distasteful. The Daughter Hates Me And I Hate Her. I Have Learned

That She Never Ceases Advising The Old Man Against All Schemes For

Investment Except Those Bearing Moderate Interest And Readily

Realised On. Dr. Burnham--I See You Know Him--Has Been Superseded

By Another Doctor,  I Believe. Well,  Well,  I Am Through With That

Incident. I Must Get Assistance From Other Sources. The Old Man,  I

Think,  Would Have Tricked Me Out Of The Fruits Of My Discovery

Anyhow. Perhaps I Am Fortunate. Who Knows?"

 

A Knock At The Door Cut Him Short. Prescott Opened It,  And A

Messenger Boy Stood There. "Is Professor Kennedy Here?" He

Inquired.

 

Craig Motioned To The Boy,  Signed For The Message,  And Tore It

Open. "It Is From Dr. Burnham," He Exclaimed,  Handing The Message

To Me.

 

"Mr. Haswell Is Dead," I Read. "Looks To Me Like Asphyxiation By

Gas Or Some Other Poison. Come Immediately To His House. Burnham."

 

"You Will Pardon Me," Broke In Craig To Prescott,  Who Was

Regarding Us Without The Slightest Trace Of Emotion,  "But Mr.

Haswell,  The Old Man To Whom I Know You Referred,  Is Dead,  And Dr.

Burnham Wishes To See Me Immediately. It Was Only Yesterday That I

Saw Mr. Haswell And He Seemed In Pretty Good Health And Spirits.

Prescott,  Though There Was No Love Lost Between You And The Old

Man,  I Would Esteem It A Great Favour If You Would Accompany Me To

The House. You Need Not Take Any Responsibility Unless You

Desire."

 

His Words Were Courteous Enough,  But Craig Spoke In A Tone Of

Quiet Authority Which Prescott Found It Impossible To Deny.

Kennedy Had Already Started To Telephone To His Own Laboratory,

Describing A Certain Suitcase To One Of His Students And Giving

His Directions. It Was Only A Moment Later That We Were Panting Up

The Sloping Street That Led From The River Front. In The

Excitement I Scarcely Noticed Where We Were Going Until We Hurried

Up The Steps To The Haswell House.

 

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 135

The Aged Caretaker Met Us At The Door. She Was In Tears. Upstairs

In The Front Room Where We Had First Met The Old Man We Found Dr.

Burnham Working Frantically Over Him. It Took Only A Minute To

Learn What Had Happened. The Faithful Jane Had Noticed An Odour Of

Gas In The Hall,  Had Traced It To Mr. Haswell's Room,  Had Found

Him Unconscious,  And Instinctively,  Forgetting The New Dr. Scott,

Had Rushed Forth For Dr. Burnham. Near The Bed Stood Grace Martin,

Pale But Anxiously Watching The Efforts Of The Doctor To

Resuscitate The Blue-Faced Man Who Was Stretched Cold And

Motionless On The Bed.

 

Dr. Burnham Paused In His Efforts As We Entered. "He Is Dead,  All

Right," He Whispered,  Aside. "I Have Tried Everything I Know To

Bring Him Back,  But He Is Beyond Help."

 

There Was Still A Sickening Odour Of Illuminating Gas In The Room,

Although The Windows Were Now All Open.

 

Kennedy,  With Provoking Calmness In The Excitement,  Turned From

And Ignored Dr. Burnham. "Have You Summoned Dr. Scott?" He Asked

Mrs. Martin.

 

"No," She Replied,  Surprised. "Should I Have Done So?"

 

"Yes. Send Jame Immediately. Mr. Prescott,  Will You Kindly Be

Seated For A Few Moments."

 

Taking Off His Coat,  Kennedy Advanced To The Bed Where The

Emaciated Figure Lay,  Cold And Motionless. Craig Knelt Down At Mr.

Haswell's Head And Took The Inert Arms,  Raising Them Up Until They

Were Extended Straight. Then He Brought Them Down,  Folded Upward

At The Elbow At The Side. Again And Again He Tried This Sylvester

Method Of Inducing Respiration,  But With No More Result Than Dr.

Burnham Had Secured. He Turned The Body Over On Its Face And Tried

The New Schaefer Method. There Seemed To Be Not A Spark Of Life

Left.

 

"Dr. Scott Is Out," Reported The Maid Breathlessly,  "But They Are

Trying To Locate Him From His Office,  And If They Do They Will

Send Him Around Immediately."

 

A Ring At The Doorbell Caused Us To Think That He Had Been Found,

But It Proved To Be The Student To Whom Kennedy Had Telephoned At

His Own Laboratory. He Was Carrying A Heavy Suitcase And A Small

Tank.

 

Kennedy Opened The Suitcase Hastily And Disclosed A Little Motor,

Some Long Tubes Of Rubber Fitting Into A Small Rubber Cap,

Forceps,  And Other Paraphernalia. The Student Quickly Attached One

Tube To The Little Tank,  While Kennedy Grasped The Tongue Of The

Dead Man With The Forceps,  Pulled It Up Off The Soft Palate,  And

Fitted The Rubber Cap Snugly Over His Mouth And Nose.

 

"This Is The Draeger Pulmotor," He Explained As He Worked,

"Devised To Resuscitate Persons Who Have Died Of Electric Shock,

But Actually Found To Be Of More Value In Cases Of Asphyxiation.

Start The Motor."

 

The Pulmotor Began To Pump. One Could See The Dead Man's Chest

Rise As It Was Inflated With Oxygen Forced By The Accordion

Bellows From The Tank Through One Of The Tubes Into The Lungs.

Then It Fell As The Oxygen And The Poisonous Gas Were Slowly

Sucked Out Through The Other Tube. Again And Again The Process Was

Repeated,  About Ten Times A Minute.

 

Dr. Burnham Looked On In Undisguised Amazement. He Had Long Since

Given Up All Hope. The Man Was Dead,  Medically Dead,  As Dead As

Ever Was Any Gas Victim At This Stage On Whom All The Usual

Methods Of Resuscitation Had Been Tried And Had Failed.

 

Still,  Minute After Minute,  Kennedy Worked Faithfully On,  Trying

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 136

To Discover Some Spark Of Life And To Fan It Into Flame. At Last,

After What Seemed To Be A Half-Hour Of Unremitting Effort,  When

The Oxygen Had Long Since Been Exhausted And Only Fresh Air Was

Being Pumped Into The Lungs And Out Of Them,  There Was A First

Faint Glimmer Of Life In The Heart And A Touch Of Colour In The

Cheeks. Haswell Was Coming To. Another Half-Hour Found Him

Muttering And Rambling Weakly.

 

"The Letter--The Letter," He Moaned,  Rolling His Glazed Eyes

About. "Where Is The Letter? Send For Grace."

 

The Moan Was So Audible That It Was Startling. It Was Like A Voice

From The Grave. What Did It All Mean? Mrs. Martin Was At His Side

In A Moment.

 

"Father,  Father,--Here I Am--Grace. What Do You Want?"

 

The Old Man Moved Restlessly,  Feverishly,  And Pressed His

Trembling Hand To His Forehead As If Trying To Collect His

Thoughts. He Was Weak,  But It Was Evident That He Had Been Saved.

 

The Pulmotor Had Been Stopped. Craig Threw The Cap To His Student

To Be Packed Up,  And As He Did So He Remarked Quietly,  "I Could

Wish That Dr. Scott Had Been Found. There Are Some Matters Here

That Might Interest Him."

 

He Paused And Looked Slowly From The Rescued Man Lying Dazed On

The Bed Toward Mrs. Martin. It Was Quite Apparent Even To Me That

She Did Not Share The Desire To See Dr. Scott,  At Least Not Just

Then. She Was Flushed And Trembling With Emotion. Crossing The

Room Hurriedly She Flung Open The Door Into The Hall.

 

"I Am Sure," She Cried,  Controlling Herself With Difficulty And

Catching At A Straw,  As It Were,  "That You Gentlemen,  Even If You

Have Saved My Father,  Are No Friends Of Either His Or Mine. You

Have Merely Come Here In Response To Dr. Burnham,  And He Came

Because Jane Lost Her Head In The Excitement And Forgot That Dr.

Scott Is Now Our Physician."

 

"But Dr. Scott Could Not Have Been Found In Time,  Madame,"

Interposed Dr. Burnham With Evident Triumph.

 

She Ignored The Remark And Continued To Hold The Door Open.

 

"Now Leave Us," She Implored,  "You,  Dr. Burnham,  You,  Mr.

Prescott,  You,  Professor Kennedy,  And Your Friend Mr. Jameson,

Whoever You May Be."

 

She Was Now Cold And Calm. In The Bewildering Change Of Events We

Had Forgotten The Wan Figure On The Bed Still Gasping For The

Breath Of Life. I Could Not Help Wondering At The Woman's Apparent

Lack Of Gratitude,  And A Thought Flashed Over My Mind. Had The

Affair Come To A Contest Between Various Parties Fighting By Fair

Means Or Foul For The Old Man's Money--Scott And Mrs. Martin

Perhaps Against Prescott And Dr. Burnham? No One Moved. We Seemed

To Be Waiting On Kennedy. Prescott And Mrs. Martin Were Now

Glaring At Each Other Implacably.

 

The Old Man Moved Restlessly On The Bed,  And Over My Shoulder I

Could Hear Him Gasp Faintly,  "Where's Grace? Send For Grace."

 

Mrs. Martin Paid No Attention,  Seemed Not To Hear,  But Stood

Facing Us Imperiously As If Waiting For Us To Obey Her Orders And

Leave The House. Burnham Moved Toward The Door,  But Prescott Stood

His Ground With A Peculiar Air Of Defiance. Then He Took My Arm

And Started Rather Precipitately,  I Thought,  To Leave.

 

"Come,  Come," Said Somebody Behind Us,  "Enough Of The Dramatics."

 

It Was Kennedy,  Who Had Been Bending Down,  Listening To The

Muttering Of The Old Man.

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 137

 

"Look At Those Eyes Of Mr. Haswell," He Said. "What Colour Are

They?"

 

We Looked. They Were Blue.

 

"Down In The Parlour," Continued Kennedy Leisurely,  "You Will Find

A Portrait Of The Long Deceased Mrs. Haswell. If You Will Examine

That Painting You Will See That Her Eyes Are Also A Peculiarly

Limpid Blue. No Couple With Blue Eyes Ever Had A Black-Eyed Child.

At Least,  If This Is Such A Case,  The Carnegie Institution

Investigators Would Be Glad To Hear Of It,  For It Is Contrary To

All That They Have Discovered On The Subject After Years Of Study

Of Eugenics. Dark-Eyed Couples May Have Light-Eyed Children,  But

The Reverse,  Never. What Do You Say To That,  Madame?"

 

"You Lie," Screamed The Woman,  Rushing Frantically Past Us. "I Am

His Daughter. No Interlopers Shall Separate Us. Father!"

 

The Old Man Moved Feebly Away From Her.

 

"Send For Dr. Scott Again," She Demanded. "See If He Cannot Be

Found. He Must Be Found. You Are All Enemies,  Villains."

 

She Addressed Kennedy,  But Included The Whole Room In Her

Denunciation.

 

"Not All," Broke In Kennedy Remorselessly. "Yes,  Madame,  Send For

Dr. Scott. Why Is He Not Here?"

 

Prescott,  With One Hand On My Arm And The Other On Dr. Burnham's,

Was Moving Toward The Door.

 

"One Moment,  Prescott," Interrupted Kennedy,  Detaining Him With A

Look. "There Was Something I Was About To Say When Dr. Burnham's

Urgent Message Prevented It. I Did Not Take The Trouble Even To

Find Out How You Obtained That Little Globule Of Molten Gold From

The Crucible Of Alleged Copper. There Are So Many Tricks By Which

The Gold Could Have Been 'Salted' And Brought Forth At The Right

Moment That It Was Hardly Worth While. Besides,  I Had Satisfied

Myself That My First Suspicions Were Correct. See That?"

 

He Held Out The Little Piece Of Mineral I Had Already Seen In His

Hand In The Alchemist's Laboratory.

 

"That Is A Piece Of Willemite. It Has The Property Of Glowing Or

Fluorescing Under A Certain Kind Of Rays Which Are Themselves

Invisible To The Human Eye. Prescott,  Your Story Of The

Transmutation Of Elements Is Very Clever,  But Not More Clever Than

Your Real Story. Let Us Piece It Together. I Had Already Heard

From Dr. Burnham How Mr. Haswell Was Induced By His Desire For

Gain To Visit You And How You Had Most Mysteriously Predicted His

Blindness. Now,  There Is No Such Thing As Telepathy,  At Least In

This Case. How Then Was I To Explain It? What Could Cause Such A

Catastrophe Naturally? Why,  Only Those Rays Invisible To The Human

Eye,  But Which Make This Piece Of Willemite Glow--The Ultraviolet

Rays."

 

Kennedy Was Speaking Rapidly And Was Careful Not To Pause Long

Enough To Give Prescott An Opportunity To Interrupt Him.

 

"These Ultra-Violet Rays," He Continued,  "Are Always Present In An

Electric Arc Light Though Not To A Great Degree Unless The Carbons

Have Metal Cores. They Extend For Two Octaves Above The Violet Of

The Spectrum And Are Too Short To Affect The Eye As Light,

Although They Affect Photographic Plates. They Are The Friend Of

Man When He Uses Them In Moderation As Finsen Did In The Famous

Blue Light Treatment. But They Tolerate No Familiarity. To Let

Them--Particularly The Shorter Of The Rays--Enter The Eye Is To

Invite Trouble. There Is No Warning Sense Of Discomfort,  But From

Six To Eighteen Hours After Exposure To Them The Victim

Part 3 Chapter 11 (The Invisible Ray) Pg 138

Experiences Violent Pains In The Eyes And Headache. Sight May Be

Seriously Impaired,  And It May Take Years To Recover. Often

Prolonged Exposure Results In Blindness,  Though A Moderate

Exposure Acts Like A Tonic. The Rays May Be Compared In This

Double Effect To Drugs,  Such As Strychnine. Too Much Of Them May

Be Destructive Even To Life Itself."

 

Prescott Had Now Paused And Was Regarding Kennedy Contemptuously.

Kennedy Paid No Attention,  But Continued: "Perhaps These

Mysterious Rays May Shed Some Light On Our Minds,  However. Now,

For One Thing,  Ultra-Violet Light Passes Readily Through Quartz,

But Is Cut Off By Ordinary Glass,  Especially If It Is Coated With

Chromium. Old Mr. Haswell Did Not Wear Glasses. Therefore He Was

Subject To The Rays--The More So As He Is A Blond,  And I Think It

Has Been Demonstrated By Investigators That Blonds Are More

Affected By Them Than Are Brunettes.

 

"You Have,  As A Part Of Your Machine,  A Peculiarly Shaped Quartz

Mercury Vapour Lamp,  And The Mercury Vapour Lamp Of A Design Such

As That I Saw Has Been Invented For The Especial Purpose Of

Producing Ultra-Violet Rays In Large Quantity. There Are Also In

Your Machine Induction Coils For The Purpose Of Making An

Impressive Noise,  And A Small Electric Furnace To Heat The Salted

Gold. I Don't Know What Other Ingenious Fakes You Have Added. The

Visible Bluish Light From The Tube Is Designed,  I Suppose,  To

Hoodwink The Credulous,  But The Dangerous Thing About It Is The

Invisible Ray That Accompanies That Light. Mr. Haswell Sat Under

Those Invisible Rays,  Prescott,  Never Knowing How Deadly They

Might Be To Him,  An Old Man.

 

"You Knew That They Would Not Take Effect For Hours,  And Hence You

Ventured The Prediction That He Would Be Stricken At About

Midnight. Even If It Was Partial Or Temporary,  Still You Would Be

Safe In Your Prophecy. You Succeeded Better Than You Hoped In That

Part Of Your Scheme. You Had Already Prepared The Way By Means Of

A Letter Sent To Mr. Haswell Through Dr. Burnham. But Mr.

Haswell's Credulity And Fear Worked The Wrong Way. Instead Of

Appealing To You He Hated You. In His Predicament He Thought Only

Of His Banished Daughter And Turned Instinctively To Her For Help.

That Made Necessary A Quick Change Of Plans."

 

Prescott,  Far From Losing His Nerve,  Turned On Us Bitterly. "I

Knew You Two Were Spies The Moment I Saw You," He Shouted. "It

Seemed As If In Some Way I Knew You For What You Were,  As If I

Knew You Had Seen Mr. Haswell Before You Came To Me. You,  Too,

Would Have Robbed An Inventor As I Am Sure He Would. But Have A

Care,  Both Of You. You May Be Punished Also By Blindness For Your

Duplicity. Who Knows?"

 

A Shudder Passed Over Me At The Horrible Thought Contained In His

Mocking Laugh. Were We Doomed To Blindness,  Too? I Looked At The

Sightless Man On The Bed In Alarm.

 

"I Knew That You Would Know Us," Retorted Kennedy Calmly.

"Therefore We Came Provided With Spectacles Of Euphos Glass,

Precisely Like Those You Wear. No,  Prescott,  We Are Safe,  Though

Perhaps We May Have Some Burns Like Those Red Blotches On Mr.

Haswell,  Light Burns."

 

Prescott Had Fallen Back A Step And Mrs. Martin Was Making An

Effort To Appear Stately And End The Interview. "No," Continued

Craig,  Suddenly Wheeling,  And Startling Us By The Abruptness Of

His Next Exposure,  "It Is You And Your Wife Here--Mrs. Prescott,

Not Mrs. Martin--Who Must Have A Care. Stop Glaring At Each Other.

It Is No Use Playing At Enemies Longer And Trying To Get Rid Of

Us. You Overdo It. The Game Is Up."

 

Prescott Made A Rush At Kennedy,  Who Seized Him By The Wrist And

Held Him Tightly In A Grasp Of Steel That Caused The Veins On The

Back Of His Hands To Stand Out Like Whipcords.

 

"This Is A Deep-Laid Plot," He Went On Calmly,  Still Holding

Prescott,  While I Backed Up Against The Door And Cut Off His Wife;

"But It Is Not So Difficult To See It After All. Your Part Was To

Destroy The Eyesight Of The Old Man,  To Make It Necessary For Him

To Call On His Daughter. Your Wife's Part Was To Play The Role Of

Mrs. Martin,  Whom He Had Not Seen For Years And Could Not See Now.

She Was To Persuade Him,  With Her Filial Affection,  To Make Her

The Beneficiary Of His Will,  To See That His Money Was Kept

Readily Convertible Into Cash.

 

"Then,  When The Old Man Was At Last Out Of The Way,  You Two Could

Decamp With What You Could Realise Before The Real Daughter,  Cut

Off Somewhere Across The Continent,  Could Hear Of The Death Of Her

Father. It Was An Excellent Scheme. But Haswell's Plain,  Material

Newspaper Advertisement Was Not So Effective For Your Purposes,

Prescott,  As The More Artistic 'Telepagram,' As You Call It.

Although You Two Got In First In Answering The Advertisement,  It

Finally Reached The Right Person After All. You Didn't Get Away

Quickly Enough.

 

"You Were Not Expecting That The Real Daughter Would See It And

Turn Up So Soon. But She Has. She Lives In California. Mr. Haswell

In His Delirium Has Just Told Of Receiving A Telegram Which I

Suppose You,  Mrs. Prescott,  Read,  Destroyed,  And Acted Upon. It

Hurried Your Plans,  But You Were Equal To The Emergency. Besides,

Possession Is Nine Points In The Law. You Tried The Gas,  Making It

Look Like A Suicide. Jane,  In Her Excitement,  Spoiled That,  And

Dr. Burnham,  Knowing Where I Was,  As It Happened,  Was Able To

Summon Me Immediately. Circumstances Have Been Against You From

The First,  Prescott."

 

Craig Was Slowly Twisting Up The Hand Of The Inventor,  Which He

Still Held. With His Other Hand He Pulled A Paper From His Pocket.

It Was The Old Envelope On Which He Had Written Upon The Occasion

Of Our First Visit To Mr. Haswell When We Had Been So

Unceremoniously Interrupted By The Visit Of Dr. Scott.

 

"I Sat Here Yesterday By This Bed," Continued Craig,  Motioning

Toward The Chair He Had Occupied,  As I Remembered. "Mr. Haswell

Was Telling Dr. Scott Something In An Undertone. I Could Not Hear

It. But The Old Man Grasped The Doctor By The Wrist To Pull Him

Closer To Whisper To Him. The Doctor's Hand Was Toward Me And I

Noticed The Peculiar Markings Of The Veins.

 

"You Perhaps Are Not Acquainted With The Fact,  But The Markings Of

The Veins In The Back Of The Hand Are Peculiar To Each Individual-

-As Infallible,  Indestructible,  And Ineffaceable As Finger Prints

Or The Shape Of The Ear. It Is A System Invented And Developed By

Professor Tamassia Of The University Of Padua,  Italy. A

Superficial Observer Would Say That All Vein Patterns Were

Essentially Similar,  And Many Have Said So,  But Tamassia Has Found

Each To Be Characteristic And All Subject To Almost Incredible

Diversities. There Are Six General Classes--In This Case Before

Us,  Two Large Veins Crossed By A Few Secondary Veins Forming A V

With Its Base Near The Wrist.

 

"Already My Suspicions Had Been Aroused. I Sketched The

Arrangement Of The Veins Standing Out On That Hand. I Noted The

Same Thing Just Now On The Hand That Manipulated The Fake

Apparatus In The Laboratory. Despite The Difference In Make-Up

Scott And Prescott Are The Same.

 

"The Invisible Rays Of The Ultra-Violet Light May Have Blinded Mr.

Haswell,  Even To The Recognition Of His Own Daughter,  But You Can

Rest Assured,  Prescott,  That The Very Cleverness Of Your Scheme

Will Penetrate The Eyes Of The Blindfolded Goddess Of Justice.

Burnham,  If You Will Have The Kindness To Summon The Police,  I

Will Take All The Responsibility For The Arrest Of These People."

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 139

 

 

"What A Relief It Will Be When This Election Is Over And The

Newspapers Print News Again," I Growled As I Turned The First Page

Of The Star With A Mere Glance At The Headlines.

 

"Yes," Observed Kennedy,  Who Was Puzzling Over A Note Which He Had

Received In The Morning Mail. "This Is The Bitterest Campaign In

Years. Now,  Do You Suppose That They Are After Me In A

Professional Way Or Are They Trying To Round Me Up As An

Independent Voter?"

 

The Letter Which Had Called Forth This Remark Was Headed,  "The

Travis Campaign Committee Of The Reform League," And,  As Kennedy

Evidently Intended Me To Pass An Opinion On It,  I Picked It Up. It

Was Only A Few Lines,  Requesting Him To Call During The Morning,

If Convenient,  On Wesley Travis,  The Candidate For Governor And

The Treasurer Of His Campaign Committee,  Dean Bennett. It Had

Evidently Been Written In Great Haste In Longhand The Night

Before.

 

"Professional," I Hazarded. "There Must Be Some Scandal In The

Campaign For Which They Require Your Services."

 

"I Suppose So," Agreed Craig. "Well,  If It Is Business Instead Of

Politics It Has At Least This Merit--It Is Current Business. I

Suppose You Have No Objection To Going With Me?"

 

Thus It Came About That Not Very Much Later In The Morning We

Found Ourselves At The Campaign Headquarters,  In The Presence Of

Two Nervous And High-Keyed Gentlemen In Frock Coats And Silk Hats.

It Would Have Taken No Great Astuteness,  Even Without Seeing The

Surroundings,  To Deduce Instantly That They Were Engaged In The

Annual Struggle Of Seeking The Votes Of Their Fellow-Citizens For

Something Or Other,  And Were Nearly Worn Out By The Arduous Nature

Of That Process.

 

Their Headquarters Were In A Tower Of A Skyscraper,  Whence Poured

Forth A Torrent Of Appeal To The Moral Sense Of The Electorate,

Both In Printed And Oral Form. Yet There Was A Different Tone To

The Place From That Which I Had Ordinarily Associated With

Political Headquarters In Previous Campaigns. There Was An Absence

Of The Old-Fashioned Politicians And Of The Air Of Intrigue Laden

With Tobacco. Rather,  There Was An Air Of Earnestness And

Efficiency Which Was Decidedly Prepossessing. Maps Of The State

Were Hanging On The Walls,  Some Stuck Full Of Various Coloured

Pins Denoting The Condition Of The Canvass. A Map Of The City In

Colours,  Divided Into All Sorts Of Districts,  Told How Fared The

Battle In The Stronghold Of The Boss,  Billy Mcloughlin. Huge

Systems Of Card Indexes,  Loose Leaf Devices,  Labour-Saving

Appliances For Getting Out A Vast Mass Of Campaign "Literature" In

A Hurry,  In Short A Perfect System,  Such As A Great,  Well-Managed

Business Might Have Been Proud Of,  Were In Evidence Everywhere.

 

Wesley Travis Was A Comparatively Young Man,  A Lawyer Who Had

Early Made A Mark In Politics And Had Been Astute Enough To Shake

Off The Thraldom Of The Bosses Before The Popular Uprising Against

Them. Now He Was The Candidate Of The Reform League For Governor

And A Good Stiff Campaign He Was Putting Up.

 

His Campaign Manager,  Dean Bennett,  Was A Business Man Whose

Financial Interests Were Opposed To Those Usually Understood To Be

Behind Billy Mcloughlin,  Of The Regular Party To Which Both Travis

And Bennett Might Naturally Have Been Supposed To Belong In The

Old Days. Indeed The Reform League Owed Its Existence To A

Fortunate Conjunction Of Both Moral And Economic Conditions

Demanding Progress.

 

"Things Have Been Going Our Way Up To The Present," Began Travis

Confidentially,  When We Were Seated Democratically With Our

Campaign Cigars Lighted. "Of Course We Haven't Such A Big 'Barrel'

As Our Opponents,  For We Are Not Frying The Fat Out Of The

Corporations. But The People Have Supported Us Nobly,  And I Think

The Opposition Of The Vested Interests Has Been A Great Help. We

Seem To Be Winning,  And I Say 'Seem' Only Because One Can Never Be

Certain How Anything Is Going In This Political Game Nowadays.

 

"You Recall,  Mr. Kennedy,  Reading In The Papers That My Country

House Out On Long Island Was Robbed The Other Day? Some Of The

Reporters Made Much Of It. To Tell The Truth,  I Think They Had

Become So Satiated With Sensations That They Were Sure That The

Thing Was Put Up By Some Muckrakers And That There Would Be An

Expose Of Some Kind. For The Thief,  Whoever He Was,  Seems To Have

Taken Nothing From My Library But A Sort Of Scrap-Book Or Album Of

Photographs. It Was A Peculiar Robbery,  But As I Had Nothing To

Conceal It Didn't Worry Me. Well,  I Had All But Forgotten It When

A Fellow Came Into Bennett's Office Here Yesterday And Demanded--

Tell Us What It Was,  Bennett. You Saw Him."

 

Bennett Cleared His Throat. "You See,  It Was This Way. He Gave His

Name As Harris Hanford And Described Himself As A Photographer. I

Think He Has Done Work For Billy Mcloughlin. At Any Rate,  His

Offer Was To Sell Us Several Photographs,  And His Story About Them

Was Very Circumstantial. He Hinted That They Had Been Evidently

Among Those Stolen From Mr. Travis And That In A Roundabout Way

They Had Come Into The Possession Of A Friend Of His Without His

Knowing Who The Thief Was. He Said That He Had Not Made The

Photographs Himself,  But Had An Idea By Whom They Were Made,  That

The Original Plates Had Been Destroyed,  But That The Person Who

Made Them Was Ready To Swear That The Pictures Were Taken After

The Nominating Convention This Fall Which Had Named Travis. At Any

Rate The Photographs Were Out And The Price For Them Was $25,000."

 

"What Are They That He Should Set Such A Price On Them?" Asked

Kennedy,  Keenly Looking From Bennett Quickly To Travis.

 

Travis Met His Look Without Flinching. "They Are Supposed To Be

Photographs Of Myself," He Replied Slowly. "One Purports To

Represent Me In A Group On Mcloughlin's Porch At His Farm On The

South Shore Of The Island,  About Twenty Miles From My Place. As

Hanford Described It,  I Am Standing Between Mcloughlin And J.

Cadwalader Brown,  The Trust Promoter Who Is Backing Mcloughlin To

Save His Investments. Brown's Hand Is On My Shoulder And We Are

Talking Familiarly. Another Is A Picture Of Brown,  Mcloughlin,  And

Myself Riding In Brown's Car,  And In It Brown And I Are Evidently

On The Best Of Terms. Oh,  There Are Several Of Them,  All In The

Same Vein. Now," He Added,  And His Voice Rose With Emotion As If

He Were Addressing A Cart-Tail Meeting Which Must Be Convinced

That There Was Nothing Criminal In Riding In A Motor-Car,  "I Don't

Hesitate To Admit That A Year Or So Ago I Was Not On Terms Of

Intimacy With These Men,  But At Least Acquainted With Them. At

Various Times,  Even As Late As Last Spring,  I Was Present At

Conferences Over The Presidential Outlook In This State,  And Once

I Think I Did Ride Back To The City With Them. But I Know That

There Were No Pictures Taken,  And Even If There Had Been I Would

Not Care If They Told The Truth About Them. I Have Frankly

Admitted In My Speeches That I Knew These Men,  That My Knowledge

Of Them And Breaking From Them Is My Chief Qualification For

Waging An Effective War On Them If I Am Elected. They Hate Me

Cordially. You Know That. What I Do Care About Is The Sworn

Allegation That Now Accompanies These--These Fakes. They Were Not,

Could Not Have Been Taken After The Independent Convention That

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 140

Nominated Me. If The Photographs Were True I Would Be A Fine

Traitor. But I Haven't Even Seen Mcloughlin Or Brown Since Last

Spring. The Whole Thing Is A--"

 

"Lie From Start To Finish," Put In Bennett Emphatically. "Yes,

Travis,  We All Know That. I'd Quit Right Now If I Didn't Believe

In You. But Let Us Face The Facts. Here Is This Story,  Sworn To As

Hanford Says And Apparently Acquiesced In By Billy Mcloughlin And

Cad. Brown. What Do They Care Anyhow As Long As It Is Against You?

And There,  Too,  Are The Pictures Themselves--At Least They Will Be

In Print Or Suppressed,  According As We Act. Now,  You Know That

Nothing Could Hurt The Reform Ticket Worse Than To Have An Issue

Like This Raised At This Time. We Were Supposed At Least To Be On

The Level,  With Nothing To Explain Away. There May Be Just Enough

People To Believe That There Is Some Basis For This Suspicion To

Turn The Tide Against Us. If It Were Earlier In The Campaign I'd

Say Accept The Issue,  Fight It Out To A Finish,  And In The Turn Of

Events We Should Really Have The Best Campaign Material. But It Is

Too Late Now To Expose Such A Knavish Trick Of Theirs On The

Friday Before Election. Frankly,  I Believe Discretion Is The

Better Part Of Valour In This Case And Without Abating A Jot Of My

Faith In You,  Travis,  Well,  I'd Pay First And Expose The Fraud

Afterward,  After The Election,  At Leisure."

 

"No,  I Won't," Persisted Travis,  Shutting His Square Jaw Doggedly.

"I Won't Be Held Up."

 

The Door Had Opened And A Young Lady In A Very Stunning Street

Dress,  With A Huge Hat And A Tantalising Veil,  Stood In It For A

Moment,  Hesitated,  And Then Was About To Shut It With An Apology

For Intruding On A Conference.

 

"I'll Fight It If It Takes My Last Dollar," Declared Travis,  "But

I Won't Be Blackmailed Out Of A Cent. Good-Morning,  Miss Ashton.

I'll Be Free In A Moment. I'll See You In Your Office Directly."

 

The Girl,  With A Portfolio Of Papers In Her Hand,  Smiled,  And

Travis Quickly Crossed The Room And Held The Door Deferentially

Open As He Whispered A Word Or Two. When She Had Disappeared He

Returned And Remarked,  "I Suppose You Have Heard Of Miss Margaret

Ashton,  The Suffragette Leader,  Mr. Kennedy? She Is The Head Of

Our Press Bureau." Then A Heightened Look Of Determination Set His

Fine Face In Hard Lines,  And He Brought His Fist Down On The Desk.

"No,  Not A Cent," He Thundered.

 

Bennett Shrugged His Shoulders Hopelessly And Looked At Kennedy In

Mock Resignation As If To Say,  "What Can You Do With Such A

Fellow?" Travis Was Excitedly Pacing The Floor And Waving His Arms

As If He Were Addressing A Meeting In The Enemy's Country.

"Hanford Comes At Us In This Way," He Continued,  Growing More

Excited As He Paced Up And Down. "He Says Plainly That The

Pictures Will Of Course Be Accepted As Among Those Stolen From Me,

And In That,  I Suppose,  He Is Right. The Public Will Swallow It.

When Bennett Told Him I Would Prosecute He Laughed And Said,  'Go

Ahead. I Didn't Steal The Pictures. That Would Be A Great Joke For

Travis To Seek Redress From The Courts He Is Criticising. I Guess

He'd Want To Recall The Decision If It Went Against Him--Hey?'

Hanford Says That A Hundred Copies Have Been Made Of Each Of The

Photographs And That This Person,  Whom We Do Not Know,  Has Them

Ready To Drop Into The Mail To The One Hundred Leading Papers Of

The State In Time For Them To Appear In The Monday Editions Just

Before Election Day. He Says No Amount Of Denying On Our Part Can

Destroy The Effect--Or At Least He Went Further And Said 'Shake

Their Validity.'

 

"But I Repeat. They Are False. For All I Know,  It Is A Plot Of

Mcloughlin's,  The Last Fight Of A Boss For His Life,  Driven Into A

Corner. And It Is Meaner Than If He Had Attempted To Forge A

Letter. Pictures Appeal To The Eye And Mind Much More Than

Letters. That's What Makes The Thing So Dangerous. Billy

Mcloughlin Knows How To Make The Best Use Of Such A Roorback On

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 141

The Eve Of An Election,  And Even If I Not Only Deny But Prove That

They Are A Fake,  I'm Afraid The Harm Will Be Done. I Can't Reach

All The Voters In Time. Ten See Such A Charge To One Who Sees The

Denial."

 

"Just So," Persisted Bennett Coolly. "You Admit That We Are

Practically Helpless. That's What I Have Been Saying All Along.

Get Control Of The Prints First,  Travis,  For God's Sake. Then

Raise Any Kind Of A Howl You Want--Before Election Or After. As I

Say,  If We Had A Week Or Two It Might Be All Right To Fight. But

We Can Make No Move Without Making Fools Of Ourselves Until They

Are Published Monday As The Last Big Thing Of The Campaign. The

Rest Of Monday And The Tuesday Morning Papers Do Not Give Us Time

To Reply. Even If They Were Published To-Day We Should Hardly Have

Time To Expose The Plot,  Hammer It In,  And Make The Issue An Asset

Instead Of A Liability. No,  You Must Admit It Yourself. There

Isn't Time. We Must Carry Out The Work We Have So Carefully

Planned To Cap The Campaign,  And If We Are Diverted By This It

Means A Let-Up In Our Final Efforts,  And That Is As Good As

Mcloughlin Wants Anyhow. Now,  Kennedy,  Don't You Agree With Me?

Squelch The Pictures Now At Any Cost,  Then Follow The Thing Up

And,  If We Can,  Prosecute After Election?"

 

Kennedy And I,  Who Had Been So Far Little More Than Interested

Spectators,  Had Not Presumed To Interrupt. Finally Craig Asked,

"You Have Copies Of The Pictures?"

 

"No," Replied Bennett. "This Hanford Is A Brazen Fellow,  But He

Was Too Astute To Leave Them. I Saw Them For An Instant. They Look

Bad. And The Affidavits With Them Look Worse."

 

"H'm," Considered Kennedy,  Turning The Crisis Over In His Mind.

"We've Had Alleged Stolen And Forged Letters Before,  But Alleged

Stolen And Forged Photographs Are New. I'm Not Surprised That You

Are Alarmed,  Bennett,--Nor That You Want To Fight,  Travis."

 

"Then You Will Take Up The Case?" Urged The Latter Eagerly,

Forgetting Both His Campaign Manager And His Campaign Manners,  And

Leaning Forward Almost Like A Prisoner In The Dock To Catch The

Words Of The Foreman Of The Jury. "You Will Trace Down The Forger

Of Those Pictures Before It Is Too Late?"

 

"I Haven't Said I'll Do That--Yet," Answered Craig Measuredly. "I

Haven't Even Said I'd Take Up The Case. Politics Is A New Game To

Me,  Mr. Travis. If I Go Into This Thing I Want To Go Into It And

Stay In It--Well,  You Know How You Lawyers Put It,  With Clean

Hands. On One Condition I'll Take The Matter Up,  And On Only One."

 

"Name It," Cried Travis Anxiously,

 

"Of Course,  Having Been Retained By You," Continued Craig With

Provoking Slowness,  "It Is Not Reasonable To Suppose That If I

Find--How Shall I Put It--Bluntly,  Yes?--If I Find That The Story

Of Hanford Has Some--Er--Foundation,  It Is Not Reasonable To

Suppose That I Should Desert You And Go Over To The Other Side.

Neither Is It To Be Supposed That I Will Continue And Carry Such A

Thing Through For You Regardless Of Truth. What I Ask Is To Have A

Free Hand,  To Be Able To Drop The Case The Moment I Cannot Proceed

Further In Justice To Myself,  Drop It,  And Keep My Mouth Shut. You

Understand? These Are My Conditions And No Less."

 

"And You Think You Can Make Good?" Questioned Bennett Rather

Sceptically. "You Are Willing To Risk It? You Don't Think It Would

Be Better To Wait Until After The Election Is Won?"

 

"You Have Heard My Conditions," Reiterated Craig.

 

"Done," Broke In Travis. "I'm Going To Fight It Out,  Bennett. If

We Get In Wrong By Dickering With Them At The Start It May Be

Worse For Us In The End. Paying Amounts To Confession."

 

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 142

Bennett Shook His Head Dubiously. "I'm Afraid This Will Suit

Mcloughlin's Purpose Just As Well. Photographs Are Like

Statistics. They Don't Lie Unless The People Who Make Them Do. But

It's Hard To Tell What A Liar Can Accomplish With Either In An

Election."

 

"Say,  Dean,  You're Not Going To Desert Me?" Reproached Travis.

"You're Not Offended At My Kicking Over The Traces,  Are You?"

 

Bennett Rose,  Placed A Hand On Travis's Shoulder,  And Grasped His

Other. "Wesley," He Said Earnestly,  "I Wouldn't Desert You Even If

The Pictures Were True."

 

"I Knew It," Responded Travis Heartily. "Then Let Mr. Kennedy Have

One Day To See What He Can Do. Then If We Make No Progress We'll

Take Your Advice,  Dean. We'll Pay,  I Suppose,  And Ask Mr. Kennedy

To Continue The Case After Next Tuesday."

 

"With The Proviso," Put In Craig.

 

"With The Proviso,  Kennedy," Repeated Travis. "Your Hand On That.

Say,  I Think I've Shaken Hands With Half The Male Population Of

This State Since I Was Nominated,  But This Means More To Me Than

Any Of Them. Call On Us,  Either Bennett Or Myself,  The Moment You

Need Aid. Spare No Reasonable Expense,  And--And Get The Goods,  No

Matter Whom It Hits Higher Up,  Even If It Is Cadwalader Brown

Himself. Good-Bye And A Thousand Thanks--Oh,  By The Way,  Wait. Let

Me Take You Around And Introduce You To Miss Ashton. She May Be

Able To Help You."

 

The Office Of Bennett And Travis Was In The Centre Of The Suite.

On One Side Were The Cashier And Clerical Force As Well As The

Speakers' Bureau,  Where Spellbinders Of All Degrees Were Getting

Instruction,  Tours Were Being Laid Out,  And Reports Received From

Meetings Already Held.

 

On The Other Side Was The Press Bureau With A Large And Active

Force In Charge Of Miss Ashton,  Who Was Supporting Travis Because

He Had Most Emphatically Declared For "Votes For Women" And Had

Insisted That His Party Put This Plank In Its Platform. Miss

Ashton Was A Clever Girl,  A Graduate Of A Famous Woman's College,

And Had Had Several Years Of Newspaper Experience Before She

Became A Leader In The Suffrage Cause. I Recalled Having Read And

Heard A Great Deal About Her,  Though I Had Never Met Her. The

Ashtons Were Well Known In New York Society,  And It Was A Sore

Trial To Some Of Her Conservative Friends That She Should Reject

What They Considered The Proper "Sphere" For Women. Among Those

Friends,  I Understood,  Was Cadwalader Brown Himself.

 

Travis Had Scarcely More Than Introduced Us,  Yet Already I Scented

A Romance Behind The Ordinarily Prosaic Conduct Of A Campaign

Press Bureau. It Is Far From My Intention To Minimise The Work Or

The Ability Of The Head Of The Press Bureau,  But It Struck Me,

Both Then And Later,  That The Candidate Had An Extraordinary

Interest In The Newspaper Campaign,  Much More Than In The

Speakers' Bureau,  And I Am Sure That It Was Not Solely Accounted

For By The Fact That Publicity Is Playing A More And More

Important Part In Political Campaigning.

 

Nevertheless Such Innovations As Her Card Index System By Election

Districts All Over The State,  Showing The Attitude Of The Various

Newspaper Editors,  Of Local Political Leaders,  And Changes Of

Sentiment,  Were Very Full And Valuable. Kennedy,  Who Had A Regular

Pigeon-Hole Mind For Facts,  Was Visibly Impressed By This Huge

Mechanical Memory Built Up By Miss Ashton. Though He Said Nothing

To Me I Knew He Had Also Observed The State Of Affairs Between The

Reform Candidate And The Suffrage Leader.

 

It Was At A Moment When Travis Had Been Called Back To His Office

That Kennedy,  Who Had Been Eyeing Miss Ashton With Marked

Approval,  Leaned Over And Said In A Low Voice. "Miss Ashton,  I

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 143

Think I Can Trust You. Do You Want To Do A Great Favour For Mr.

Travis?"

 

She Did Not Betray Even By A Fleeting Look On Her Face What The

True State Of Her Feelings Was,  Although I Fancied That The

Readiness Of Her Assent Had Perhaps More Meaning Than She Would

Have Placed In A Simple "Yes" Otherwise.

 

"I Suppose You Know That An Attempt Is Being Made To Blackmail Mr.

Travis?" Added Kennedy Quickly.

 

"I Know Something About It," She Replied In A Tone Which Left It

For Granted That Travis Had Told Her Before Even We Were Called

In. I Felt That Not Unlikely Travis's Set Determination To Fight

Might Be Traceable To Her Advice Or At Least To Her Opinion Of

Him.

 

"I Suppose In A Large Force Like This It Is Not Impossible That

Your Political Enemies May Have A Spy Or Two," Observed Kennedy,

Glancing About At The Score Or More Clerks Busily Engaged In

Getting Out "Literature."

 

"I Have Sometimes Thought That Myself," She Agreed. "But Of Course

I Don't Know. Still,  I Have To Be Pretty Careful. Some One Is

Always Over Here By My Desk Or Looking Over Here. There Isn't Much

Secrecy In A Big Room Like This. I Never Leave Important Stuff

Lying About Where Any Of Them Could See It."

 

"Yes," Mused Kennedy. "What Time Does The Office Close?"

 

"We Shall Finish To-Night About Nine,  I Think. To-Morrow It May Be

Later."

 

"Well,  Then,  If I Should Call Here To-Night At,  Say,  Half-Past

Nine,  Could You Be Here? I Need Hardly Say That Your Doing So May

Be Of Inestimable Value To--To The Campaign."

 

"I Shall Be Here," She Promised,  Giving Her Hand With A Peculiar

Straight Arm Shake And Looking Him Frankly In The Face With Those

Eyes Which Even The Old Guard In The Legislature Admitted Were

Vote-Winners.

 

Kennedy Was Not Quite Ready To Leave Yet,  But Sought Out Travis

And Obtained Permission To Glance Over The Financial End Of The

Campaign. There Were Few Large Contributors To Travis's Fund,  But

A Host Of Small Sums Ranging From Ten And Twenty-Five Dollars Down

To Dimes And Nickels. Truly It Showed The Depth Of The Popular

Uprising. Kennedy Also Glanced Hastily Over The Items Of Expense--

Rent,  Salaries,  Stenographer And Office Force,  Advertising,

Printing And Stationery,  Postage,  Telephone,  Telegraph,  Automobile

And Travelling Expenses,  And Miscellaneous Matters.

 

As Kennedy Expressed It Afterwards,  As Against The Small Driblets

Of Money Coming In,  Large Sums Were Going Out For Expenses In

Lumps. Campaigning In These Days Costs Money Even When Done

Honestly. The Miscellaneous Account Showed Some Large Indefinite

Items,  And After A Hasty Calculation Kennedy Made Out That If All

The Obligations Had To Be Met Immediately The Committee Would Be

In The Hole For Several Thousand Dollars.

 

"In Short," I Argued As We Were Leaving,  "This Will Either Break

Travis Privately Or Put His Fund In Hopeless Shape. Or Does It

Mean That He Foresees Defeat And Is Taking This Way To Recoup

Himself Under Cover Of Being Held Up?"

 

Kennedy Said Nothing In Response To My Suspicions,  Though I Could

See That In His Mind He Was Leaving No Possible Clue Unnoted.

 

It Was Only A Few Blocks To The Studio Of Harris Hanford,  Whom

Kennedy Was Now Bent On Seeing. We Found Him In An Old Building On

One Of The Side Streets In The Thirties Which Business Had

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 144

Captured. His Was A Little Place On The Top Floor,  Up Three

Flights Of Stairs,  And I Noticed As We Climbed Up That The Room

Next To His Was Vacant.

 

Our Interview With Hanford Was Short And Unsatisfactory. He Either

Was Or At Least Posed As Representing A Third Party In The Affair,

And Absolutely Refused To Permit Us To Have Even A Glance At The

Photographs.

 

"My Dealings," He Asserted Airily,  "Must All Be With Mr. Bennett,

Or With Mr. Travis,  Direct,  Not With Emissaries. I Don't Make Any

Secret About It. The Prints Are Not Here. They Are Safe And Ready

To Be Produced At The Right Time,  Either To Be Handed Over For The

Money Or To Be Published In The Newspapers. We Have Found Out All

About Them; We Are Satisfied,  Although The Negatives Have Been

Destroyed. As For Their Having Been Stolen From Travis,  You Can

Put Two And Two Together. They Are Out And Copies Have Been Made

Of Them,  Good Copies. If Mr. Travis Wishes To Repudiate Them,  Let

Him Start Proceedings. I Told Bennett All About That. To-Morrow Is

The Last Day,  And I Must Have Bennett's Answer Then,  Without Any

Interlopers Coming Into It. If It Is Yes,  Well And Good; If Not,

Then They Know What To Expect. Good-Bye."

 

It Was Still Early In The Forenoon,  And Kennedy's Next Move Was To

Go Out On Long Island To Examine The Library At Travis's From

Which The Pictures Were Said To Have Been Stolen. At The

Laboratory Kennedy And I Loaded Ourselves With A Large Oblong

Black Case Containing A Camera And A Tripod.

 

His Examination Of The Looted Library Was Minute,  Taking In The

Window Through Which The Thief Had Apparently Entered,  The Cabinet

He Had Forced,  And The Situation In General. Finally Craig Set Up

His Camera With Most Particular Care And Took Several Photographs

Of The Window,  The Cabinet,  The Doors,  Including The Room From

Every Angle. Outside He Snapped The Two Sides Of The Corner Of The

House In Which The Library Was Situated. Partly By Trolley And

Partly By Carriage We Crossed The Island To The South Shore,  And

Finally Found Mcloughlin's Farm Where We Had No Trouble In Getting

Half A Dozen Photographs Of The Porch And House. Altogether The

Proceedings Seemed Tame To Me,  Yet I Knew From Previous Experience

That Kennedy Had A Deep Laid Purpose.

 

We Parted In The City,  To Meet Just Before It Was Time To Visit

Miss Ashton. Kennedy Had Evidently Employed The Interval In

Developing His Plates,  For He Now Had Ten Or A Dozen Prints,  All

Of Exactly The Same Size,  Mounted On Stiff Cardboard In A Space

With Scales And Figures On All Four Sides. He Saw Me Puzzling Over

Them.

 

"Those Are Metric Photographs Such As Bertillon Of Paris Takes,"

He Explained. "By Means Of The Scales And Tables And Other Methods

That Have Been Worked Out We Can Determine From Those Pictures

Distances And Many Other Things Almost As Well As If We Were On

The Spot Itself. Bertillon Has Cleared Up Many Crimes With This

Help,  Such As The Mystery Of The Shooting In The Hotel Quai

D'orsay And Other Cases. The Metric Photograph,  I Believe,  Will In

Time Rank With The Portrait Parle,  Finger Prints,  And The Rest.

 

"For Instance,  In Order To Solve The Riddle Of A Crime The

Detective's First Task Is To Study The Scene Topographically.

Plans And Elevations Of A Room Or House Are Made. The Position Of

Each Object Is Painstakingly Noted. In Addition,  The All-Seeing

Eye Of The Camera Is Called Into Requisition. The Plundered Room

Is Photographed,  As In This Case. I Might Have Done It By Placing

A Foot Rule On A Table And Taking That In The Picture,  But A More

Scientific And Accurate Method Has Been Devised By Bertillon. His

Camera Lens Is Always Used At A Fixed Height From The Ground And

Forms Its Image On The Plate At An Exact Focus. The Print Made

From The Negative Is Mounted On A Card In A Space Of Definite

Size,  Along The Edges Of Which A Metric Scale Is Printed. In The

Way He Has Worked It Out The Distance Between Any Two Points In

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 145

The Picture Can Be Determined. With A Topographical Plan And A

Metric Photograph One Can Study A Crime As A General Studies The

Map Of A Strange Country. There Were Several Peculiar Things That

I Observed To-Day,  And I Have Here An Indelible Record Of The

Scene Of The Crime. Preserved In This Way It Cannot Be Questioned.

 

"Now The Photographs Were In This Cabinet. There Are Other

Cabinets,  But None Of Them Has Been Disturbed. Therefore The Thief

Must Have Known Just What He Was After. The Marks Made In Breaking

The Lock Were Not Those Of A Jimmy But Of A Screwdriver. No

Amazing Command Of The Resources Of Science Is Needed So Far. All

That Is Necessary Is A Little Scientific Common Sense,  Walter.

 

"Now,  How Did The Robber Get In? All The Windows And Doors Were

Supposedly Locked. It Is Alleged That A Pane Was Cut From This

Window At The Side. It Was,  And The Pieces Were There To Show It.

But Take A Glance At This Outside Photograph. To Reach That Window

Even A Tall Man Must Have Stood On A Ladder Or Something. There

Are No Marks Of A Ladder Or Of Any Person In The Soft Soil Under

The Window. What Is More,  That Window Was Cut From The Inside. The

Marks Of The Diamond Which Cut It Plainly Show That. Scientific

Common Sense Again."

 

"Then It Must Have Been Some One In The House Or At Least Some One

Familiar With It?" I Exclaimed.

 

Kennedy Nodded. "One Thing We Have Which The Police Greatly

Neglect," He Pursued,  "A Record. We Have Made Some Progress In

Reconstructing The Crime,  As Bertillon Calls It. If We Only Had

Those Hanford Pictures We Should Be All Right."

 

We Were Now On Our Way To See Miss Ashton At Headquarters,  And As

We Rode Downtown I Tried To Reason Out The Case. Had It Really

Been A Put-Up Job? Was Travis Himself Faking,  And Was The Robbery

A "Plant" By Which He Might Forestall Exposure Of What Had Become

Public Property In The Hands Of Another,  No Longer Disposed To

Conceal It? Or Was It After All The Last Desperate Blow Of The

Boss?

 

The Whole Thing Began To Assume A Suspicious Look In My Mind.

Although Kennedy Seemed To Have Made Little Real Progress,  I Felt

That,  Far From Aiding Travis,  It Made Things Darker. There Was

Nothing But His Unsupported Word That He Had Not Visited The Boss

Subsequent To The Nominating Convention. He Admitted Having Done

So Before The Reform League Came Into Existence. Besides It Seemed

Tacitly Understood That Both The Boss And Cadwalader Brown

Acquiesced In The Sworn Statement Of The Man Who Said He Had Made

The Pictures. Added To That The Mere Existence Of The Actual

Pictures Themselves Was A Graphic Clincher To The Story.

Personally,  If I Had Been In Kennedy's Place I Think I Should Have

Taken Advantage Of The Proviso In The Compact With Travis To Back

Out Gracefully. Kennedy,  However,  Now Started On The Case,  Hung To

It Tenaciously.

 

Miss Ashton Was Waiting For Us At The Press Bureau. Her Desk Was

At The Middle Of One End Of The Room In Which,  If She Could Keep

An Eye On Her Office Force,  The Office Force Also Could Keep An

Eye On Her.

 

Kennedy Had Apparently Taken In The Arrangement During Our Morning

Visit,  For He Set To Work Immediately. The Side Of The Room Toward

The Office Of Travis And Bennett Presented An Expanse Of Blank

Wall. With A Mallet He Quickly Knocked A Hole In The Rough

Plaster,  Just Above The Baseboard About The Room. The Hole Did Not

Penetrate Quite Through To The Other Side. In It He Placed A Round

Disc Of Vulcanised Rubber,  With Insulated Wires Leading Down Back

Of The Baseboard,  Then Out Underneath It,  And Under The Carpet.

Some Plaster Quickly Closed Up The Cavity In The Wall,  And He Left

It To Dry.

 

Next He Led The Wires Under The Carpet To Miss Ashton's Desk.

There They Ended,  Under The Carpet And A Rug,  Eighteen Or Twenty

Huge Coils Several Feet In Diameter Disposed In Such A Way As To

Attract No Attention By A Curious Foot On The Carpet Which Covered

Them.

 

"That Is All,  Miss Ashton," He Said As We Watched For His Next

Move. "I Shall Want To See You Early To-Morrow,  And,--Might I Ask

You To Be Sure To Wear That Hat Which You Have On?"

 

It Was A Very Becoming Hat,  But Kennedy's Tone Clearly Indicated

That It Was Not His Taste In Inverted Basket Millinery That

Prompted The Request. She Promised,  Smiling,  For Even A

Suffragette May Like Pretty Hats.

 

Craig Had Still To See Travis And Report On His Work. The

Candidate Was Waiting Anxiously At His Hotel After A Big Political

Mass Meeting On The East Side,  At Which Capitalism And The Bosses

Had Been Hissed To The Echo,  If That Is Possible.

 

"What Success?" Inquired Travis Eagerly.

 

"I'm Afraid," Replied Kennedy,  And The Candidate's Face Fell At

The Tone,  "I'm Afraid You Will Have To Meet Them,  For The Present.

The Time Limit Will Expire To-Morrow,  And I Understand Hanford Is

Coming Up For A Final Answer. We Must Have Copies Of Those

Photographs,  Even If We Have To Pay For Them. There Seems To Be No

Other Way."

 

Travis Sank Back In His Chair And Regarded Kennedy Hopelessly. He

Was Actually Pale. "You--You Don't Mean To Say That There Is No

Other Way,  That I'll Have To Admit Even Before Bennett--And Others

That I'm In Bad?"

 

"I Wouldn't Put It That Way," Said Kennedy Mercilessly,  I Thought.

 

"It Is That Way," Travis Asserted Almost Fiercely. "Why,  We Could

Have Done That Anyhow. No,  No,--I Don't Mean That. Pardon Me. I'm

Upset By This. Go Ahead," He Sighed.

 

"You Will Direct Bennett To Make The Best Terms He Can With

Hanford When He Comes Up To-Morrow. Have Him Arrange The Details

Of Payment And Then Rush The Best Copies Of The Photographs To

Me."

 

Travis Seemed Crushed.

 

We Met Miss Ashton The Following Morning Entering Her Office.

Kennedy Handed Her A Package,  And In A Few Words,  Which I Did Not

Hear,  Explained What He Wanted,  Promising To Call Again Later.

 

When We Called,  The Girls And Other Clerks Had Arrived,  And The

Office Was A Hive Of Industry In The Rush Of Winding Up The

Campaign. Typewriters Were Clicking,  Clippings Were Being Snipped

Out Of A Huge Stack Of Newspapers And Pasted Into Large Scrap-

Books,  Circulars Were Being Folded And Made Ready To Mail For The

Final Appeal. The Room Was Indeed Crowded,  And I Felt That There

Was No Doubt,  As Kennedy Had Said,  That Nothing Much Could Go On

There Unobserved By Any One To Whose Interest It Was To See It.

 

Miss Ashton Was Sitting At Her Desk With Her Hat On Directing The

Work. "It Works," She Remarked Enigmatically To Kennedy.

 

"Good," He Replied. "I Merely Dropped In To Be Sure. Now If

Anything Of Interest Happens,  Miss Ashton,  I Wish You Would Let Me

Know Immediately. I Must Not Be Seen Up Here,  But I Shall Be

Waiting Downstairs In The Corridor Of The Building. My Next Move

Depends Entirely On What You Have To Report."

 

Downstairs Craig Waited With Growing Impatience. We Stood In An

Angle In Which We Could See Without Being Readily Seen,  And Our

Impatience Was Not Diminished By Seeing Hanford Enter The

Elevator.

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 146

I Think That Miss Ashton Would Have Made An Excellent Woman

Detective,  That Is,  On A Case In Which Her Personal Feelings Were

Not Involved As They Were Here. She Was Pale And Agitated As She

Appeared In The Corridor,  And Kennedy Hurried Toward Her.

 

"I Can't Believe It. I Won't Believe It," She Managed To Say.

 

"Tell Me,  What Happened?" Urged Kennedy Soothingly.

 

"Oh,  Mr. Kennedy,  Why Did You Ask Me To Do This?" She Reproached.

"I Would Almost Rather Not Have Known It At All."

 

"Believe Me,  Miss Ashton," Said Kennedy,  "You Ought To Know. It Is

On You That I Depend Most. We Saw Hanford Go Up. What Occurred?"

 

She Was Still Pale,  And Replied Nervously,  "Mr. Bennett Came In

About Quarter To Ten. He Stopped To Talk To Me And Looked About

The Room Curiously. Do You Know,  I Felt Very Uncomfortable For A

Time. Then He Locked The Door Leading From The Press Bureau To His

Office,  And Left Word That He Was Not To Be Disturbed. A Few

Minutes Later A Man Called."

 

"Yes,  Yes," Prompted Kennedy. "Hanford,  No Doubt."

 

She Was Racing On Breathlessly,  Scarcely Giving One A Chance To

Inquire How She Had Learned So Much.

 

"Why," She Cried With A Sort Of Defiant Ring In Her Tone,  "Mr.

Travis Is Going To Buy Those Pictures After All. And The Worst Of

It Is That I Met Him In The Hall Coming In As I Was Coming Down

Here,  And He Tried To Act Toward Me In The Same Old Way--And That

After All I Know Now About Him. They Have Fixed It All Up,  Mr.

Bennett Acting For Mr. Travis,  And This Mr. Hanford. They Are Even

Going To Ask Me To Carry The Money In A Sealed Envelope To The

Studio Of This Fellow Hanford,  To Be Given To A Third Person Who

Will Be There At Two O'clock This Afternoon."

 

"You,  Miss Ashton?" Inquired Kennedy,  A Light Breaking On His Face

As If At Last He Saw Something.

 

"Yes,  I," She Repeated. "Hanford Insisted That It Was Part Of The

Compact. They--They Haven't Asked Me Openly Yet To Be The Means Of

Carrying Out Their Dirty Deals,  But When They Do,  I--I Won't----"

 

"Miss Ashton," Remonstrated Kennedy,  "I Beg You To Be Calm. I Had

No Idea You Would Take It Like This,  No Idea. Please,  Please.

Walter,  You Will Excuse Us If We Take A Turn Down The Corridor And

Out In The Air. This Is Most Extraordinary."

 

For Five Or Ten Minutes Kennedy And Miss Ashton Appeared To Be

Discussing The New Turn Of Events Earnestly,  While I Waited

Impatiently. As They Approached Again She Seemed Calmer,  But I

Heard Her Say,  "I Hope You're Right. I'm All Broken Up By It. I'm

Ready To Resign. My Faith In Human Nature Is Shaken. No,  I Won't

Expose Wesley Travis For His Sake. It Cuts Me To Have To Admit It,

But Cadwalader Used Always To Say That Every Man Has His Price. I

Am Afraid This Will Do Great Harm To The Cause Of Reform And

Through It To The Woman Suffrage Cause Which Cast Its Lot With

This Party. I--I Can Hardly Believe----"

 

Kennedy Was Still Looking Earnestly At Her. "Miss Ashton," He

Implored,  "Believe Nothing. Remember One Of The First Rules Of

Politics Is Loyalty. Wait Until----"

 

"Wait?" She Echoed. "How Can I? I Hate Wesley Travis For Giving

In--More Than I Hate Cadwalader Brown For His Cynical Disregard Of

Honesty In Others."

 

She Bit Her Lip At Thus Betraying Her Feelings,  But What She Had

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 147

Heard Had Evidently Affected Her Deeply. It Was As Though The Feet

Of Her Idol Had Turned To Clay. Nevertheless It Was Evident That

She Was Coming To Look On It More As She Would If She Were An

Outsider.

 

"Just Think It Over," Urged Kennedy. "They Won't Ask You Right

Away. Don't Do Anything Rash. Suspend Judgment. You Won't Regret

It."

 

Craig's Next Problem Seemed To Be To Transfer The Scene Of His

Operations To Hanford's Studio. He Was Apparently Doing Some Rapid

Thinking As We Walked Uptown After Leaving Miss Ashton,  And I Did

Not Venture To Question Him On What Had Occurred When It Was So

Evident That Everything Depended On Being Prepared For What Was

Still To Occur.

 

Hanford Was Out. That Seemed To Please Kennedy,  For With A

Brightening Face,  Which Told More Surely Than Words That He Saw

His Way More And More Clearly,  He Asked Me To Visit The Agent And

Hire The Vacant Office Next To The Studio While He Went Uptown To

Complete His Arrangements For The Final Step.

 

I Had Completed My Part And Was Waiting In The Empty Room When He

Returned. He Lost No Time In Getting To Work,  And It Seemed To Me

As I Watched Him Curiously In Silence That He Was Repeating What

He Had Already Done At The Travis Headquarters. He Was Boring Into

The Wall,  Only This Time He Did It Much More Carefully,  And It Was

Evident That If He Intended Putting Anything Into This Cavity It

Must Be Pretty Large. The Hole Was Square,  And As I Bent Over I

Could See That He Had Cut Through The Plaster And Laths All The

Way To The Wallpaper On The Other Side,  Though He Was Careful To

Leave That Intact. Then He Set Up A Square Black Box In The

Cavity,  Carefully Poising It And Making Measurements That Told Of

The Exact Location Of Its Centre With Reference To The Partitions

And Walls.

 

A Skeleton Key Took Us Into Hanford's Well-Lighted But Now Empty

Studio. For Miss Ashton's Sake I Wished That The Photographs Had

Been There. I Am Sure Kennedy Would Have Found Slight Compunction

In A Larceny Of Them,  If They Had Been. It Was Something Entirely

Different That He Had In Mind Now,  However,  And He Was Working

Quickly For Fear Of Discovery. By His Measurements I Guessed That

He Was Calculating As Nearly As Possible The Centre Of The Box

Which He Had Placed In The Hole In The Wall On The Other Side Of

The Dark Wallpaper. When He Had Quite Satisfied Himself He Took A

Fine Pencil From His Pocket And Made A Light Cross On The Paper To

Indicate It. The Dot Fell To The Left Of A Large Calendar Hanging

On The Wall.

 

Kennedy's Appeal To Margaret Ashton Had Evidently Had Its Effect,

For When We Saw Her A Few Moments After These Mysterious

Preparations She Had Overcome Her Emotion.

 

"They Have Asked Me To Carry A Note To Mr. Hanford's Studio," She

Said Quietly,  "And Without Letting Them Know That I Know Anything

About It I Have Agreed To Do So."

 

"Miss Ashton," Said Kennedy,  Greatly Relieved,  "You're A Trump."

 

"No," She Replied,  Smiling Faintly,  "I'm Just Feminine Enough To

Be Curious."

 

Craig Shook His Head,  But Did Not Dispute The Point. "After You

Have Handed The Envelope To The Person,  Whoever It May Be,  In

Hanford's Studio,  Wait Until He Does Something--Er,--Suspicious.

Meanwhile Look At The Wall On The Side Toward The Next Vacant

Office. To The Left Of The Big Calendar You Will See A Light

Pencil Mark,  A Cross. Somehow You Must Contrive To Get Near It,

But Don't Stand In Front Of It. Then If Anything Happens Stick

This Little Number 10 Needle In The Wall Right At The Intersection

Of The Cross. Withdraw It Quickly,  Count Fifteen,  Then Put This

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 148

Little Sticker Over The Cross,  And Get Out As Best You Can,  Though

We Shan't Be Far Away If You Should Need Us. That's All."

 

We Did Not Accompany Her To The Studio For Fear Of Being Observed,

But Waited Impatiently In The Next Office. We Could Hear Nothing

Of What Was Said,  But When A Door Shut And It Was Evident That She

Had Gone,  Kennedy Quickly Removed Something From The Box In The

Wall Covered With A Black Cloth.

 

As Soon As It Was Safe Kennedy Had Sent Me Posting After Her To

Secure Copies Of The Incriminating Photographs Which Were To Be

Carried By Her From The Studio,  While He Remained To See Who Came

Out. I Thought A Change Had Come Over Her As She Handed Me The

Package With The Request That I Carry It To Mr. Bennett And Get

Them From Him.

 

The First Inkling I Had That Kennedy Had At Last Been Able To

Trace Back Something In The Mysterious Doings Of The Past Two Days

Came The Following Evening,  When Craig Remarked Casually That He

Would Like To Have Me Call On Billy Mcloughlin If I Had No

Engagement. I Replied That I Had None--And Managed To Squirm Out

Of The One I Really Had.

 

The Boss's Office Was Full Of Politicians,  For It Was The Eve Of

"Dough Day," When The Purse Strings Were Loosed And A Flood Of

Potent Argument Poured Forth To Turn The Tide Of Election. Hanford

Was There With The Other Ward Heelers.

 

"Mr. Mcloughlin," Began Kennedy Quietly,  When We Were Seated Alone

With Hanford In The Little Sanctum Of The Boss,  "You Will Pardon

Me If I Seem A Little Slow In Coming To The Business That Has

Brought Me Here To-Night. First Of All,  I May Say,  And You,

Hanford,  Being A Photographer Will Appreciate It,  That Ever Since

The Days Of Daguerre Photography Has Been Regarded As The One

Infallible Means Of Portraying Faithfully Any Object,  Scene,  Or

Action. Indeed A Photograph Is Admitted In Court As Irrefutable

Evidence. For When Everything Else Fails,  A Picture Made Through

The Photographic Lens Almost Invariably Turns The Tide. However,

Such A Picture Upon Which The Fate Of An Important Case May Rest

Should Be Subjected To Critical Examination For It Is An

Established Fact That A Photograph May Be Made As Untruthful As It

May Be Reliable. Combination Photographs Change Entirely The

Character Of The Initial Negative And Have Been Made For The Past

Fifty Years. The Earliest,  Simplest,  And Most Harmless

Photographic Deception Is The Printing Of Clouds Into A Bare Sky.

But The Retoucher With His Pencil And Etching Tool To-Day Is Very

Skilful. A Workman Of Ordinary Skill Can Introduce A Person Taken

In A Studio Into An Open-Air Scene Well Blended And In Complete

Harmony Without A Visible Trace Of Falsity.

 

"I Need Say Nothing Of How One Head Can Be Put On Another Body In

A Picture,  Nor Need I Say What A Double Exposure Will Do. There Is

Almost No Limit To The Changes That May Be Wrought In Form And

Feature. It Is Possible To Represent A Person Crossing Broadway Or

Walking On Riverside Drive,  Places He May Never Have Visited. Thus

A Person Charged With An Offence May Be Able To Prove An Alibi By

The Aid Of A Skilfully Prepared Combination Photograph.

 

"Where,  Then,  Can Photography Be Considered As Irrefutable

Evidence? The Realism May Convince All,  Will Convince All,  Except

The Expert And The Initiated After Careful Study. A Shrewd Judge

Will Insist That In Every Case The Negative Be Submitted And

Examined For Possible Alterations By A Clever Manipulator."

 

Kennedy Bent His Gaze On Mcloughlin. "Now,  I Do Not Accuse You,

Sir,  Of Anything. But A Photograph Has Come Into The Possession Of

Mr. Travis In Which He Is Represented As Standing On The Steps Of

Your House With Yourself And Mr. Cadwalader Brown. He And Mr.

Brown Are In Poses That Show The Utmost Friendliness. I Do Not

Hesitate To Say That That Was Originally A Photograph Of Yourself,

Mr. Brown,  And Your Own Candidate. It Is A Pretty Raw Deal,  A Fake

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter.) Pg 149

In Which Travis Has Been Substituted By Very Excellent

Photographic Forgery."

 

Mcloughlin Motioned To Hanford To Reply. "A Fake?" Repeated The

Latter Contemptuously. "How About The Affidavits? There's No

Negative. You've Got To Prove That The Original Print Stolen From

Travis,  We'll Say,  Is A Fake. You Can't Do It."

 

"September 19th Was The Date Alleged,  I Believe?" Asked Kennedy

Quietly,  Laying Down The Bundle Of Metric Photographs And The

Alleged Photographs Of Travis. He Was Pointing To A Shadow Of A

Gable On The House As It Showed In The Metric Photographs And The

Others.

 

"You See That Shadow Of The Gable? Perhaps You Never Heard Of It,

Hanford,  But It Is Possible To Tell The Exact Time At Which A

Photograph Was Taken From A Study Of The Shadows. It Is Possible

In Principle And Practice And Can Be Trusted. Almost Any Scientist

May Be Called On To Bear Testimony In Court Nowadays,  But You

Would Say The Astronomer Is One Of The Least Likely. Well,  The

Shadow In This Picture Will Prove An Alibi For Some One.

 

"Notice. It Is Seen Very Prominently To The Right,  And Its Exact

Location On The House Is An Easy Matter. You Could Almost Use The

Metric Photograph For That. The Identification Of The Gable

Casting The Shadow Is Easy. To Be Exact It Is 19.62 Feet High. The

Shadow Is 14.23 Feet Down,  13.10 Feet East,  And 3.43 Feet North.

You See I Am Exact. I Have To Be. In One Minute It Moved 0.080

Feet Upward,  0.053 Feet To The Right And 0.096 Feet In Its

Apparent Path. It Passes The Width Of A Weatherboard,  0.37 Foot,

In Four Minutes And Thirty-Seven Seconds."

 

Kennedy Was Talking Rapidly Of Data Which He Had Derived From His

Metric Photograph,  From Plumb Line,  Level,  Compass,  And Tape,

Astronomical Triangle,  Vertices,  Zenith,  Pole And Sun,

Declination,  Azimuth,  Solar Time,  Parallactic Angles,  Refraction,

And A Dozen Bewildering Terms.

 

"In Spherical Trigonometry," He Concluded,  "To Solve The Problem

Three Elements Must Be Known. I Knew Four. Therefore I Could Take

Each Of The Known,  Treat It As Unknown,  And Have Four Ways To

Check My Result. I Find That The Time Might Have Been Either Three

O'clock,  Twenty-One Minutes And Twelve Seconds,  In The Afternoon,

Or 3:21:31,  Or 3:21:29,  Or 3:21:33. The Average Is 3:21:26,  And

There Can Therefore Be No Appreciable Error Except For A Few

Seconds. For That Date Must Have Been One Of Two Days,  Either May

22 Or July 22. Between These Two Dates We Must Decide On Evidence

Other Than The Shadow. It Must Have Been In May,  As The Immature

Condition Of The Foliage Shows. But Even If It Had Been In July,

That Is Far From Being September. The Matter Of The Year I Have

Also Settled. Weather Conditions,  I Find,  Were Favourable On All

These Dates Except That In September. I Can Really Answer,  With An

Assurance And Accuracy Superior To That Of The Photographer

Himself--Even If He Were Honest--As To The Real Date. The Real

Picture,  Aside From Being Doctored,  Was Actually Taken Last May.

Science Is Not Fallible,  But Exact In This Matter."

 

Kennedy Had Scored A Palpable Hit. Mcloughlin And Hanford Were

Speechless. Still Craig Hurried On.

 

"But,  You May Ask,  How About The Automobile Picture? That Also Is

An Unblushing Fake. Of Course I Must Prove That. In The First

Place,  You Know That The General Public Has Come To Recognise The

Distortion Of A Photograph As Denoting Speed. A Picture Of A Car

In A Race That Doesn't Lean Is Rejected--People Demand To See

Speed,  Speed,  More Speed Even In Pictures. Distortion Does Indeed

Show Speed,  But That,  Too,  Can Be Faked.

 

"Hanford Knows That The Image Is Projected Upside Down By The Lens

On The Plate,  And That The Bottom Of The Picture Is Taken Before

The Top. The Camera Mechanism Admits Light,  Which Makes The

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 150

Picture,  In The Manner Of A Roller Blind Curtain. The Slit Travels

From The Top To The Bottom And The Image On The Plate Being

Projected Upside Down,  The Bottom Of The Object Appears On The Top

Of The Plate. For Instance,  The Wheels Are Taken Before The Head

Of The Driver. If The Car Is Moving Quickly The Image Moves On The

Plate And Each Successive Part Is Taken A Little In Advance Of The

Last. The Whole Leans Forward. By Widening The Slit And Slowing

The Speed Of The Shutter,  There Is More Distortion.

 

"Now,  This Is What Happened. A Picture Was Taken Of Cadwalader

Brown's Automobile,  Probably At Rest,  With Brown In It. The Matter

Of Faking Travis Or Any One Else By His Side Is Simple. If With An

Enlarging Lantern The Image Of This Faked Picture Is Thrown On The

Paper Like A Lantern Slide,  And If The Right Hand Side Is A Little

Further Away Than The Left,  The Top Further Away Than The Bottom,

You Can Print A Fraudulent High Speed Ahead Picture. True,

Everything Else In,  The Picture,  Even If Motionless,  Is Distorted,

And The Difference Between This Faking And The Distortion Of The

Shutter Can Be Seen By An Expert. But It Will Pass. In This Case,

However,  The Faker Was So Sure Of That That He Was Careless.

Instead Of Getting The Plate Further From The Paper On The Right

He Did So On The Left. It Was Further Away On The Bottom Than On

The Top. He Got Distortion All Right,  Enough Still To Satisfy The

Uninitiated. But It Was Distortion In The Wrong Way! The Top Of

The Wheel,  Which Goes Fastest And Ought To Be Most Indistinct,  Is,

In The Fake,  As Sharp As Any Other Part. It Is A Small Mistake,

But Fatal. That Picture Is Really At High Speed--Backwards! It Is

Too Raw,  Too Raw."

 

"You Don't Think People Are Going To Swallow All That Stuff,  Do

You?" Asked Hanford Coolly,  In Spite Of The Exposures.

 

Kennedy Paid No Attention. He Was Looking At Mcloughlin. The Boss

Was Regarding Him Surlily. "Well," He Said At Length,  "What Of All

This? I Had Nothing To Do With It. Why Do You Come To Me? Take It

To The Proper Parties."

 

"Shall I?" Asked Kennedy Quietly.

 

He Had Uncovered Another Picture Carefully. We Could Not See It,

But As He Looked At It Mcloughlin Fairly Staggered.

 

"Wh--Where Did You Get That?" He Gasped.

 

"I Got It Where I Got It,  And It Is No Fake," Replied Kennedy

Enigmatically. Then He Appeared To Think Better Of It. "This," He

Explained,  "Is What Is Known As A Pinhole Photograph. Three

Hundred Years Ago Della Porta Knew The Camera Obscura,  And But For

The Lack Of A Sensitive Plate Would Have Made Photographs. A Box,

Thoroughly Light-Tight,  Slotted Inside To Receive Plates,  Covered

With Black,  And Glued Tight,  A Needle Hole Made By A Number 10

Needle In A Thin Sheet Of Paper--And You Have The Apparatus For

Lensless Photography. It Has A Correctness Such As No Image-

Forming Means By Lenses Can Have. It Is Literally Rectigraphic,

Rectilinear,  It Needs No Focussing,  And It Takes A Wide Angle With

Equal Effect. Even Pinhole Snapshots Are Possible Where The Light

Is Abundant,  With A Ten To Fifteen Second Exposure.

 

"That Picture,  Mcloughlin,  Was Taken Yesterday At Hanford's. After

Miss Ashton Left I Saw Who Came Out,  But This Picture Shows What

Happened Before. At A Critical Moment Miss Ashton Stuck A Needle

In The Wall Of The Studio,  Counted Fifteen,  Closed The Needle-

Hole,  And There Is The Record. Walter,  Hanford,--Leave Us Alone An

Instant."

 

When Kennedy Passed Out Of The Boss's Office There Was A Look Of

Quiet Satisfaction On His Face Which I Could Not Fathom. Not A

Word Could I Extract From Him Either That Night Or On The

Following Day,  Which Was The Last Before The Election.

 

I Must Say That I Was Keenly Disappointed By The Lack Of

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 151

Developments,  However. The Whole Thing Seemed To Me To Be A Mess.

Everybody Was Involved. What Had Miss Ashton Overheard And What

Had Kennedy Said To Mcloughlin? Above All,  What Was His Game? Was

He Playing To Spare The Girl's Feelings By Allowing The Election

To Go On Without A Scandal For Travis?

 

At Last Election Night Arrived. We Were All At The Travis

Headquarters,  Kennedy,  Travis,  Bennett,  And Myself. Miss Ashton

Was Not Present,  But The First Returns Had Scarcely Begun To

Trickle In When Craig Whispered To Me To Go Out And Find Her,

Either At Her Home Or Club. I Found Her At Home. She Had

Apparently Lost Interest In The Election,  And It Was With

Difficulty That I Persuaded Her To Accompany Me. The Excitement Of

Any Other Night In The Year Paled To Insignificance Before This.

Distracted Crowds Everywhere Were Cheering And Blowing Horns. Now

A Series Of Wild Shouts Broke Forth From The Dense Mass Of People

Before A Newspaper Bulletin Board. Now Came Sullen Groans,  Hisses,

And Catcalls,  Or All Together With Cheers As The Returns Swung In

Another Direction. Not Even Baseball Could Call Out Such A Crowd

As This. Lights Blazed Everywhere. Automobiles Honked And Ground

Their Gears. The Lobster Palaces Were Thronged. Police Were

Everywhere. People With Horns And Bells And All Manner Of Noise-

Making Devices Pushed Up One Side Of The Thoroughfares And Down

The Other. Hungrily,  Ravenously They Were Feeding On The Meagre

Bulletins Of News.

 

Yet Back Of All The Noise And Human Energy I Could Only Think Of

The Silent,  Systematic Gathering And Editing Of The News. High Up

In The League Headquarters,  When We Returned,  A Corps Of Clerks

Was Tabulating Returns,  Comparing Official And Semi-Official

Reports. As First The State Swung One Way,  Then Another,  Our Hopes

Rose And Fell. Miss Ashton Seemed Cold And Ill At Ease,  While

Travis Looked More Worried And Paid Less Attention To The Returns

Than Would Have Seemed Natural. She Avoided Him And He Seemed To

Hesitate To Seek Her Out.

 

Would The Up-State Returns,  I Had Wondered At First,  Be Large

Enough To Overcome The Hostile City Vote? I Was Amazed Now To See

How Strongly The City Was Turning To Travis.

 

"Mcloughlin Has Kept His Word," Ejaculated Kennedy As District

After District Showed That The Boss's Pluralities Were Being

Seriously Cut Into.

 

"His Word? What Do You Mean?" We Asked Almost Together.

 

"I Mean That He Has Kept His Word Given To Me At A Conference

Which Mr. Jameson Saw But Did Not Hear. I Told Him I Would Publish

The Whole Thing,  Not Caring Whom Or Where Or When It Hit If He Did

Not Let Up On Travis. I Advised Him To Read His Revised Statutes

Again About Money In Elections,  And I Ended Up With The Threat,

'There Will Be No Dough Day,  Mcloughlin,  Or This Will Be

Prosecuted To The Limit.' There Was No Dough Day. You See The

Effect In The Returns."

 

"But How Did You Do It?" I Asked,  Not Comprehending. "The Faked

Photographs Did Not Move Him,  That I Could See."

 

The Words,  "Faked Photographs," Caused Miss Ashton To Glance Up

Quickly. I Saw That Kennedy Had Not Told Her Or Any One Yet,  Until

The Boss Had Made Good. He Had Simply Arranged One Of His Little

Dramas.

 

"Shall I Tell,  Miss Ashton?" He Asked,  Adding,  "Before I Complete

My Part Of The Compact And Blot Out The Whole Affair?"

 

"I Have No Right To Say No," She Answered Tremulously,  But With A

Look Of Happiness That I Had Not Seen Since Our First

Introduction.

 

Kennedy Laid Down A Print On A Table. It Was The Pinhole

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 152

Photograph,  A Little Blurry,  But Quite Convincing. On A Desk In

The Picture Was A Pile Of Bills. Mcloughlin Was Shoving Them Away

From Him Toward Bennett. A Man Who Was Facing Forward In The

Picture Was Talking Earnestly To Some One Who Did Not Appear. I

Felt Intuitively,  Even Before Kennedy Said So,  That The Person Was

Miss Ashton Herself As She Stuck The Needle Into The Wall. The Man

Was Cadwalader Brown.

 

"Travis," Demanded Kennedy,  "Bring The Account Books Of Your

Campaign. I Want The Miscellaneous Account Particularly."

 

The Books Were Brought,  And He Continued,  Turning The Leaves,  "It

Seemed To Me To Show A Shortage Of Nearly Twenty Thousand Dollars

The Other Day. Why,  It Has Been Made Up. How Was That,  Bennett?"

 

Bennett Was Speechless. "I Will Tell You," Craig Proceeded

Inexorably. "Bennett,  You Embezzled That Money For Your Business.

Rather Than Be Found Out,  You Went To Billy Mcloughlin And Offered

To Sell Out The Reform Campaign For Money To Replace It. With The

Aid Of The Crook,  Hanford,  Mcloughlin's Tool,  You Worked Out The

Scheme To Extort Money From Travis By Forged Photographs. You Knew

Enough About Travis's House And Library To Frame Up A Robbery One

Night When You Were Staying There With Him. It Was Inside Work,  I

Found,  At A Glance. Travis,  I Am Sorry To Have To Tell You That

Your Confidence Was Misplaced. It Was Bennett Who Robbed You--And

Worse.

 

"But Cadwalader Brown,  Always Close To His Creature,  Billy

Mcloughlin,  Heard Of It. To Him It Presented Another Idea. To Him

It Offered A Chance To Overthrow A Political Enemy And A Hated

Rival For Miss Ashton's Hand. Perhaps Into The Bargain It Would

Disgust Her With Politics,  Disillusion Her,  And Shake Her Faith In

What He Believed To Be Some Of Her 'Radical' Notions. All Could Be

Gained At One Blow. They Say That A Check-Book Knows No Politics,

But Bennett Has Learned Some,  I Venture To Say,  And To Save His

Reputation He Will Pay Back What He Has Tried To Graft."

 

Travis Could Scarcely Believe It Yet. "How Did You Get Your First

Hint?" He Gasped.

 

Kennedy Was Digging Into The Wall With A Bill File At The Place

Where He Had Buried The Little Vulcanised Disc. I Had Already

Guessed That It Was A Dictograph,  Though I Could Not Tell How It

Was Used Or Who Used It. There It Was,  Set Squarely In The

Plaster. There Also Were The Wires Running Under The Carpet. As He

Lifted The Rug Under Miss Ashton's Desk There Also Lay The Huge

Circles Of Wire. That Was All.

 

At This Moment Miss Ashton Stepped Forward. "Last Friday," She

Said In A Low Tone,  "I Wore A Belt Which Concealed A Coil Of Wire

About My Waist. From It A Wire Ran Under My Coat,  Connecting With

A Small Dry Battery In A Pocket. Over My Head I Had An Arrangement

Such As The Telephone Girls Wear With A Receiver At One Ear

Connected With The Battery. No One Saw It,  For I Wore A Large Hat

Which Completely Hid It. If Any One Had Known,  And There Were

Plenty Of Eyes Watching,  The Whole Thing Would Have Fallen

Through. I Could Walk Around; No One Could Suspect Anything; But

When I Stood Or Sat At My Desk I Could Hear Everything That Was

Said In Mr. Bennett's Office."

 

"By Induction," Explained Kennedy. "The Impulses Set Up In The

Concealed Dictograph Set Up Currents In These Coils Of Wire

Concealed Under The Carpet. They Were Wirelessly Duplicated By

Induction In The Coil About Miss Ashton's Waist And So Affected

The Receiver Under Her Very Becoming Hat. Tell The Rest,  Miss

Ashton."

 

"I Heard The Deal Arranged With This Hanford," She Added,  Almost

As If She Were Confessing Something,  "But Not Understanding It As

Mr. Kennedy Did,  I Very Hastily Condemned Mr. Travis. I Heard Talk

Of Putting Back Twenty Thousand Into The Campaign Accounts,  Of

Part 3 Chapter 12 (The Campaign Grafter) Pg 153

Five Thousand Given To Hanford For His Photographic Work,  And Of

The Way Mr. Travis Was To Be Defeated Whether He Paid Or Not. I

Heard Them Say That One Condition Was That I Should Carry The

Purchase Money. I Heard Much That Must Have Confirmed Mr.

Kennedy's Suspicion In One Way,  And My Own In An Opposite Way,

Which I Know Now Was Wrong. And Then Cadwalader Brown In The

Studio Taunted Me Cynically And-And It Cut Me,  For He Seemed

Right. I Hope That Mr. Travis Will Forgive Me For Thinking That

Mr. Bennett's Treachery Was His----"

 

A Terrific Cheer Broke Out Among The Clerks In The Outer Office. A

Boy Rushed In With A Still Unblotted Report. Kennedy Seized It And

Read: "Mcloughlin Concedes The City By A Small Majority To Travis,

Fifteen Election Districts Estimated. This Clinches The Reform

League Victory In The State."

 

I Turned To Travis. He Was Paying No Attention Except To The

Pretty Apology Of Margaret Ashton.

 

Kennedy Drew Me To The Door. "We Might As Well Concede Miss Ashton

To Travis," He Said,  Adding Gaily,  "By Induction Of An Arm About

The Waist. Let's Go Out And Watch The Crowd."

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Publication Date: 05-17-2014

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