3 1822 01387 0613
 
 CAi.Ft. 
 
 SAN .
 
 ?s 
 
 3? 
 
 THE POISONED PEN
 
 3 1822 01387 0613
 
 [See page 18 
 
 It was an anxious gathering of friends and foes of Dr. 
 Dixon who sat waiting for Kennedy to begin.
 
 THE CRAIG KENNEDY 5ERIE5 
 
 THE 
 POISONED PEN 
 
 6Y 
 
 ARTHUR B.REEVE 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 WILL .FOSTER 
 
 HARPER $ BROTHERS- PUBLISHERS 
 
 'NEW YORK AND LONDON'
 
 THB POISONED PEN 
 
 Copyright, 1911. by HARPER & BROTHERS 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 A-T
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE POISONED PEN i 
 
 II THE YEGGMAN ...... 31 
 
 III THE GERM OF DEATH 61 
 
 IV THE FIREBUG 92 
 
 V THE CONFIDENCE KING .... 123 
 
 VI THE SAND-HOG 154 
 
 VII THE WHITE SLAVE . . . ... 184 
 
 VIII THE FORGER 221 
 
 IX THE UNOFFICIAL SPY ..... 252 
 
 X THE SMUGGLER 290 
 
 XI THE INVISIBLE RAY 322 
 
 XII THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER .... 360
 
 THE POISONED PEN
 
 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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."
 
 2 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 As we settled ourselves in the smoking-compart- 
 ment 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 combina- 
 tion 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 combina- 
 tion, 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. Water- 
 worth. Meanwhile she tries to restore Miss 
 Lytton, but with no result. She smells the ammonia 
 and then just tastes the headache-powder, a very
 
 THE POISONED PEN 3 
 
 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. Bon- 
 cour 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 see him, for his ex- 
 perience 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 express- 
 ing 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
 
 4 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Dan- 
 bridge 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
 
 THE POISONED PEN 5 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 sen- 
 ator," 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 mes- 
 sengers from Dr. Dixon. 
 
 The house was a real, old colonial mansion with
 
 6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Eng- 
 land 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 every- 
 thing 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 POISONED PEN 7 
 
 "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. Bon- 
 cour. 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 jealous of her professionally 
 or personally? " asked Craig.
 
 8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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. " Hal- 
 sey 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," re- 
 marked 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 de- 
 tails 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."
 
 THE POISONED PEN 9 
 
 " And you have no idea why it was there? " 
 
 " I didn't say that. I can guess. Fumes of am- 
 monia 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.
 
 io THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 in- 
 credible swiftness of light. In a flash I knew that 
 if I added 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. Remember- 
 ing 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 stom- 
 ach 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 com- 
 pound. 
 
 " The maid put Mrs. Boncour to bed, saved. I 
 went to my house, a wreck. Since then I have not
 
 THE POISONED PEN n 
 
 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 sup- 
 pose 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 dra- 
 matic 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 dis- 
 played, whether guilty or innocent. Even an inno- 
 cent 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
 
 12 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 im- 
 portant was turned up, and even visits to near-by 
 towns failed to show any sales of cyanide or sub- 
 limate to any one not entitled to buy them. Mean- 
 while, 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 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
 
 THE POISONED PEN 13 
 
 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 no- 
 tice 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 dis- 
 posed 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
 
 i 4 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy. " 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." 
 
 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 medi-
 
 THE POISONED PEN 15 
 
 cine. 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 sub- 
 stituted this Lytton letter for the Thurston letter? " 
 
 Kennedy was scrutinising the letter, saying noth- 
 ing. " 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 apart- 
 ments. Thurston himself had not been there for
 
 1 6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 en- 
 gagement between Miss Lytton and himself had 
 been broken before the announcement of his en- 
 gagement 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 Thurs- 
 ton 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 ker 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
 
 THE POISONED PEN 17 
 
 his assistance to them was most considerate. While 
 he never forced himself forward, he kept in close 
 touch with the progress of the case, and now that 
 Alma was away his watchfulness increased propor- 
 tionately, and twice a day he wrote a long report 
 which was sent to her. 
 
 Kennedy was now bending every e-ffort 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 be- 
 fore 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 in- 
 terested 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 Wil- 
 lard's house, the moment the artist was to arrive.
 
 1 8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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
 
 THE POISONED PEN 19 
 
 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. Thurs- 
 ton'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 affi- 
 davit 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.
 
 20 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " In the meantime, Miss Lytton, or Mrs. Thurs- 
 ton, 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 Wil- 
 lard was pale and staring wildly at Kennedy. Hal- 
 sey 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 pres- 
 ently. My next point is that Dr. Dixon says he
 
 THE POISONED PEN 21 
 
 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 dis- 
 covered, 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 head- 
 ache. 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.
 
 22 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy." 
 
 " 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 syl- 
 lable 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?" 
 
 1 Yes," he replied. " If " 
 
 " No buts or ifs, Thurston," cried Kennedy sar- 
 castically. " 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.
 
 THE POISONED PEN 23 
 
 I waited until they were paid. Then my con- 
 science " 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 de- 
 termined 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:
 
 24 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 What is your opinion about Cross's Headache Cure? 
 Would you recommend it for a nervous headache? 
 
 BURGESS THURSTON, 
 
 clo MRS. S. BONCOUR. 
 
 Craig held up the writing so that we could all 
 see that he had written what Dixon declared Thurs- 
 ton 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, won- 
 dering 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 quino- 
 line; 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 POISONED PEN 25 
 
 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. Ac- 
 cording 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 
 wordst 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 some- 
 thing 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 suffi- 
 cient 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. Sym- 
 pathetic ink also accounts for the curious circum- 
 stance that the Lytton letter was folded up with 
 the writing apparently outside. It was outside and 
 unseen until the sunlight brought it out and de-
 
 26 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 stroyed the other, inside, writing a change, I sus- 
 pect, 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 moisten- 
 ing 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 pun- 
 gent 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 something like the slow result of sun- 
 light 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 invis- 
 ible 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.
 
 THE POISONED PEN 27 
 
 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 solu- 
 tion 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 remark- 
 able 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
 
 28 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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." 
 
 " Hum," commented Craig, " this was appar-
 
 THE POISONED PEN 29 
 
 ently 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 spoon- 
 ful 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 de- 
 termine 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 Dan- 
 bridge Halsey Post, graduate in technology, stu- 
 dent of sympathetic inks, forger of the Vera Lytton 
 letter and the other notes, and dealer in cyanides
 
 30 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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."
 
 II 
 
 THE YEGGMAN 
 
 "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. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 It was through this brief and businesslike con- 
 versation 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 involun- 
 tarily 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 in- 
 stinct 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 
 
 31
 
 32 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 be'en 
 correct. 
 
 Blake was one of those young old men who are 
 increasingly common in business to-day. 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 to-night, 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 re-
 
 THE YEGGMAN 33 
 
 ported 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. Bran- 
 ford'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 odour 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."
 
 34 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 be- 
 tween 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 circum- 
 stance Maloney picked up a hint from one of the 
 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 steal- 
 ing. 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.
 
 THE YEGGMAN 35 
 
 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 com- 
 pany. 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 re- 
 moved to a local morgue, and a police officer was
 
 36 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 examina- 
 tion of it. " It shows great resistance to high ex- 
 plosives, 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.
 
 THE YEGGMAN 37 
 
 No, she probably did scream. Either at this point, 
 or at the very start, the burglar must have chloro- 
 formed 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 pre- 
 pared 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, any- 
 how, 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
 
 38 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 por- 
 tion 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 ad- 
 mitted 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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 39 
 
 concerned with. Imagine yourself forced to ques- 
 tion a perfectly stunning woman, who was" sus- 
 pected 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 sup- 
 pressed emotion, " an outrage. When my husband 
 returns I intend to have him place the whole 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 any- 
 body's business except mine?" 
 
 "And your husband's? " added Kennedy, nettled 
 at her treatment of him.
 
 40 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 im- 
 perturbably as if he were an automaton, " that sup- 
 posing 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 go- 
 ing 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 pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 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.
 
 THE YEGGMAN 41 
 
 Blake and Maloney were some distance ahead of 
 us, as Craig leaned over to me and whispered i 
 " 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 whis- 
 pered, 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 to- 
 morrow." 
 
 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 par- 
 lour 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
 
 42 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 man- 
 ner 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 go- 
 ing out. Garqon, I' 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 wh'o 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 volun- 
 teered. " Delarue has a host of creditors, no doubt. 
 By the way, Craig," I exclaimed, " don't you think
 
 THE YEGGMAN 43 
 
 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
 
 44 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 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 break- 
 fast himself and made me bolt my food most un- 
 ceremoniously. 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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 45 
 
 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 work- 
 ing 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 impos- 
 sible 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 some- 
 body, right in the act." 
 
 About noon we went down to Liberty Street, home
 
 46 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, Ken- 
 nedy 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 Bran- 
 fords must have needed money for some reason or 
 other," said Maloney. " So I went to the commer- 
 cial 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 triumph- 
 antly. " I had a man up at the Grattan Inn, and 
 he reports to me that Mra. Branford 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 Bran- 
 ford'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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 47 
 
 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 con- 
 tinued: "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 in- 
 quiringly at Craig. 
 
 " I want to see Mrs. Branford again," he said. 
 u I think we can do better alone to-day than we did 
 last night." 
 
 I must say I half expected that she would refuse
 
 48 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 im- 
 portant. 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 tel- 
 egram 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?" 
 
 She was tapping her foot on the rug as if anxious
 
 THE YEGGMAN 49 
 
 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 applica- 
 tion, " 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,"
 
 50 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 bat- 
 tling 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 an- 
 other 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 pho- 
 tographer. 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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 51 
 
 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 down- 
 town." 
 
 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 dis- 
 tinguish it above the other ramshackle buildings on 
 the street, except that the other houses were clut- 
 tered 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 fashion- 
 able 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
 
 52 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 every- 
 where. 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 cheerless- 
 ness 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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 53 
 
 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." 
 
 Craig busily translated the curious document: 
 
 Take ten or a dozen sticks of dynamite, crumble it up line, 
 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 wi'th 
 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.
 
 54 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. " Safe- 
 blowing 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 some- 
 thing 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 pro- 
 prietor, 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,
 
 THE YEGGMAN 55 
 
 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 shoul- 
 der, where he had fastened it securely. 
 
 Here we were, imprisoned, while Pitts Slim, the 
 man we had come after, whoever he was, was mak- 
 ing his escape. Somewhere across the street was 
 O'Connor, waiting in a room as we had agreed. 
 There was only one window in our room, and it 
 opened on a miserable little dumbwaiter air-shaft.
 
 56 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 to- 
 gether 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 whis- 
 pered, " 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."
 
 THE YEGGMAN 57 
 
 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 tele- 
 phone 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 min- 
 utes ago I don't know by what exit, but I heard 
 them say they would meet at the Central freight- 
 yards 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 plain- 
 clothes men holding the yeggs who would certainly 
 have murdered us this time to protect their pal in
 
 58 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 cuts 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 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 dol- 
 lars' 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
 
 THE YEGGMAN 59 
 
 employer, as Blake rushed over and grasped Ken- 
 nedy'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 accept- 
 ance 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 success- 
 fully. 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 in- 
 criminating 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."
 
 60 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 pleas- 
 ure 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 sus- 
 picion 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."
 
 Ill 
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 
 
 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 pre- 
 pared one evening to see a tall, nervous foreigner 
 stalk noiselessly and unannounced into our apart- 
 ment 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 fol- 
 lowed. 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, 
 
 61
 
 62 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 com- 
 mittee the other night. But in the meantime Olga 
 Samarova, the little Russian dancer, whom you have 
 perhaps seen, fell ill in the same way. Samarova 
 is an ardent revolutionist, you know. This morn- 
 ing 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 de- 
 lirious 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 par- 
 ticularly knotty problem in science and crime. " I 
 had the pleasure of meeting Saratovsky once in Lon- 
 don. I shall try to see him the first thing in the 
 morning." 
 
 Dr. KharkofFs face fell. " I had hoped you
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 63 
 
 would see him to-night. If anything should hap- 
 pen ' 
 
 " 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. 
 
 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 fol- 
 lowed me from Saratovsky's here, and has been wait- 
 ing 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, Wal- 
 ter, he is the most gentle, engaging old philoso- 
 pher " 
 
 " That ever cut a throat or scuttled a ship? " I 
 interrupted.
 
 64 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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. Khar- 
 koff 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 in- 
 deed brought us almost to Washington Square. 
 Here we entered an old house of the past genera- 
 tion. 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 ven- 
 erable 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
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 65; 
 
 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 some- 
 thing, Doctor. I am too weak to talk, even at this 
 critical time. Take him to see Boris and Ekate- 
 rina." 
 
 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 peas- 
 ant'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, com- 
 rades." 
 
 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
 
 66 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 those gloomy tales of peasant life. Kazanovitch 
 stood with his hands tucked under his blouse. 
 
 " Night is my favourite time for writing," he ex- 
 plained. " 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, appar- 
 ently 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 pa- 
 tient 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 tor- 
 tured her, the beasts burned her body with their
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 67 
 
 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. Pho- 
 tographs 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 any- 
 thing that it is necessary he should know about our 
 suspicions." 
 
 " It is that we are living with the sword of Damo- 
 cles constantly dangling over our heads, gentlemen," 
 cried Kazanovitch passionately, turning toward us.
 
 68 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " You will excuse me if I get some cigarettes down- 
 stairs? 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, glanc- 
 ing 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 an- 
 other 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
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 69 
 
 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. Some- 
 how 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 moral- 
 ity? 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
 
 70 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 Nevsky's laboratory? I think I saw a rack of tubes 
 on the table." 
 
 " Surely," answered Kharkoff. 
 
 " You will excuse us, Mr. Kazanovitch," apolo- 
 gised 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 morn- 
 ing, 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, Kazano- 
 vitch showed some partiality for Olga, but now 
 Nevsky has captured him. She is indeed a fascinat- 
 ing woman, but as for me, if Olga would consent
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 71 
 
 to become Madame Kharkoff, it should be done to- 
 morrow, and she need worry no longer over her 
 broken contract with the American theatre man- 
 agers. 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 appar- 
 ently debating with himself what to do with it. 
 
 " Some kinds of paper can be steamed open with- 
 out leaving any trace," he remarked in answer to 
 my unspoken question, laying the letter down before 
 me. 
 
 I read the address: " M. Alexander Alexandro- 
 vitch 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."
 
 72 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 project- 
 ing 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." 
 
 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: 
 
 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 sub- 
 jected 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 con-
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 73 
 
 taining 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, Centi- 
 grade, 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 " radi- 
 obes " 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.
 
 74 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 sug- 
 gest 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." 
 
 For answer he merely shook his head and con- 
 tinued 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 Broad- 
 way, 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
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 75 
 
 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 polit- 
 ical 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 hos- 
 pital, 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 to-day, isn't he? " 
 
 " I hope so. I left a note asking him to bring 
 Miss Nevsky, if possible, too. Come, let us break- 
 fast 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 labora- 
 tory, however, we found Miss Nevsky, haggard and 
 worn. She was a tall, striking girl with more of
 
 76 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 under- 
 stood why the Russian police feared the women rev- 
 olutionists so much. It was because they were them- 
 selves, plus every man they could influence. 
 
 Nevsky appeared very excited. She talked rap- 
 idly, and fire flashed from her grey eyes. " They 
 tell me at the club," she began, " that you are in- 
 vestigating the terrible things that are happening to 
 us. Oh, Professor Kennedy, it is awful 1 Last 
 night I was staying with some friends on East Broad- 
 way. Suddenly we heard a terrific explosion up the 
 street. It was in front of Dr. Kharkoff's house. 
 Thank Heaven, he is still alive! 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. Khar- 
 koff. 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. Kazano-
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 77 
 
 vitch, 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. u 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. " Kazano- 
 vitch 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
 
 78 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 pair of tongs he seized the bomb firmly. It was a 
 tense moment. Suppose his hand should unneces- 
 sarily tremble, or he should tip it just a bit it might 
 explode and blow him to atoms. Keeping it per- 
 fectly 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? " 
 
 1 Very well, then," Craig replied. " I will com- 
 mission you, Walter, to find Kazanovitch. I shall 
 be back again shortly before noon to examine the 
 wreck of Kharkov's office. Meet me there. Good- 
 bye, Miss Nevsky."
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 79 
 
 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 pos- 
 sible 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 Kharkov's. 
 
 Imagine my surprise to see Kazanovitch already 
 there, seated in the wrecked office, furiously smok- 
 ing cigarettes and showing evident signs of having 
 something very disturbing on his mind. The mo- 
 ment he caught sight of me, he hurried forward. 
 
 " Is Professor Kennedy coming soon? " he in- 
 quired 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
 
 8o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 saw him standing across the street in front of the 
 house last night after you had gone. When Khar- 
 koff 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 run- 
 ning to Kharkov'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 govern- 
 ment, 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 read- 
 ing. I did not doubt that there were spies in the 
 very inner circle of the revolutionists themselves.
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 81 
 
 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 Sara- 
 tovsky's? Surely you can find some way of reassur- 
 ing him." 
 
 u Yes, I think that can be arranged," said Kaza- 
 novitch. " 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. 
 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 Sara- 
 tovsky 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
 
 82 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 trans- 
 ferred 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 GERM OF DEATH 83 
 
 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 be- 
 lieves 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 pur- 
 chasers 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." 
 
 He paused, and the revolutionists stared fixedly 
 at the fragments of the now harmless bomb before 
 them.
 
 84 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 ' 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 sul- 
 phur, was merely a blind. The real method of ex- 
 plosion 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 play- 
 ing 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
 
 85 
 
 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 sci- 
 entists 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, im- 
 patient to go on. " They are of the species known 
 as Spirilla. Here is another slide, a culture from 
 the blood of Samarova."
 
 86 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 Sama- 
 rova. The rest of us paled, but repressed our feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " 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 scan- 
 ning the faces. No one betrayed by any sign that 
 he recognised it. At last it came to Revalenko 
 himself.
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 87 
 
 " 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 checker- 
 board. 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 diffi- 
 culty. 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, with- 
 out 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 let- 
 ters 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. There- 
 fore there is no break until after the * t.' That 
 gives us the number 2. So we get i next, and again
 
 88 
 
 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 i, and still again i; then 5; then 5; then i; and 
 so on. 
 
 " Now, take these numbers in pairs, thus 3 2 ; 
 i i ; i 5 ; 5 i. 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 I 
 
 2 I 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 i | A 
 
 B | C 
 
 D 
 
 E 
 
 2 | F 
 
 G | H 
 
 IJ 
 
 K 
 
 3 1 L 
 
 M | N 
 
 O 
 
 P 
 
 4 | Q 
 
 R | S 
 
 T 
 
 U 
 
 5 1 V 
 
 W | X 
 
 Y 
 
 Z 
 
 " Thus," he continued, " 3 2 means the third 
 column and second line. That is ' H.' Then i i 
 is 'A'; i 5 is 'V; 5 i is 'E' and we get 
 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 num- 
 bers 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.
 
 8 9 
 
 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 men- 
 tioned, 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 re- 
 garded Revalenko more closely. He was suspi- 
 ciously 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 scat- 
 tered 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.
 
 90 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " Signed," he said, folding the paper up deliber- 
 ately, " 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, forget- 
 ting all in her outraged love. " You won his affec- 
 tions 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 con- 
 temptuously. " The 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
 
 THE GERM OF DEATH 91 
 
 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 sal- 
 varsan." 
 
 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.
 
 IV 
 THE FIREBUG 
 
 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 in- 
 stead of trying to arrest the driver in other words, 
 a Fire Department automobile. 
 
 I regarded it curiously for a moment, for every- 
 thing connected with modern fire-fighting is interest- 
 ing. 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. 
 
 II 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." 
 
 92
 
 THE FIREBUG 93 
 
 A firebug! one of the most dangerous of crim- 
 inals. The word excited my imagination at once, 
 for the newspapers had lately been making much 
 of the strange and appalling succession of appar- 
 ently 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 morris- 
 chair with his finger-tips together and his eyes half 
 closed as if expecting a revelation from some sub- 
 conscious 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 gigan- 
 tic 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 op- 
 position to the combination in the trade, but Stacey 
 had shattered it by the sheer force of his personality. 
 
 McCormick leaned forward and, shaking his fore- 
 finger to emphasise his point, replied slowly, " Prac- 
 tically every one of these fires has been directed 
 against a Stacey subsidiary or a corporation con- 
 trolled by them."
 
 94 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " But if it has gone as far as that," put in Ken- 
 nedy, " surely the regular police ought to be of more 
 assistance to you than I." 
 
 " I have called in the police," answered McCor- 
 mick 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 inter- 
 views I had read. 
 
 " Absolutely not a clue except such as are ridicu- 
 lous," 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 & Co., the clothiers. 
 The place was heavily insured. Warren, the man- 
 ager and real head of the firm, was out of town at 
 the time." 
 
 The marshal paused as if to check off the strange 
 facts in his mind as he went along. 
 
 " The next day another puzzling fire occurred. 
 It was at the Quadrangle Cloak and Suit Co., on 
 Fifth Avenue. There had been some trouble, I 
 believe, with the employees, and the company had 
 discharged a number of them. Several of the
 
 THE FIREBUG 95 
 
 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 in- 
 surance 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 agree-
 
 96 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 ment on that case. I mention these fires because 
 they show practically all the types of work of the 
 various kinds of firebug insurance, revenge, rob- 
 bery, and plain insanity. But since the Spring Street 
 fire, the character of the fires has been more uni- 
 form. They have all been in business places, or 
 nearly all." 
 
 Here the fire marshal launched forth into a cata- 
 logue 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. " Every- 
 where 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
 
 THE FIREBUG 97 
 
 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: 
 
 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 McCor- 
 mick, " I was almost ready to ring in a double-nine
 
 98 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 pro- 
 motion, 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.
 
 THE FIREBUG 99 
 
 After the marshal had gone, we sat for several 
 minutes in silence. Kennedy was reading and re- 
 reading the notes, scowling to himself as if they 
 presented a particularly perplexing problem. I said 
 nothing, though my mind was teeming with specu- 
 lations. At length he placed the notes very de- 
 cisively on the table and snapped out the remark, 
 1 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 handwrit- 
 ing in perhaps eighty cases out of a hundred," Ken- 
 nedy 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 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
 
 ioo THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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." 
 
 4 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, who- 
 ever 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.
 
 THE FIREBUG 101 
 
 This was the fire-alarm telegraph, the " roulette- 
 wheel 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 atten- 
 tion. 
 
 ' 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 atten- 
 tion. 
 
 '* 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, McCor- 
 mick had dragged us to the door. In another in- 
 stant 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
 
 102 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 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 enter- 
 ing 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 McCor- 
 mick to the watchman. 
 
 " Not here. They're turned on from downstairs,
 
 THE FIREBUG 103 
 
 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 suffi- 
 cient. He banged the door shut again. 
 
 " Stand back with those lanterns, boys," he 
 ordered. 
 
 I sniffed, expecting to smell illuminating-gas. In- 
 stead, 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
 
 104 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 mass burned with a bright flame but without ex- 
 plosion. 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," ex- 
 plained 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." 
 
 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,
 
 THE FIREBUG 105 
 
 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 dis- 
 turb 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
 
 io6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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
 
 THE FIREBUG 107 
 
 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 para- 
 phernalia 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, effi- 
 ciency, 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
 
 io8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 burn- 
 ing 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 fire- 
 bug, 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
 
 THE FIREBUG 109 
 
 that I had not taken time to watch the fire itself. 
 It was now under control. The sharp and scientific 
 attack had nipped what might have been one of 
 New York's historic conflagrations. 
 
 " Are you game to go inside? " I heard McCor- 
 mick 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 suffo- 
 cating, 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 cun- 
 ningly 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 build- 
 ing 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 in- 
 sulation burned off. He had picked it up from the
 
 no THE POISONED PEN 
 
 wreckage of the floor. It led to a bent and black- 
 ened 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 rack- 
 ing heads, gargled our parched throats, and washed 
 out our bloodshot eyes, in silence. The whole ad- 
 ventiye, 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 o 
 whom had had more or less to do with her in con- 
 nection 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 en- 
 terprises. And to think she was the firebug, after 
 all. I can hardly believe it."
 
 Ill 
 
 "Why believe it?" asked Kennedy quietly. 
 
 " Why believe it? " echoed McCormick. " Stacey 
 has found shortages in his books due to the opera- 
 tion 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 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 busi- 
 ness. 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 McCor- 
 mick. 
 
 " 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
 
 ii2 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 tele- 
 phoned 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 breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " 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, oif 
 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;
 
 THE FIREBUG 113 
 
 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 an- 
 swered 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, inas- 
 much as they know the bookkeeper is safe and that 
 dead women tell no tales." 
 
 When next I saw Kennedy it was late in the after- 
 noon, in the laboratory. He was arranging some- 
 thing 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
 
 ii4 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 im- 
 pression 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. Ken- 
 nedy 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
 
 THE FIREBUG 115 
 
 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 manu- 
 script 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
 
 n6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 aggregate. Others were memoranda of Miss 
 Wend's, and still others were autograph letters to 
 Miss Wend of a very incriminating nature in con- 
 nection 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 mar- 
 shal at various times. Curiously enough, I find 
 that 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? 
 
 11 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 de- 
 liberately 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 head- 
 quarters in Kansas City. Others have worked in 
 St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Buffalo. The
 
 THE FIREBUG 117 
 
 fire marshals of Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and 
 Ohio have investigated their work. But until re- 
 cently 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 de- 
 stroying 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
 
 n 8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 mur- 
 dered 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 compla- 
 cently 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 ex- 
 ists in the trade at present. They are insolvent. 
 Glance over that, 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 re- 
 port was not to be ready until nine o'clock, and 
 it is scarcely a quarter past now."
 
 THE FIREBUG 119 
 
 " 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 insur- 
 ance 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 feloni- 
 ously, wilfully, and intentionally kill Rebecca Wend 
 whilst said Blank was wilfully burning and sejtting 
 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
 
 120 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 knowl- 
 edge of a caller. It makes it possible to write a 
 message under these conditions and receive an an- 
 swer 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 repro- 
 duced here. You have seen them. Meanwhile,
 
 THE FIREBUG 121 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 steer- 
 ing-wheel. 
 
 As McCormick with the police loomed up, a mo- 
 ment late, out of the darkness and after a short
 
 122 THE POISONED PEN" 
 
 struggle clapped the irons on Stacey and Lazard in 
 Stacey's own magnificently upholstered car, I re- 
 marked 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."
 
 V 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 
 
 " 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 ex- 
 tended 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 
 
 123
 
 I2 4 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 froni 
 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."
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 125 
 
 * Yes," broke in O'Connor, " but from my stand- 
 point, 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, in- 
 vented 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 ex- 
 changed 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 tfye ' 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
 
 126 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 win- 
 ning, 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. 
 
 " 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 gam- 
 bling-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, ex- 
 tracted 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 127 
 
 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 hap- 
 pened, 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
 
 128 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 power long enough to take their finger-prints and 
 get descriptions and measurements of them, particu- 
 larly by this new 4 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 M 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 charac- 
 ter 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?" 
 
 " 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 neigh- 
 bours thai Williams and Mrs. Williams as they
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 129 
 
 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 Eng- 
 lishwoman 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 authori- 
 ties 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 finger- 
 prints which we had made believe it or not, but 
 it is a fact, the Riverwood finger-prints did not tally 
 at all."
 
 130 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 He laid the prints on the table. Kennedy ex- 
 amined them closely. His face clouded. It was 
 quite evident that he was stumped, and he said so. 
 " There are some points of agreement," he re- 
 marked, " 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 call- 
 ing him. As he talked we could gather that some- 
 thing tragic must have happened at Riverwood, and 
 we could hardly wait until he had finished. 
 
 " There has been an accident up there," he re- 
 marked 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 cross- 
 ing 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 131 
 
 to bits. How the woman escaped was a miracle, 
 but they found the man's body up the tracks, hor- 
 ribly 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. u Where's the 
 woman? " 
 
 44 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 some- 
 where 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."
 
 132 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 to- 
 gether. 
 
 "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 any- 
 thing to your man there about us."
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 133 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 41 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? " 
 
 4 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 scien- 
 tific 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. L This fellow is a pale man
 
 134 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, follow- 
 ing the directions Burke had given him. The house 
 in question was a large, newly built affair of con- 
 crete, 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 appar- 
 ent, 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 135 
 
 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 ad- 
 vanced over the open space to the house, approach- 
 ing in the shadow as much as possible, on the side 
 farthest from the river. 
 
 Tiptoeing over the porch, Kennedy tried a win- 
 dow. 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 pro- 
 ceeded 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 de- 
 serted. 
 
 Cautiously Kennedy pressed the button of his 
 pocket storage-battery lamp and flashed it slowly 
 about the room. It was a sort of library, hand- 
 somely furnished. At last the beam of light rested 
 on a huge desk at the opposite end. It seemed to 
 interest Kennedy, 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
 
 136 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 col- 
 lection 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 vola- 
 tile smell of ether. He closed it quickly, and it, 
 too, went into his pocket with the remark, " Some- 
 body must have known how to administer an anaes- 
 thetic probably the Wollstone woman." 
 
 A suppressed exclamation from Kennedy caused 
 ine 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 hunt- 
 ing all over for the valuables he has come after.
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 137 
 
 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 win- 
 dows 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
 
 138 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 of the circuitous way by the road and tow"n. Be- 
 hind 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. 
 
 " 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 
 f?ur apartment, and instead of going uptown Ken-
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 139 
 
 nedy 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
 
 i 4 o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 counter- 
 feiters 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," 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 counter- 
 feiters should have arrived if they had started on 
 any reasonable train. 
 
 " Perhaps they have gone up to Montreal, in- 
 stead," 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 141 
 
 last night's events. We have failed they have got 
 by us. Neither the ' portrait parle ' nor the ordi- 
 nary 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 sur- 
 round 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 bring- 
 ing 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 par- 
 affin.
 
 i 4 2 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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? " 
 
 " 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 143 
 
 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 race- 
 tracks, 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 ex- 
 claimed 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 pro- 
 claimed 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 in- 
 stantly in this rig." 
 
 " You haven't altered your features," explained 
 Kennedy simply. " Our pale-faced, snub-nosed,
 
 144 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 accomplish- 
 ments? " 
 
 " 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 dis- 
 gustedly 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
 
 145 
 
 impudence? Get out of my way, sir, this instant, 
 or I'll have you arrested." 
 
 " Come, come, Kennedy," interrupted Burke. 
 " Surely you are getting 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 fol- 
 low 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
 
 146 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 counter- 
 feiters 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 varia- 
 tions as these. That is true. There are finger- 
 prints of people taken fifty years ago that are ex- 
 actly the same as their finger-prints of to-day. They 
 don't change they are permanent. The finger- 
 prints 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 arti- 
 ficially alive for days under proper conditions. 
 Could it be that a man had deliberately amputated 
 his fingers and grafted on new ones? Was the
 
 H7 
 
 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 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
 
 148 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 4 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 grow- 
 ing 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 149 
 
 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 inconveni- 
 ence except that absolute rest of the hands was 're- 
 quired. 
 
 " That is what happened, gentlemen," concluded 
 Kennedy. " That is why Mr. Forbes, alias Wil- 
 liams, 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 counter- 
 feits. 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," re- 
 marked 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
 
 150 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 at the idea, but 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 counter- 
 feiter? " 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 de- 
 pended 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 " por- 
 trait 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 151 
 
 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. u 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
 
 i 5 2 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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." 
 
 The man had by this time raised himself to a 
 high pitch of apparently righteous wrath. He ad- 
 vanced 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 prin- 
 ciples 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
 
 THE CONFIDENCE KING 153 
 
 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 vocifer- 
 ously 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 Kimber- 
 ley, 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 counter- 
 feits 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."
 
 VI 
 THE SAND-HOG 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 con- 
 struction 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 an- 
 
 154
 
 THE SAND-HOG 155 
 
 nouncement 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? " ex- 
 claimed 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 recog- 
 nised him. A doctor was bending over him, mas- 
 saging 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
 
 156 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, 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 conversa- 
 tion 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
 
 THE SAND-HOG 157 
 
 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 care- 
 lessly, 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
 
 158 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, fel- 
 lows, is my right-hand man in managing the ' sand- 
 hogs ' 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 com- 
 pany 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 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
 
 THE SAND-HOG 159 
 
 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 roast- 
 ing us. We are being called inhuman; they are go- 
 ing 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 quick-
 
 160 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 sand 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, pro- 
 vided 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 work- 
 ing with the state legislature to get a bill extending 
 the time-limit of the franchise another year. Of
 
 THE SAND-HOG 161 
 
 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 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, any- 
 how," 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, al- 
 most 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."
 
 1 62 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " Very well, then," agreed Kennedy. " To- 
 morrow morning we shall be on hand. Jack, de- 
 pend 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, sink- 
 ing again into his shell of silence. Then he sud- 
 denly 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. More- 
 over, 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 labora- 
 tory and the university library. Be ready early in 
 the morning to help me delve into this tunnel mys- 
 tery." 
 
 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
 
 THE SAND-HOG 163 
 
 action. At any rate, breakfast was a mere incident 
 in 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 whis- 
 pered conversation, Craig stowed the box away be- 
 hind 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. 
 
 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 Sphinxlike. 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 inter- 
 ested 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
 
 1 64 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 con- 
 struction 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 SAND-HOG 165 
 
 the door in the other end of the lock from that by 
 which we had entered. 
 
 Along the bottom of the completed tube we fol- 
 lowed 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 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
 
 1 66 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 aston- 
 ishment, 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."
 
 THE SAND-HOG 167 
 
 "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 com- 
 pressors 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.
 
 1 68 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 a Where's Paddy? " asked Kennedy, stopping sud- 
 denly. " We've forgotten him." 
 
 " 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 learn- 
 ing many strange things. You can't whistle in com- 
 pressed 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, gintle- 
 men? " 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 com- 
 ing out from each pound of pressure, though for 
 such high pressures as we had been under, consider- 
 ably more time was required in order to do it safely.
 
 THE SAND-HOG 169 
 
 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 ob- 
 jects when it expands. We were glad to draw 
 sweaters on over our heads. It also grew as misty 
 a's 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," re- 
 marked 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
 
 170 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 some- 
 times. 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. 
 
 "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
 
 THE SAND-HOG 171 
 
 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 eaves- 
 dropper, 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, Mor- 
 ris. The thing has gone on long enough. If there 
 is one more big accident we shall have to compro- 
 mise 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. Ob, 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,
 
 172 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 trac- 
 ing a red-ink line on the ruled paper that unwound 
 from tlie 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." 
 
 In response to Orton's summons Capps and Shel- 
 ton came into the office, just as a large town car 
 pulled up outside the tunnel works. A tall, dis- 
 tinguished-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.
 
 THE SAND-HOG 173 
 
 " And Vivian, too," exclaimed Orton excitedly. 
 " Say, fellows, clear off these desks. Quick, before 
 she gets up here. In the closet with these blue- 
 prints, 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, Vivian, 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 alto- 
 gether too many accidents in the tunnel, too many
 
 174 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 cases of the bends, too many deaths, too many de- 
 lays 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 work- 
 man 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 
 1 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 in- 
 spection 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.
 
 THE SAND-HOG 175 
 
 " 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. Other- 
 wise these bubbles catch in the veins, and the result 
 is severe pains, paralysis, and even death. Gentle- 
 men, 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 re- 
 called 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
 
 176 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 found something else in that air beside carbon diox- 
 ide." 
 
 "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 Pro- 
 fessor 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?"
 
 THE SAND-HOG 177 
 
 1 Yes, straight no joints, no pockets where oil, 
 moisture, and gases can collect." 
 
 " 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 switch- 
 board. 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: "Num- 
 ber please. Four four three o, Yorkville. Busy, 
 I'll call you. Try them again, Central. Hello, 
 hello, Central "
 
 178 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 Kennedy stopped the machine. " It must be 
 further along on the disc," he remarked. " This, 
 by the way, is an instrument known as the telegra- 
 phone, invented by a Dane named Poulsen. It re- 
 cords 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-de- 
 gree 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.
 
 THE SAND-HOG 179 
 
 " It would all seem so natural, even if discov- 
 ered," 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 cyl- 
 inder of an automobile where the air is compressed 
 with gasoline vapour. Only here we have com- 
 pressed air charged with vapour of oil. The flame 
 proceeds down the pipe exploding through the pipe, 
 if it happens to be not strong enough. 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
 
 i8o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 spout- 
 ing 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."
 
 THE SAND-HOG 181 
 
 " 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 in- 
 terminable wait for the air in the lock to be ex- 
 hausted. 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 stand- 
 ing defiantly, with burning eyes, 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 telegra- 
 phone record, Vivian? "
 
 1 82 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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
 
 THE SAND-HOG 183 
 
 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."
 
 VII 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 
 
 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: 
 
 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. 
 
 U H m," remarked Kennedy; "not strange for 
 the Missing Persons Squad to be baffled at least, 
 at this case." 
 
 184
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 185 
 
 ' 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 sym- 
 pathy: "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 occa- 
 sioned the discussion. The article had been headed, 
 " When Personalities Are Lost," and with the Gil- 
 bert 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 Gil- 
 bert, 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 tite 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
 
 1 86 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 phe- 
 nomena 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, re- 
 turned, 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. Gil- 
 bert shot an inquiring glance from beneath his bushy 
 eyebrows, quickly shifting from my face to Ken- 
 nedy'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 un- 
 able to recover her real personality?" 
 
 " I should like to have all the facts at first hand 
 before venturing an opinion," Craig replied with 
 precisely that shade of hesitancy that mieht reas-
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 187 
 
 sure the anxious father and mother, without raising 
 a false hope. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert exchanged glances, the pur- 
 port of which was that she desired him to tell the 
 story. 
 
 " It was day before yesterday," began Mr. Gil- 
 bert, 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, " Thurs- 
 day, that Georgette er since we have heard of 
 Georgette." His voice faltered a bit, but he pro- 
 ceeded: "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 convul- 
 sively. 
 
 " 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 advan- 
 tage 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?"
 
 1 88 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 for- 
 gotten 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, be- 
 gan to pay her marked attentions. He is a fasci- 
 nating, 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 litera- 
 ture such as we now know Georgette did. I sup- 
 pose 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 189 
 
 quickly glossed over by the almost ardent descrip- 
 tions 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 be- 
 lieve so yet. Mr. Gilbert in a roundabout way 
 came to an understanding with old Mr. Dudley 
 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 news- 
 papers bringing his name into the case?" asked 
 Kennedy, addressing Mr. Gilbert. 
 
 " Nothing," replied he. " He denies that he has
 
 190 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 mem- 
 bers 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 sur- 
 vived?" 
 
 " None whatever," repeated Mr. Gilbert emphat- 
 ically. " 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 191 
 
 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 read- 
 ing-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 for- 
 given 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 unsatisfac- 
 tory. 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 con- 
 cealing something that might compromise himself. 
 
 " Really, gentlemen," he drawled, puffing lan- 
 guidly 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 pass- 
 ing acquaintance Miss Gilbert and I had drifted
 
 192 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 entirely apart entirely apart owing to circum- 
 stances 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 occur- 
 rence 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 discov- 
 ered anything that points to her whereabouts, let 
 me know immediately. You can count on me pro- 
 vided 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 ac- 
 quaintance 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, any- 
 thing is both possible and probable." 
 
 [There was nothing more that could be done that
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 193 
 
 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 marvel- 
 lous 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 sud- 
 den 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 illus- 
 trated 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. Dis- 
 appearances except for money troubles are all mys- 
 terious. The first thing in such a case is to dis- 
 cover 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:
 
 194 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 1. Love, family trouble. 
 
 2. A romantic disposition. 
 
 3. 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 disappear- 
 ance; 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.
 
 THE WHTE SLAVE 195 
 
 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: 
 
 Instead of attempting to go over the ground al- 
 ready traversed by the police, who had interrogated 
 the numerous cierks 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, un- 
 able 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. Alto- 
 gether 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 neigh-
 
 H96 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 bourhood, 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 of his daughter 
 in a lonely spot in the Croton Aqueduct. The re- 
 port 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 WHITE SLAVE 197 
 
 the scene of the tragedy not very long after the 
 coroner. Mr. Gilbert was there, silentj 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 improve- 
 ment 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 vio- 
 lence 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,
 
 198 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 in- 
 fluences," " 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 some- 
 how 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. 
 fThat 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.
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 199 
 
 One after another the ordinary poisons were elimi- 
 nated, until it began to look hopeless. 
 
 So far Kennedy had been only an interested spec- 
 tator, but as the different tests failed, he had be- 
 come 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 re- 
 garded 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
 
 200 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 so unexpectedly interrupted this morning. I sup- 
 pose 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 advertise- 
 ments in the clipping described himself as " Hata, 
 the Veiled Prophet, born with a double veil, edu- 
 cated in occult mysteries and Hindu philosophy in 
 Egypt and India." Like all of them his advertise- 
 ment 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, in- 
 vestments. Overcomes rivals, enemies, and all evil influ- 
 ences. 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 201 
 
 had established himself on a street near Times 
 Square, just off Broadway, and there we found sev- 
 eral 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 under- 
 neath 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
 
 202 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 tall, ferret-eyed man in a robe that looked suspi- 
 ciously 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 al- 
 ready 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.
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 203 
 
 " 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." 
 
 u 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 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 guaran- 
 teed 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
 
 204 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 (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 brown- 
 stone 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 lan- 
 guage 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 205 
 
 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 revela- 
 tion 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 sur- 
 prised. 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
 
 2o6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 quick enough. The Pandit eyed us suspiciously, 
 then he rang a bell. The attendant appeared in- 
 stantly, noiselessly. 
 
 " Show these men into the library," he com- 
 manded 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 ad- 
 vice. At any rate, the attendant quickly ^opened a 
 door into the darkness. Treading cautiously I fol- 
 lowed 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 clair- 
 voyants 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 esconced 
 himself rather out of the beaten track of police pro- 
 tection, or persecution, one could not say which. I 
 was wondering what sort of vagary would come 
 next. It proved to be " Swami, the greatest clair- 
 voyant, psychic palmist, and Yogi mediator of them
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 207 
 
 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, busi- 
 ness, 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 sweet- 
 heart 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. Natu- 
 rally 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
 
 208 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 209 
 
 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 polite- 
 ness. 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 asso- 
 ciation 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 dis- 
 tance 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.
 
 210 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 seiz- 
 ing 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." 
 
 It was beyond me. With the Swami's concoction 
 still shooting thoughts like sky rockets through my
 
 I 
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 211 
 
 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 represent- 
 ing 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 repre- 
 sents 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 amicabifity 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
 
 212 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 sat- 
 isfying 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 in- 
 fluence over his disciples or those who came to seek 
 his advice. Besides this indefinable hypnotic influ- 
 ence, I also noted the more material lock on the 
 door to the inner sanctuary. 
 
 4 Yes," the Guru was saying to Kennedy, " I can 
 secure you one 6f the love-pills from India, but it 
 will cost you er ten dollars." I think he hesi- 
 tated, 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 in-
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 213 
 
 terested in the table and was examining it when the 
 Guru returned. Just as the door opened he man- 
 aged 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 
 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 micro- 
 scopes, slides, chemicals, test-tubes, and other appa- 
 ratus. 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 esca- 
 pades had been the talk of even the fast set of a 
 fast society.
 
 214 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Law- 
 ton 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 composi- 
 tion 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,
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 215 
 
 taking advantage of those excellent researches by 
 M. Bertillon. Human hair is fairly uniform, taper- 
 ing gradually. Under the microscope it is practi- 
 cally 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 dis- 
 appearance 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 evidence of a weapon she had used to 
 defend herself. Instead, I found what was more
 
 2i6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 clair- 
 voyants," 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 dis- 
 tinct efforts, probably, to secure books on clairvoy- 
 ance. 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 sus- 
 pect 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 adver- 
 tisers, Hata, the Swami, the Pandit, and the Guru. 
 There is just one of these specimens which corre- 
 sponds 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.
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 217 
 
 " 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, u before I read the name I have still 
 one more damning fact to disclose." 
 
 Craig now had us on edge with excitement, a situ- 
 ation 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 knock- 
 out drops, but tests by the coroner's physician elim- 
 inated 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.
 
 218 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 From tests that I have made I have discovered tke 
 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 trans- 
 formed into passionate love. It is the drug de- 
 rived from the Indian hemp, scientifically named 
 Cannabis Indica, better known as hashish, or bhang, 
 or a dozen other names in the East. Its chief char- 
 acteristic 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, ' run- 
 ning 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
 
 THE WHITE SLAVE 219 
 
 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 Gil- 
 bert, 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
 
 220 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. Georg- 
 ette 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."
 
 VIII 
 THE FORGER 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 com- 
 pany, 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 
 
 221
 
 222 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 com- 
 pany 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 sus- 
 picions, 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,
 
 THE FORGER 223 
 
 though he is out on bail now. We haven't anything 
 directly against him, but he is suspected of com- 
 plicity 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 alto- 
 gether 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 in- 
 sider must have been some one pretty close to the 
 head of the By-Products Company or the By- 
 Products Bank." 
 
 "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
 
 224 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 in- 
 stance 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 with- 
 draw it in a few days before there is time to dis- 
 cover 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 dis- 
 covered." 
 
 " Who is the treasurer of the company? " asked 
 Craig quickly. 
 
 " John Carroll merely a figurehead, I under- 
 stand. 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 as- 
 sistant treasurer of the company, you understand, 
 not of the bank." 
 
 "You can't find him? Why?" asked Kennedy, 
 considerably puzzled.
 
 THE FORGER 225 
 
 " 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 com- 
 mon 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 Daw- 
 son 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 inter- 
 ested in this case? " 
 
 Williams was leaning forward, looking anxiously 
 at Kennedy and it would not have taken a clair-
 
 226 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 voyant 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." 
 
 " 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. Fm all at sea. Perhaps if you're in- 
 terested 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, per- 
 spiring 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 in-
 
 THE FORGER 227 
 
 surance 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 safe- 
 guarded 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. Some- 
 times I think it may have lessened. Greater tempta- 
 tions assail the cashier or clerk with greater oppor- 
 tunity for speculation, and the banks, as many 
 authorities will agree, have not made enough use of 
 the machinery available to put a stop to embezzle- 
 ment. 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 kit- 
 ing 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
 
 228 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 were all that he could talk about, all that he was 
 thinking about. He was paying now a heavy pen- 
 alty 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 un- 
 naturally 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, 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
 
 THE FORGER 229 
 
 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 up- 
 shot 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, who- 
 ever 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
 
 230 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 I9th and 2Oth." 
 
 ' 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 2Oth. Now the 
 next ship that he could take after the 2Oth 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 knowl- 
 edge, could pick him out, then we could hold him
 
 THE FORGER 231 
 
 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 al- 
 ways 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 un- 
 rolled 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
 
 232 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 burst- 
 ing 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 some- 
 thing 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 fol- 
 lowed down several false clues before the real sig- 
 nificance 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
 
 THE FORGER 233 
 
 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 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
 
 234 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 the Chemistry Building told me that he had de- 
 cided 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 docu- 
 ments," 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 re- 
 veals 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
 
 THE FORGER 235 
 
 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 afr 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 micro- 
 scopic enlarger, as well as this specially constructed 
 document camera with lenses certified by the gov- 
 ernment. 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
 
 236 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 that he does it automat- 
 ically 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 ex- 
 penses 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
 
 THE FORGER 237 
 
 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 Lor- 
 raine and began frankly by telling them that I rep- 
 resented 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 experi- 
 ence 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, Wal- 
 ter, there's just one chance of making his identifica- 
 tion 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
 
 238 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 accommodations and a photographer had been en- 
 gaged 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 pho- 
 tographer 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. 
 
 " 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 FORGER 239 
 
 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 diffi- 
 cult 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 in- 
 terest us was that again we crossed the trail of a 
 man with a Van Dyke beard. He had been accom- 
 panied 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 attrac- 
 tive," 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 descrip- 
 tion 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
 
 2 4 o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 him- 
 self, " 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 to- 
 gether, 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
 
 THE FORGER 241 
 
 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 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 informa- 
 tion 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 un- 
 noticed. 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 photo- 
 graph, 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 physic- 
 ally insuperable. 
 
 But, as usual, Craig was not without some re- 
 source, 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
 
 242 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 re- 
 marked 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 un- 
 common, after all." 
 
 We had reached the laboratory. Linemen were 
 stringing wires under the electric lights of the cam- 
 pus 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 com- 
 plicated piece of mechanism consisting of electro- 
 magnets, rolls, and a stylus and numerous other 
 contrivances which did not suggest to my mind any- 
 thing 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.
 
 THE FORGER 243 
 
 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 again. I made 
 a hurried trip downtown to catch Carroll and Wil- 
 liams and then returned to the laboratory, where 
 Craig had evidently just finished a satisfactory pre- 
 liminary test of his machine. 
 
 " Still no message," he began in reply to my 
 unspoken question. He was plainly growing rest- 
 less 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 Ken- 
 nedy dropped, the Chicago post-office inspectors 
 were still searching for a trace of the package from
 
 244 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 cer- 
 tainly looks bad for him."
 
 THE FORGER 245 
 
 " It does, I admit," said Carroll reluctantly. 
 " What's all this stuff on the table? " he asked, in- 
 dicating the magnets, rolls, and clockwork. 
 
 Kennedy did not have time to reply, for the tel- 
 ephone 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 vary- 
 ing intensity as it turned. Round and round the 
 cylinder revolved like a graphophone. 
 
 " This," exclaimed Kennedy proudly, " is the 
 1 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 photo- 
 graphs, using the 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 grad-
 
 246 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 ually it was widening, though we could not guess 
 what it was about to reveal as the ceaseless revo- 
 lutions 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 be- 
 coming 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 photo- 
 graph 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? "
 
 THE FORGER 247 
 
 " 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, cross- 
 ing 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 de- 
 grees of intensity over the thousand miles of tele- 
 phone 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 receiv- 
 ing stylus passes over the paper here synchronously 
 with the transmitting stylus in Chicago. The im- 
 pression 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 photo- 
 graphic 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
 
 248 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 incredu- 
 lous 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, ner- 
 vously 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 tel- 
 ephone 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 telelectro- 
 graph instrument and stood regarding it with intense
 
 THE FORGER 249 
 
 satisfaction. Outside, the car which had been en- 
 gaged 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 con- 
 cealing their motives and conduct. They have a 
 mania for leading a double life, and enjoy the 
 deception and mask which they draw about them- 
 selves. Persons under the influence of the drug 
 have less power to resist physical and mental im- 
 pressions and they easily succumb to temptations and 
 suggestions from others. Morphine stands un- 
 equalled as a perverter of the moral sense. It 
 creates a person whom the father of lies must rec- 
 ognise 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
 
 250 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 morphine business explains, but it does not excuse. 
 Come on, the car is watiing. 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 sup- 
 press. 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 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
 
 THE FORGER 251 
 
 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 De- 
 Mott who had used her victim, Bolton Brown, to 
 shield her employer, Carroll.
 
 IX 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 
 
 " 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 Van- 
 derveer one evening after reclaiming our hats from 
 the plutocrat who had acquired the checking privi- 
 lege. 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 dur- 
 ing the dinner. You know, a big hotel is the stamp- 
 ing 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 re- 
 calling 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 
 252
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 253 
 
 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 defer- 
 entially, " are you very busy just now?" 
 
 11 Not especially so," replied Craig. " My friend 
 Jameson was telling me that you knew some inter- 
 esting yarns about hotel detective life. I should like 
 to hear you tell some of them, if you are not your- 
 self too " 
 
 "Perhaps you'd rather see one instead?" in- 
 terrupted 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
 
 254 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, al- 
 though 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 immac- 
 ulate bed lay the form of a woman, a beautiful 
 woman she had been, too, though not with the fresh- 
 ness 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 with- 
 out a suspicion of the terrible secret only a few 
 feet distant from them. 
 
 We stood awestruck for the moment. 
 
 4 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 re- 
 turned, however, and he continued, " Now, Jame-
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 255 
 
 son, 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 back- 
 ground. 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, 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.
 
 256 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 K 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 evi- 
 dently 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 cer- 
 tain errands, but always returned promptly. Ma- 
 dame 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. Gon- 
 zales 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 UNOFFICIAL SPY 257 
 
 the maid, he told the visitor that Madame was nofi 
 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 Catha- 
 rine 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 Due de Chateau- 
 rouge." 
 
 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, sup- 
 posing that to be her real name, has been dead for 
 at least a day or two. The first thing to be deter- 
 mined is whether this is a death from natural causes, 
 a suicide, or a murder. After we have determined
 
 258 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 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 con- 
 trary? 
 
 A low eclaniation 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 informa- 
 tion as ours, " and said that Madame had asked her
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 259 
 
 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 com- 
 missioned 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 hidd-en 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 de- 
 scription-." 
 
 Kennedy's eye encountered the curious gaze of 
 McBride. " This may prove to be a most unusual 
 ^ase," he remarked in answer to the implied inquiry
 
 E6o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, dio- 
 nine, narceine, and narcotine, to say nothing of 
 bromure d'etyle, bromoform, nitrite d'amyle, and 
 amyline are 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 un- 
 scrupulousness. 
 
 ' 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 261 
 
 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 an- 
 other thing which may or may not have some con- 
 nection 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 fas- 
 cinating face, but a face to be afraid of. I remem- 
 bered 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 revo- 
 lutions, 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
 
 262 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 be particular to wait on them well, and to pick up 
 any scraps of conversation he could. 
 
 " Charley knows his business, and the barest per- 
 ceptible 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 unde- 
 sirable 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 263 
 
 blind to get her over here, away from Paris.' 
 Finally the dark man in an apparent burst of con- 
 fidence 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. 
 
 " 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 felfow 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 furi- 
 ously at not getting any apology. ' Sacre,' he ex- 
 claimed, ' 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
 
 264 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 car- 
 riage 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 lay- 
 ing out a programme of action in his mind. " You
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 265 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 illumi- 
 nating 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 tenta- 
 tive remark at Craig and the house detective, who
 
 266 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 said nothing. " It looks a good deal like that other 
 suicide at least a suicide which some one has en- 
 deavoured to conceal," he added, hastily recollect- 
 ing 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 min- 
 utes 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 now- 
 adays, 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? "
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 267 
 
 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 any- 
 thing, 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. 
 
 " Do you suppose the Due de Chateaurouge would
 
 268 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 shoul- 
 ders a fraction of an inch. 
 
 " Either in New York or in Washington," pur- 
 sued 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. Love- 
 lace. 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 com- 
 municated 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 UNOFFICIAL SPY 269 
 
 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 Ken- 
 nedy, if we might turn over that research part of 
 the case to you, sir, I will engage to see that a reason- 
 able 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 sci- 
 entific workshop before that official appeared, ac- 
 companied by a man who carried in uncanny jars 
 the necessary materials for an investigation follow- 
 ing 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.
 
 270 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, talk- 
 ing 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. 
 
 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 be- 
 fore 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. 
 
 u It is the decided reaction for chloroform," he 
 exclaimed simply in reply to our unspoken ques- 
 tions. 
 
 11 Chloroform," repeated the coroner, rather 
 doubtfully, and it was evident that he had expected 
 a poison and had not anticipated any result what- 
 ever 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 271 
 
 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 natu- 
 rally be questioned in court. It seems to me that 
 the volatility of chloroform might very possibly pre- 
 clude 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. Remem- 
 ber, this is the summer time too, and chloroform 
 would evaporate very much more rapidly now than 
 in winter." 
 
 Kennedy smiled, but his confidence remained un- 
 shaken. 
 
 " I am in a position to meet all of your objec- 
 tions," 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 aver- 
 age 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
 
 272 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 of it may be found for two weeks after its admin- 
 istration, 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 sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " But," persisted the coroner, " if she was mur- 
 dered 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 adminis- 
 tration without a hard fight." 
 
 From his pocket Kennedy drew a small paste- 
 board 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 equip- 
 ment of the endormeur. Whoever obtained admit- 
 tance to Madame's rooms, either as a matter of 
 course or secretly, must have engaged her in con- 
 versation, disarmed suspicion, and then suddenly she 
 must have found a pocket handkerchief 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 273 
 
 of postponing discovery by paying the bill in ad- 
 vance 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 appa- 
 ratus 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. 
 
 1 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
 
 274 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 cyl- 
 inder. 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 mat- 
 ter 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 275 
 
 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 sus- 
 picion upon their return, at least not yet. 
 
 " 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 dicto- 
 graph 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 en- 
 grossed in it while the rest of us fidgeted at the 
 delay. 
 
 " Can you get me a couple of old telephone in- 
 struments? " 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 instru- 
 ments on a table. Where he got them I do not 
 know, but I suspect he simply lifted them from 
 vacant rooms.
 
 276 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " Now some Number 30 copper wire and a couple 
 of dry cells," ordered Kennedy, falling to work 
 immediately on the telephones. The detective de- 
 spatched a bellboy down to the basement to get the 
 wire from the house electrician. 
 
 Kennedy removed the transmitters of the tele- 
 phones, 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 connect- 
 ing 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 tran- 
 som it was easy enough to run the wires and so 
 down the hall to a vacant room, where Craig at-
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 277 
 
 tached them quickly to one of the old telephone 
 receivers. 
 
 Then we sat down in this room to await develop- 
 ments 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." 
 
 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 eavesdrop- 
 per, 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 Vander- 
 veer the night you and Madame arrived? I'm sure
 
 278 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 t;he plans for the
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 279 
 
 coaling station on the Pacific near the Canal? You 
 see, Henri, I know." 
 
 " Ha, ha, yes," replied the man. ll 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 an- 
 other, America against you know the government 
 our friend Schmidt works for in Paris. Now, listen. 
 Those plans of the coaling station are a fakea 
 fake. It is just a commercial venture. No nation 
 would be foolish enough to attempt slich 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? " 
 "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
 
 28o THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 after- 
 noon 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 im- 
 portant than you suppose and discovery might lead 
 to a dangerous international complication just now." 
 
 " Then you are to meet your friend in Washing- 
 ton 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.
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 281 
 
 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," ex- 
 claimed 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,
 
 282 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 tried to 
 read and could not. 
 
 The train had come to a stop in the Union 
 Station. Our man was walking rapidly up the plat- 
 form 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.
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 283 
 
 " Here," shouted Craig to a cabman, " my friend 
 is ill. Drive U9 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 sum- 
 mer 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 j 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. Some- 
 thing 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 sen- 
 tentiously 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
 
 284 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 a bill into the cabman's hand, and bade him wail 
 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. 
 44 By Jove, Walter, it's Burke of the Secret Service," 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 44 Good," repeated the man with some satisfac- 
 tion. " I see that you still have that memory for 
 faces." He was evidently referring to our experi- 
 ences together some months before with the portrait 
 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. 
 
 4 ' 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 sue-
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 285 
 
 ceed 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. With- 
 out 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 in- 
 tently 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 point-
 
 286 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 blank 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 suffo- 
 cated. 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 287 
 
 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 se- 
 cured 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 Van- 
 deveer Hotel and in a few days, as soon as a certain ex- 
 change 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.
 
 288 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 Love- 
 lace. 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
 
 THE UNOFFICIAL SPY 289 
 
 glanced at it in surprise, then hurriedly exclaimed, 
 " There, Burke. Take these to the War Depart- 
 ment 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 rec- 
 ords. That is what this fellow obtained in ex- 
 change 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."
 
 X 
 THE SMUGGLER 
 
 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 de- 
 serted, though the few pedestrians who had re- 
 turned 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 Hern- 
 don, an old college mate, who had had some politi- 
 cal 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 
 
 290
 
 THE SMUGGLER 291 
 
 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 en- 
 thusiastically. " 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 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 Vio-
 
 292 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 lette, 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 con- 
 tinued. " 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 sur- 
 veyor'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. Per- 
 haps 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 293 
 
 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 un- 
 dertone. 
 
 "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
 
 294 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. 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 Vio- 
 lette had been discovered dead in her shop by the 
 girls when they came to work this morning. Ap- 
 parently 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 Hern- 
 don 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 & 
 Pierre down on the next block. Pierre is due in 
 New York on La Montaigne to-night or to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 ' Why, if my suspicions are correct, it is this 
 Pierre who is the brains of the whole affair. And 
 here's another thing. You know we have a sort of 
 secret service in Paris and other European cities 
 which is constantly keeping an eye on purchases of
 
 THE SMUGGLER 295 
 
 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 as- 
 semble 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 valua- 
 tion of, say, two hundred thousand, means twenty 
 thousand dollars duty alone. Then he has a splen- 
 did ' 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 ^Made- 
 moiselle 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 con- 
 sisted of a three-story and basement brownstone 
 house in which the basement and first floor had 
 been remodelled for business purposes. Made 
 moiselle'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
 
 296 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 situa- 
 tion. " 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 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 SMUGGLER 297 
 
 The coroner shook his head knowingly. Sud- 
 denly 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 under- 
 world of Paris," broke out Kennedy, his eyes gleam- 
 ing 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 micro- 
 scopic puncture, directly over the heart. 
 
 " She must have died almost instantly," com- 
 mented 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? "
 
 298 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 en- 
 gaged, 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 inti- 
 mate 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? "
 
 THE SMUGGLER 299 
 
 " 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 seems to be more 
 interested in his position as commodore of the River- 
 ledge 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
 
 300 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 gentle- 
 man-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 an- 
 other 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 estima- 
 tion, according to the likelihood of such offences be- 
 ing perpetrated by their passengers. We watch 
 ships from London, Liverpool, and Paris most care-
 
 THE SMUGGLER 301 
 
 fully. Scandinavian ships are the least likely to 
 need watching. Well, Miss Roberts?" 
 
 " We have just had a wireless about La Mon- 
 taigne," reported his stenographer, who had en- 
 tered 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 im- 
 mediately." 
 
 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 serv- 
 ice. It was not a revenue cutter, however, on which
 
 302 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 declara- 
 tions 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 in- 
 spectors 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 303 
 
 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 part- 
 ner, 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,"
 
 304 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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-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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 3<>5 
 
 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. Be- 
 sides, I can't wait here all day. My partner is wait- 
 ing 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 pro- 
 ceeded 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 past master of the art.
 
 306 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 ' 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, Made- 
 moiselle 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 tem- 
 porarily, 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 Hern- 
 don ordered. According to the 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 307 
 
 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 diver- 
 sion 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 re- 
 turned 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
 
 308 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 in- 
 stead 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 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 309 
 
 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
 
 3 io THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 him- 
 self. I suspect they talked that over between them- 
 selves 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 perpetrat- 
 ing 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 Made- 
 moiselle 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 dis- 
 playing 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 
 little modiste, Mademoiselle Gabrielle had quite
 
 THE SMUGGLER 311 
 
 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 taxi- 
 cab 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 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 re- 
 mained 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 consider- 
 ably, 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
 
 3 i2 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. 
 
 u What a fine place for a murder," laughed Ken- 
 nedy 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 com- 
 motion on the opposite side of the pier distracted 
 my attention. A ship was coming in and was being
 
 THE SMUGGLER 313 
 
 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 re- 
 joined 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. 
 
 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 work- 
 ing. It was more like a great house than a ship,
 
 3 i4 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 at- 
 tracted 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 315 
 
 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 im- 
 possible 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
 
 3 i6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 smuggling yarns was this, ready for deeds of des- 
 peration in the dark hours of midnight. It was 
 just a modern 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. An- 
 other 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 night- 
 watchman 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 hold- 
 ing something in his hand. It seemed like a little 
 silver-backed piece of thin glass with a flaring funnel-
 
 THE SMUGGLER 317 
 
 like thing back of it, which he held most particu- 
 larly. Though he heard the parting taunt outside 
 he paid no attention. 
 
 1 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, per- 
 haps 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 sup- 
 pose 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
 
 3 i8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 kept his eyes glued on the Cimmerian blackness out- 
 side 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 com- 
 municate 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
 
 THE SMUGGLER 319 
 
 light? Thus there are reproduced similar varia- 
 tions 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 bat- 
 teries. 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
 
 320 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 com- 
 manded 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 to- 
 ward 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." 
 
 " The Mohican," broke in Herndon, " has the 
 right to appear anywhere from Southshoal Light- 
 ship 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 vio- 
 lating 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 con- 
 templated 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 sim- 
 ilar 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, releas- 
 ing him. ** You can't cheat the government out 
 of its just dues even in the matter of punishment."
 
 XI 
 (THE INVISIBLE RAY 
 
 " 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 Ken- 
 nedy, 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 
 
 322
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 323 
 
 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 re- 
 garding 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. u 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 Pro- 
 fessor 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 POISONED PEN 
 
 The fact of the matter is, I very much fear that 
 there are circumstances which will bear sharp look- 
 ing 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. Be- 
 fore 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 con- 
 gratulation. 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 photo-
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 325 
 
 graph. 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 remem- 
 bered her mother perfectly since the sad bereave- 
 ment of her girlhood and naturally she watched and 
 helped the artist eagerly. The result was a por- 
 trait which might well have been painted from the 
 subject herself rather than from a cold photograph. 
 
 " Haswell saw the growing intimacy of his daugh- 
 ter 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 Mar- 
 tin, 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 dis- 
 appeared 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
 
 326 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 care- 
 fully 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 under- 
 stand, 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 plausi- 
 ble 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
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 327 
 
 substance or base called ' protyle,' from which every- 
 thing 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 fasci- 
 nated 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 re- 
 ceives by a word which he has coined himself, ' tel- 
 epagrams.' Thus he says he has unified the phys- 
 ical, the physiological, and the psychical a system 
 of absolute scientific monism." 
 
 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
 
 328 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 Has- 
 well 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 tele- 
 pagram.' 
 
 ' 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,' re- 
 peated 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
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 329 
 
 from his life, heard a wild shout of ' Help ! Helpl ' 
 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. 
 
 1 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. Burn- 
 ham.' 
 
 " I went to him immediately when the maid roused 
 me, but there was nothing I could do except pre- 
 scribe perfect rest for his eyes and keeping in a 
 dark room in the hope that his sight might be re- 
 stored as suddenly and miraculously as it had been 
 taken away. 
 
 " The next morning, with his own hand, trem- 
 bling 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 papers and to be wired to the 
 leading Western papers. Haswell himself was a
 
 330 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 changed man after his experience. He spoke bit- 
 terly of Prescott, yet his attitude toward his daugh- 
 ter 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 en- 
 gaged. 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 sus-
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 331 
 
 picion?" 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 treat-, 
 ment has been so strange that almost it makes one 
 believe that there might be something occult about 
 it or wrong with the new doctor."
 
 332 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 with- 
 out 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 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 beauti- 
 ful dark eyes. As far as we could see the old house 
 plainly showed the change. The furniture and or- 
 naments 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 INVISIBLE RAY 333 
 
 the mother of Grace. In spite of the hideous style 
 of dress of the period after the war, she had evi- 
 dently 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. Mar- 
 tin would throw cold water on anything requiring 
 an outlay of money Craig accomplished his full pur- 
 pose of securing an interview with Mr. Haswell. 
 [The invalid lay propped up in bed, and as we en- 
 tered he heard us and turned his sightless eyes in 
 our direction almost as if he saw. 
 
 Kennedy had hardly begun to repeat and elab- 
 orate 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, an- 
 nounced Dr. Scott. The new doctor was a youth- 
 fully dressed man, clean-shaven, but with an unde- 
 finable 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.
 
 334 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. Has- 
 well, 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 won- 
 derful constitution. I feel sure that we can pull
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 335 
 
 him out of this and that he has many, many years 
 to live." 
 
 Mr. Haswell, who caught the words eagerly, 
 brightened visibly, and the doctor passed out. Ken- 
 nedy resumed his description of the supposed wire- 
 less 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
 
 336 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 en- 
 tirely 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," re- 
 marked 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 Ken- 
 nedy. " 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 situ- 
 ated in one of the streets near the waterfront under 
 the bridge approach, where the factories and ware-
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 337 
 
 houses 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 end- 
 less 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 as through air. 
 We must be careful not to excite suspicion. Per- 
 haps 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 bespec- 
 tacled 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
 
 338 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 prat- 
 ing about matrix and flux, elixir, magisterium, mag- 
 num 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 experi- 
 ence at least was as up-to-date as the Curies, Bec- 
 querel, 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 re- 
 gard 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," Pres- 
 cott 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 in- 
 vention. 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.
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 339 
 
 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 pro- 
 tection 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 mod- 
 ern 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 miss- 
 ing 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 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
 
 340 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 mo- 
 tion, 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 vibra- 
 tions of a certain kind affects the ear and we call 
 it sound, just as a succession of other wave vibra- 
 tions 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 vibra- 
 tion and decrease the wave length we pass from
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 341 
 
 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 ' pro- 
 todyne,' 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
 
 342 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. 
 
 " This twelfth series is interesting. So far only 
 radium, thorium, and uranium are generally known. 
 We know that the radioactive elements are con- 
 stantly breaking down, and one often hears uranium, 
 for instance, called the ' parent ' of radium. Ra- 
 dium 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 go- 
 ing 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."
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 343 
 
 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 pun- 
 gent odour of ozone which told of an electric dis- 
 charge. 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 ele- 
 ment 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 radio-
 
 344 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 active 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 en- 
 lightenment. 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. 
 
 l< That, sir," replied Prescott slowly, " is an ema- 
 nation 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 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
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 345 
 
 telepagrams I have heard of? " inquired Kennedy 
 eagerly. 
 
 Prescott looked at him sharply, and for a mo- 
 ment 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
 
 346 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 the moment when I made my initial mistake of tell- 
 ing 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 in- 
 cident. 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 mes- 
 sage, 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." 
 
 1 You will pardon me," broke in Craig to Pres- 
 cott, 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."
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 347 
 
 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, describ- 
 ing 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. 
 
 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 min- 
 ute 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 motion- 
 less on the bed. 
 
 Dr. Burnham paused in his efforts as we entered. 
 " He is dead, all right," he whispered, aside. " I 
 have trfed 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 excite- 
 ment, turned from and ignored Dr. Burnham.
 
 348 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 " 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 motion- 
 less. 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 breath- 
 lessly, " 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 labora- 
 tory. 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 parapher- 
 nalia. 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 INVISIBLE RAY 349 
 
 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 amaze- 
 ment. 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 faith- 
 fully on, trying 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. Has- 
 well was coming to. Another half-hour found him 
 muttering and rambling weakly. 
 
 " The letter the letter," he moaned, rolling his
 
 350 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 excite- 
 ment and forgot that Dr. Scott is now our 
 physician."
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 351 
 
 " But Dr. Scott could not have been found in 
 time, madame," interposed Dr. Burnham with evi- 
 dent triumph. 
 
 She ignored the remark and continued to hold 
 the door open. 
 
 " Now leave us," she implored, " you, Dr. Burn- 
 ham, 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 per- 
 haps 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 precipi- 
 tately, I thought, to leave. 
 
 " Come, come," said somebody behind us, 
 " enough of the dramatics."
 
 352 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 It was Kennedy, who had been bending down, 
 listening to the muttering of the old man. 
 
 " 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 pecu- 
 liarly 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 fran- 
 tically past us. " I am his daughter. No inter- 
 lopers 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. 
 4 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,
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 353 
 
 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 labor- 
 atory. 
 
 " That is a piece of willemite. It has the prop- 
 erty 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 ele- 
 ments 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 ultra- 
 violet rays." 
 
 Kennedy was speaking rapidly and was careful 
 not to pause long enough to give Prescott an oppor- 
 tunity to interrupt him. 
 
 " These ultra-violet rays," he continued, " are
 
 354 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 iii 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 warn- 
 ing sense of discomfort, but from six to eighteen 
 hours after exposure to them the victim experiences 
 violent pains in the eyes and headache. Sight may 
 be seriously impaired, and it may take years to re- 
 cover. Often prolonged exposure results in blind- 
 ness, 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 atten- 
 tion, 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 investi- 
 gators that blonds are more affected by them than 
 are brunettes. 
 
 ' You have, as a part of your machine, a pecu-
 
 THE INVISIBLE RAY 355 
 
 liarly 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 dan- 
 gerous thing about it is the invisible ray that accom- 
 panies 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 al- 
 ready 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
 
 356 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 came to me. You, too, would have robbed an in- 
 ventor as I am sure he would. But have a care, 
 both of you. You may be punished also by blind- 
 ness 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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, 
 w it is you and your wife here Mrs. Prescott, not 
 Mrs. Martin who must have a care. Stop glar- 
 ing 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 INVISIBLE RAY 357 
 
 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 de- 
 lirium 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
 
 358 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 in- 
 credible 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 INVISIBLE RAY 359 
 
 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, Pres- 
 cott, 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."
 
 XII 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 
 
 " 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 evi- 
 dently been written in great haste in longhand the 
 night before. 
 
 " Professional," I hazarded. " There must be 
 some scandal in the campaign for which they re- 
 quire 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? " 
 
 360
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 361 
 
 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 with- 
 out 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 sky- 
 scraper, 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 associ- 
 ated with political headquarters in previous cam- 
 paigns. There was an absence of the old-fash- 
 ioned politicians and of the air of intrigue laden 
 with tobacco. Rather, there was an air of earnest- 
 ness and efficiency which was decidedly prepossess- 
 ing. 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 get- 
 ting 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,
 
 362 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 a lawyer who had early made a mark in politics 
 and had been astute enough to shake off the thral- 
 dom of the bosses before the popular uprising 
 against them. Now he was the candidate of the 
 Reform League for governor and a good stiff cam- 
 paign 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 sup- 
 posed to belong in the old days. Indeed the Re- 
 form League owed its existence to a fortunate con- 
 junction of both moral and economic conditions de- 
 manding 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 sup- 
 ported 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 363 
 
 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 rob- 
 bery, 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 de- 
 manded 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 re-
 
 364 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 plied 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 shoul- 
 der 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 knowl- 
 edge 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 nominated me. If the
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 365 
 
 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 em- 
 phatically. " 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." 
 
 u 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 tan- 
 talising veil, stood in it for a moment, hesitated,
 
 3 66 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 mo- 
 ment. 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 re- 
 turned and remarked, " I suppose you have heard 
 of Miss Margaret Ashton, the suffragette leader, 
 Mr. Kennedy? She is the head of our press bu- 
 reau." 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 thun- 
 dered. 
 
 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 criti- 
 cising. I guess he'd want to recall the decision if
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 367 
 
 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 deny- 
 ing 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 dan- 
 gerous. Billy McLoughlin knows how to make the 
 best use of such a roorback on the eve of an elec- 
 tion, 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 ad- 
 mit 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 cam- 
 paign. The rest of Monday and the Tuesday morn- 
 ing papers do not give us time to reply. Even if
 
 3 68 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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, Ken- 
 nedy, don't you agree with me? Squelch the pic- 
 tures 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 in- 
 terrupt. 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 man- 
 ager and his campaign manners, and leaning for- 
 ward 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?"
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 369 
 
 " 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," con- 
 tinued 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 reason- 
 able 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." 
 
 Bennett shook his head dubiously. " I'm afraid
 
 370 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 ear- 
 nestly, " 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 reason- 
 able 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 371 
 
 and clerical force as well as the speakers' bureau, 
 where spellbinders of all degrees were getting in- 
 struction, 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 em- 
 phatically declared for " Votes for Women " and 
 had insisted that his party put this plank in its plat- 
 form. 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
 
 372 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 system by election districts all over the state, show- 
 ing 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 im- 
 pressed 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 be- 
 tween 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 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, al- 
 though 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 CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 373 
 
 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, tele-
 
 374 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 graph, automobile and travelling expenses, and mis- 
 cellaneous matters. 
 
 As Kennedy expressed it afterwards, as against 
 the small driblets of money coming in, large sums 
 were going out for expenses in lumps. Campaign- 
 ing 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 sus- 
 picions, 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 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 un- 
 satisfactory. He either was or at least posed as 
 representing a third party in the affair, and abso- 
 lutely refused to permit us to have even a glance 
 at the photographs. 
 
 <l My dealings," he asserted airily, " must all be
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 375 
 
 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 news- 
 papers. We have found out all about them; we 
 are satisfied, although the negatives have been de- 
 stroyed. 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 com- 
 ing 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 Ken- 
 nedy 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
 
 37 6 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 377 
 
 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 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 ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 " 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 break- 
 ing the lock were not those of a jimmy but of a 
 screwdriver. No amazing command of the re- 
 sources 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 photo- 
 graph. 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
 
 37 8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. Scien- 
 tific 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 rob- 
 bery a " plant " by which he might forestall ex- 
 posure 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 con- 
 vention. 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 state- 
 ment of the man who said he had made the pictures. 
 Added to that the mere existence of the actual
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 379 
 
 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 arrange- 
 ment 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 lead- 
 ing down back of the baseboard, then out under- 
 neath 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
 
 380 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 candi- 
 date'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 Ken- 
 nedy 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 merci- 
 lessly, 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 381 
 
 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 en- 
 tering 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 impa- 
 tience. We stood in an angle in which we could 
 see without being readily seen, and our impatience
 
 382 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 was not diminished by seeing Hanford enter the 
 elevator. 
 
 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 man- 
 aged 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,
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 383 
 
 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 go- 
 ing to ask me to carry the money in a sealed en- 
 velope 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 ap- 
 proached 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 na- 
 ture 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 "
 
 3 84 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 Kennedy was still looking earnestly at her. 
 " Miss Ashton," he implored, " believe nothing. 
 Remember one of the first rules of politics is loy- 
 alty. Wait until " 
 
 "Wait?" she echoed. "How can I? I hate 
 Wesley Travis for giving in more than I hate Cad- 
 walader Brown for his cynical disregard of honesty 
 in others." 
 
 She bit her lip at thus betraying her feelings, but 
 what she had 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 Ken- 
 nedy, 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.
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 385 
 
 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 measure- 
 ments 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 com- 
 punction 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 evi-
 
 386 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 dently 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 curisus." 
 
 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. Mean- 
 while 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 intersec- 
 tion of the cross. Withdraw it quickly, count fif- 
 teen, then put this 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 post-
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 387 
 
 ing 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 even- 
 ing, 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
 
 3 88 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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. Com- 
 bination 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 ini- 
 tiated 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 photo-
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 389 
 
 graph 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 in which Travis has been substi- 
 tuted 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 igth was the date alleged, I be- 
 lieve? " asked Kennedy quietly, laying down the 
 bundle of metric photographs and the alleged pho- 
 tographs 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. Al- 
 most 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 un easy 
 matter. You could almost use the metric photo-
 
 390 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 graph for that. The identification of the gable cast- 
 ing 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 ex- 
 act. 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 :2 1 :29, or 3 :2 1 133. The average is 3 :2 1 :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. Be- 
 tween 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 391 
 
 favourable on all these dates except that in Septem- 
 ber. I can really answer, with an assurance and 
 accuracy superior to that of the photographer him- 
 self 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 up- 
 side 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 
 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
 
 392 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 motion- 
 less, 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, how- 
 ever, the faker was so sure of that that he was care- 
 less. 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
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 393 
 
 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," re- 
 plied 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 photogra- 
 phy. It has a correctness such as no image-form- 
 ing means by lenses can have. It is literally recti- 
 graphic, 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 be- 
 fore. 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
 
 394 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 follow- 
 ing day, which was the last before the election. 
 
 I must say that I was keenly disappointed by the 
 lack of developments, however. The whole thing 
 seemed to me to be a mess. Everybody was in- 
 volved. 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, KeVinedy, 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 accom- 
 pany 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 re- 
 turns swung in another direction. Not even base- 
 ball could call out such a crowd as this. Lights 
 blazed everywhere. Automobiles honked and 
 ground their gears. The lobster palaces were
 
 395 
 
 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 Ash- 
 ton 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 Re- 
 vised Statutes again about money in elections, and 
 I ended up with the threat, * There will be no dough
 
 396 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 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 com- 
 prehending. " 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 tremu- 
 lously, 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 photograph, a little blurry, but quite con- 
 vincing. 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 for- 
 ward 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 ac- 
 count books of your campaign. I want the miscel- 
 laneous account particularly." 
 
 The books were brought, and he continued, turn- 
 ing the leaves, ** It seemed to me to show a shortage
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 397 
 
 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 re- 
 place 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
 
 39 8 THE POISONED PEN 
 
 file at the place where he had buried the little vul- 
 canised 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 Ash- 
 ton'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 bat- 
 tery. 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 im- 
 pulses set up in the concealed dictograph set up 
 currents in these coils of wire concealed under the 
 carpet. They were wirelessly duplicated by induc- 
 tion 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 some- 
 thing, " but not understanding it as Mr. Kennedy
 
 THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER 399 
 
 did, I very hastily condemned Mr. Travis. I heard 
 talk of putting back twenty thousand into the cam- 
 paign accounts, of 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 un- 
 blotted 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, add- 
 ing gaily, " by induction of an arm about the waist* 
 Let's go out and watch the crowd."
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 001428651 2 
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 Box 951388 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed.