 Chapter 7 of The Silent Bullet by Arthur B. Reeve. Files of newspapers and innumerable clippings from the press bureaus littered Kennedy's desk in rank profusion. Kennedy himself was so deeply absorbed that I had merely said good evening as I came in and started to open my mail. With an impatient sweep of his hand, however, he brushed the whole mass of newspapers into the wastebasket. "'It seems to me, Walter,' he exclaimed in disgust, that this mystery is considered insoluble for the very reason which should make it easy to solve—the extraordinary character of its features.' Inasmuch as I had opened the subject, I laid down the letter I was reading. "'I'll wager, I can tell you, just why you made that remark, Craig,' I ventured. "'You're reading up on that Wainwright Templeton affair.' "'You're on the road to becoming a detective yourself, Walter,' he answered with a touch of sarcasm. "'Your ability to add two units to two other units and obtain four units is almost worthy of Inspector O'Connor. "'You're right, and within a quarter of an hour the district attorney of Westchester County will be here. He'd telephoned me this afternoon and sent an assistant with this mass of dope. "'I suppose he'll want it back,' he added, fishing the newspapers out of the basket again. "'But with all due respect to your profession, I'll say that no one would ever get on speaking terms with the solution of this case if he had to depend solely on the newspaper writers.' "'Long?' I queried, rather, nettle that is torn.' "'No,' he repeated emphatically. "'Here one of the most popular girls in the fashionable suburb of Williston and one of the leading younger members of the bar in New York engaged to be married are found dead in the library of the girl's home the day before the ceremony. And now, a week later, no one knows whether it was an accident due to the fumes from the antique charcoal brassiere, or whether it was a double suicide, or suicide in murder, or a double murder, or why the experts haven't even been able to agree on whether they have discovered poison or not.' He continued, growing as excited as a city editor did over my first attempt as a cub reporter. "'They haven't agreed on anything except that, on the eve of what was, presumably, to have been the happiest day of their lives, two of the best known members of the younger set are found dead, while absolutely no one, as far as is known, can be proved to have been near them within the time necessary to murder them. No wonder the coroner says it's simply a case of asphyxiation. No wonder the district attorney is at his wit's end. You fellows have hounded them with your hypotheses until they can't see the facts straight. You suggest one solution, and before?' The doorbell sounded insistently, and, without waiting for an answer, a tall, spare, loose-jointed individual stalked in and laid a green bag on the table. "'Good evening, Professor Kennedy,' he began brusquely. "'I am District Attorney Whitney of Westchester. I see you've been reading up on the case. Quite right.' "'Quite wrong,' answered Craig. "'Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Jameson, of the Starr, a sit-down. Jameson knows what I think of the way the newspapers have handled this case. I was about to tell him as you came in that I intended to disregard everything that had been printed, to start out with you as if it were a fresh subject and get the facts at first hand. Let's get right down to business. First, tell us just how it was that Miss Rainwhite and Mr. Templeton were discovered, and by whom?' The district attorney loosened the cords of the green bag and drew out a bundle of documents. "'I'll read you the affidavit of the maid who found them,' he said, fingering the documents nervously. "'You see, John Templeton had left his office in New York early that afternoon, telling his father that he was going to visit Miss Rainwhite. He caught the three-twenty train, reached Willison all right, walked to the Rainwhite house, and, in spite of the bustle of preparation for the wedding, the next day, he spent the rest of the afternoon with Miss Wainwright. That's where the mystery begins. They had no visitors. At least the maid who answers the bell says they had none. She was busy with the rest of the family, and I believe the front door was not locked. We don't lock our doors in Willison, except at night. He had found the paper and paused to impress these facts on our minds. Mrs. Wainwright and Miss Marion Wainwright, the sister, were busy about the house. Mrs. Wainwright wished to consult Laura about something. She summoned the maid and asked if Mr. Templeton and Miss Wainwright were in the house. The maid replied that she would see, and this is her affidavit. I knocked at the library door twice, but, obtaining no answer, I suppose they had gone out for a walk, or perhaps a ride across country as they often did. I opened the door further, and, looking toward the Devonport in the corner, I saw Miss Laura and Mr. Templeton in such an awkward position. They looked as if they had fallen asleep. His head was thrown back against the cushions of the Devonport, and on his face was a most awful look. It was discolored. Her head had fallen forward on his shoulders, sideways, and on her face, too, was the same terrible stare and the same discoloration. Their right hands were tightly clasped. I called to them they did not answer. Then the horrible truth flashed on me. They were dead. I felt giddy for a minute, but quickly recovered myself, and with a grive for help I rushed to Mrs. Wainwright's room, shrieking that they were dead. Mrs. Wainwright fainted. Miss Marion called the doctor on the telephone and helped us restore her mother. She seemed perfectly cool in the tragedy, and I do not know what we servants should have done if she had not been there to direct us. The house was frantic, and Mr. Wainwright was not at home. I did not detect any odor when I opened the library door. No glasses or bottles or vials or other receptacles which could have held poison were discovered or removed by me, or to the best of my knowledge and belief by anyone else. What happened next? asked Craig eagerly. The family physician arrived and sent for the coroner immediately, and later for myself. You see, he thought at once of murder. But the coroner, I understand, thinks differently, prompted Kennedy. Yes, the coroner has declared the case to be accidental. He says that the weight of evidence points positively to asphyxiation. Still, how can it be asphyxiation? They could have escaped from the room at any time. The door was not locked. I tell you, in spite of the fact that the tests for poison in their mouths, stomachs, and blood have so far revealed nothing, I still believe that John Templeton and Laura Wainwright were murdered. Kennedy looked at his watch thoughtfully. You have told me just enough to make me want to see the cornarm himself, he mused. If we take the next train out to Williston with you, will you engage us to get a half hour to talk with him on the case, Mr. Whitney? Surely, but we'll have to start right away. I've finished my other business in New York. Inspector O'Connor, I see you know him, has promised to secure the attendance of anyone whom I can show to be a material witness in the case. Come on, gentlemen, I'll answer your other questions on the train. As we settled ourselves in the smoker, Whitney remarked in a low voice, You know, someone has said that there is only one thing more difficult to investigate and solve than a crime whose commission is surrounded by complicated circumstances, and that is a crime whose perpetration is wholly devoid of circumstances. Are you so sure that this crime is wholly devoid of circumstances? asked Craig. Professor, he replied, I'm not sure of anything in this case. If I were, I should not require your assistance. I would like the credit of solving it myself, but it is beyond me. Just think of it, so far we haven't a clue. At least none that shows the slightest promise. Although we have worked night and day for a week. It's all darkness. The facts are so simple that they give us nothing to work on. It's like a blank sheet of paper. Kennedy said nothing, and the district attorney proceeded. I don't blame Mr. Knott, Coroner, for thinking it was an accident. But to my mind some master criminal must have arranged this very baffling simplicity of circumstances. You recall that the front door was unlocked. This person must have entered the house unobserved. Not a difficult thing to do for the rain-white house is somewhat isolated. Perhaps this person brought along some poison in the form of a beverage, and induced the two victims to drink. And then this person must have removed the evidences as swiftly as they were brought in, and by the same door. That, I think, is the only solution. That is not the only solution. It is one solution, interrupted Kennedy quietly. Do you think someone in the house did it, I ask quickly? I think, replied Craig, carefully measuring his words, that if a poison was given them, it must have been by someone they both knew pretty well. No one said a word, until, at last, I broke the silence. I know from the gossip of the Star Office that many Williston people say that Marion was very jealous of her sister Laura for capturing the catch of the season. Williston people don't hesitate to hint at it. Whitney produced another document from that fertile green bag. It was another affidavit. He handed it to us. It was a statement signed by Mrs. Wainwright, and read, Before God my daughter Marion is innocent. If you wish to find out all, find out more about the past history of Mr. Templeton before he became engaged to Laura. She would never in the world have committed suicide. She was too bright and cheerful for that. Even if Mr. Templeton had been about to break off the engagement. My daughters Laura and Marion were always treated by Mr. Wainwright and myself exactly alike. Of course they had their quarrels, just as all sisters do. But there was never, to my certain knowledge, a serious disagreement, and I was always close enough to my girls to know. No, Laura was murdered by someone outside. Kennedy did not seem to attach much importance to this statement. Let us see, he began reflectively. First, we have a young woman especially attractive and charming in both person and temperament. She is about to be married and, if the reports are to be believed, there was no cloud on our happiness. Secondly, we have a young man whom everyone agrees who have been off an ardent energetic optimistic temperament. He had everything to live for, presumably, so far so good. Everyone who has investigated this case, I understand, has tried to eliminate the double suicide and the suicide and murder theories. That is all right, providing the facts are as stated. We shall see, later, when we interview the coronal. Now, Mr. Whitney, suppose you tell us briefly what you have learned about the past history of the two unfortunate lovers? Well, the Wainwrights are an old Westchester family, not very wealthy, but of the real aristocracy of the county. There were only two children, Laura and Marion. The Templetons were much the same sort of family. The children all attended a private school at White Plains, and there they also met Schuyler van der Dijk. These four constituted a sort of little aristocracy in the school. I mention this because van der Dijk later became Laura's first husband. This marriage with Templeton was a second venture. How long ago was she divorced? asked Craig attentively. About three years ago, I'm coming to that in a moment, the sisters went to college together, Templeton to law school, and van der Dijk studied civil engineering. Their intimacy was pretty well broken up, all except Laura's and van der Dijk's. Soon after he graduated he was taken into the construction department of the Central Railroad by his uncle, who was vice-president, and Laura and he were married. As far as I can learn he had been a fellow of contrival habits at college, and about two years after their marriage his wife suddenly became aware of what had long been well known in Williston, that van der Dijk was paying marked attention to a woman named Miss LePorte in New York. No sooner had Laura van der Dijk learned of this intimacy of her husband, continued Whitney, that she quietly hired private detectives to shadow him, and on their evidence she obtained a divorce. The papers were sealed and she resumed her maiden name. As far as I can find out van der Dijk then disappeared from her life. She resigned his position with the railroad and joined a party of engineers exploring the upper Amazon. Later he went to Venezuela. Miss LePorte also went to South America about the same time and was for a time in Venezuela and later in Peru. Van der Dijk seems to have dropped all his early associations completely, though at present I find he is back in New York raising capital for a company to exploit a new asphalt concession in the interior of Venezuela. Miss LePorte has also reappeared in New York as Mrs. Ralston, with a mining claim on the mountains of Peru. �And Templeton?� asked Craig. �Had he any previous matrimonial ventures?� �No, none. Mostly with the country club,� said. He had known Miss LePorte pretty well, too, while he was in law school in New York, but when he settled down to work he seems to have forgotten all about the girls for a couple of years or so. He was very anxious to get ahead and let nothing stand in his way. He was admitted to the bar and taken in by his father as a junior member of the firm of Templeton, Mills and Templeton. Not long ago he was appointed a special master to take testimony in the Get Rich Quick Company Prosecutions, and I happen to know that he was making good in the investigation. Kennedy nodded. �What sort of fellow personally was Templeton?� he asked. �Very popular� replied the district attorney, both at the country club and in his profession in New York. He was a fellow of naturally commanding temperament. The Templetons were always that way. I doubt if many young men, even with his chances, could have gained such a reputation of thirty-five as his. Socially he was very popular, too. A great catch for all the sly mamas of the country club who had marriageable daughters. He liked automobiles and outdoor sports. He was strong in politics, too. That was how he got ahead so fast. Well, to cut the story short, Templeton met the Wainwright girls again last summer at a resort on Long Island. They had just returned from a long trip abroad, spending most of the time in the Far East with their father, whose firm had business interests in China. The girls were very attractive. They rode and played tennis and golf better than most of the men, and this fall Templeton became a frequent visitor at the Wainwright home in Williston. People who know them best tell me that his first attentions were paid to Marion, a very dashing and ambitious young woman. Nearly every day Templeton's car stopped at the house, and the girls and some friend of Templeton's in the country club went for a ride. They tell me that at this time Marion always sat with Templeton on the front seat. But after a few weeks the gossips, nothing of that sort ever escapes Williston, said that the occupant of the front seat was Laura. She often drove the car herself and was very clever at it. At any rate, not long after that the engagement was announced. As he walked up from the pretty little Williston station, Kennedy asked, One more question, Mr. Whitney. How did Marion take the engagement? The district attorney hesitated. I will be perfectly frank, Mr. Kennedy, he answered. The country club people tell me that the girls were very cool toward each other. That was why I got the statement from Mrs. Wainwright. I wish to be perfectly fair to everyone concerned in this case. We found the coroner quite willing to talk in spite of the fact that the hour was late. My friend, Mr. Whitney here, still holds the poison theory, began the coroner. In spite of the fact that everything points absolutely towards asphyxiation. If I had been able to discover the slightest trace of illuminating gas in the room, I should have pronounced it asphyxia at once. All the symptoms accorded with it, but the asphyxia was not caused by escaping illuminating gas. There was an antique charcoal brazer in the room, and I have a certain that it was lighted. Now, anything like a brazer will, unless there is proper ventilation, give rise to carbonic oxide or carbon monoxide gas, which is always present in the product of combustion, often to the extent of 5 to 10 percent. A very slight quantity of this gas, insufficient even to cause an odor in a room, would give a severe headache, and a case is recorded where a whole family in Glasgow was poisoned without knowing it by the escape of this gas. A little over one percent of it in the atmosphere is fatal if breathed for any length of time. You know, it is a product of combustion and is very deadly. It is the much-dreaded white damp or after-damp of a mine explosion. I'm going to tell you a secret which I've not given out to the press yet. I tried an experiment in a closed room today, lighting the brazer. Some distance from it I placed a cat confined in a cage so it could not escape. In an hour and a half the cat was asphyxiated. The corner concluded with an air of triumph that quite squelched the district attorney. Kennedy was all attention. Have you preserved samples of the blood of Mr. Templeton and Ms. Wainwright? He asked. Certainly I have them in my office. The corner, who was also a local physician, led us back into his private office. And the cat? added Craig. Dr. Knott produced it in a covered basket. Quickly Kennedy drew off a little of the blood of the cat and held it up to the light along with the human samples. The difference was apparent. You see, he explained, carbon monoxide combines firmly with the blood, destroying the red-colouring matter of the red gold-puzzles. No, doctor, I'm afraid it wasn't carbonic oxide that killed the lovers, although it certainly killed the cat. Dr. Knott was crestfallen, but still unconvinced. If my whole medical reputation were at stake, he repeated, I should still be compelled to swear to asphyxia. I've seen it too often to make a mistake. Carbonic oxide or not, Templeton and Ms. Wainwright were asphyxiated. It was now Whitney's chance to air his theory. I have always inclined toward the cyanide-potassium theory, either that it was administered in a drink or, perhaps, injected by a needle, he said. One of the chemists reported that there was a possibility of slight traces of cyanide in their mouths. If it had been cyanide, replied Craig, looking reflectively at the two jars before him on the table, these blood specimens would be blue in colour and clotted, but they are not. Then, too, there is a substance in the saliva which is used in the process of digestion. It gives a reaction which might very easily be mistaken for a slight trace of cyanide. I think that explains what the chemist discovered, no more, no less. The cyanide theory does not fit. Our chemist hinted at nukesvamica, volunteered the corner. He said it wasn't nukesvamica, but that the blood test showed something very much like it. Oh, we've looked for morphine chloroform, ether, all the ordinary poisons, besides some of the little-known alkaloids. Believe me, Professor Kennedy, it was asphyxia. I could tell by the look that crossed Kennedy's face that, at last, a ray of light had pierced the darkness. Have you any spirits of Durbentine in the office? He asked. The corner shook his head and took a step toward the telephone, as if to call the drugstore in town. Oh, ether? interrupted Craig. Ether will do. Oh, yes, plenty of ether. Craig poured a little one of the blood samples from the jar into a tube and added a few drops of ether. A cloudy dark precipitate formed. He smiled quietly and said, half to himself, I thought so. What is it, as the corner eagly? Nukesvamica? Craig shook his head as he stared at the black precipitate. You were perfectly right about the asphyxiation, Doctor, he remarked slowly. But wrong as to the cause. It wasn't carbon monoxide or illuminating gas. I knew Mr. Whitney were right about the poison, too. Only it was a poison neither of you have ever heard of. What is it? we asked simultaneously. Let me take these samples and make some further tests. I am sure of it, but it is new to me. Wait till tomorrow night when my chain of evidence is completed. Then you are all cordially invited to attend at my laboratory at the university. I ask you, Mr. Whitney, to come armed with a warrant for John or Jane Doe. Please see that the Wainwrights, particularly Marion, are present. You can tell Inspector O'Connor that Mr. Vanderdijk and Mrs. Rolston are required as material witnesses. Anything, so long as you are sure these five persons are present. Good night, gentlemen. We rode back to the city in silence, but, as we neared the station, Kennedy remarked, You see, Walter, these people are like the newspapers. They are floundering around in a sea of unrelated facts. There is more than they think back at this crime. I have been revolving in my mind how it will be possible to get some inkling about this concession of Vanderdijk's, the mining claim of Mrs. Rolston, and the exact itinerary of the Wainwright trip in the Far East. Do you think you can get that information for me? I think it will take me all day tomorrow to isolate this poison and get things in convincing shape on that score. Meanwhile, if you can see Vanderdijk and Mrs. Rolston, you can help me a great deal. I am sure you will find them very interesting people. I have been told that she is quite a female high-financy year, I replied, tacitly accepting Craig's commission. Her story is that her claim is situated near the mine of a group of powerful American capitalists, who are opposed to having any competition, and on the strength of that story she has been raking in the money right and left. I don't know, Vanderdijk, never heard of him before, but no doubt he has some equally interesting game. Don't let them think you connect them with a case, however, caution Craig. Early the next morning I started out on my quest for facts, though not so early, but that Kennedy had preceded me to his work in the laboratory. It was not very difficult to get Mrs. Rolston to talk about her troubles with the government. In fact, I did not even have to broach the subject of the death of Templeton. She volunteered the information that, in his handling of her case, he had been very unjust to her, in spite of the fact that she had known him well a long time ago. She even hinted that she believed he represented the combination of capitalists who were using the government to aid her own monopoly and prevented development of her mind. Whether it was an obsession of her mind or merely part of her clever scheme, I could not make out. I noted, however, that when she spoke of Templeton, it was in a studied, impersonal way, and that she was at pains to lay the blame for the governmental interference rather on the rival mind-owners. It quite surprised me when I found from the directory that Vanderdijk's office was on the floor below in the same building. Like Mrs. Rolston's, it was open, but not doing business, pending the investigation by the Post Office Department. Vanderdijk was the type of which I had seen many before. Well dressed to the extreme, he displayed all those evidences of prosperity which are the stocking trade that the man was securities to sell. He grasped my hand when I told him I was going to present the other side of the Post Office case and held it between both of his, as if he had known me all his life. Only the fact that he had never seen me before prevented his calling me by my first name. I took mental note of his stock of jewelry, the pin in his tie that might almost have been the hope diamond, the heavy watch chain across his chest, and the very brilliant seal ring of Lapis Lazuli on the hand that grasped mine. He saw me looking at it and smiled. My dear fellow, we have deposits of that stuff that would make a fortune if we could get the machinery to get at it. Why, sir, there is Lapis Lazuli enough on our claim to make enough ultramarine paint to supply all the artists to the end of the world. Actually, we could afford to crush it up and sell it as paint. And that is merely incidental to the other things on the concession. The asphalt's the thing. That's where the big money is. When we get started, sir, the old asphalt trust will simply melt away, melt away. He blew a cloud of tobacco smoke and let it dissolve significantly in the air. When it came to talking about the suits, however, van der Dijk was not so communicative as Mrs. Ralston. But he was also not so bitter against either the Post Office or Templeton. Paul Templeton, he said. I used to know him many years ago when we were boys. Went to school with him and all that sort of thing, you know. But until I ran across him, or rather he ran across me, in this investigation I hadn't heard much about him. Pretty clever fellow he was, too. That state will miss him. But my lawyer tells me that we should have won the suit anyhow, even if that unfortunate tragedy hadn't occurred. Most unaccountable, wasn't it? I've read about it in the papers for old times' sake and can make nothing out of it. I said nothing but wondered how he could pass so light-heartedly over the death of the woman who had once been his wife. However, I said nothing. The result was that he launched forth again on the riches of his Venezuelan concession and loaded me down with literature, which I crammed into my pockets for future reference. My next step was to drop into the office of a Spanish-American paper whose editor was especially well-informed on South American affairs. Do I know Mrs. Ralston, he repeated, thoughtfully lighting one of those black cigarettes that look so vicious and are so mild? I should say so. I'll tell you a little story about her. Three or four years ago she turned up in Caracas. I don't know who Mr. Ralston was. Perhaps there never was any, Mr. Ralston. Anyhow, she got in with the official circle of the Castro government and was very successful as an adventurer. She has considerable business ability and represented a certain group of Americans. But, if you recall, when Castro was eliminated, pretty nearly everyone who had stood high with him went too. It seems that a number of the old concessionaires played the game on both sides. This particular group had a man named Van Der Dijk on the anti-Castro side, so, when Mrs. Ralston went, she just quietly sailed by way of Panama to the other side of the continent, to Peru. They paid her well, and Van Der Dijk took the title role. Oh yes, she and Van Der Dijk were very good friends, very indeed. I think they must have known each other here in the States. Still, they played their parts well at the time. Since things have settled down in Venezuela, the concessionaires have found no further use for Van Der Dijk either, and here they are. Van Der Dijk and Mrs. Ralston, both in New York now, with two of the most outrageous screams of financing ever seen on Broad Street. They have offices in the same building, they are together a great deal, and now I hear that the State Attorney General is after both of them. With this information and a very meagre report of the Wainwright trip to the Far East, which had taken some out-of-the-way places, apparently, I hasten back to Kennedy. He was surrounded by bottles, tubes, jars, retorts, bunts and burners, everything in the science and art of chemistry, I thought. I didn't like the way he looked. His hands were unsteady, and his eyes looked badly. But he seemed quite put out when I suggested that he was working too hard over the case. I was worried about him, but, rather than saying anything to offend him, I left him for the rest of the afternoon, only dropping in before dinner to make sure he would not forget to eat something. He was then completing his preparations for the evening. They were of the simplest kind, apparently. In fact, all I could see was an apparatus which consisted of a rubber funnel, inverted and attached to a rubber tube, which in turn led into a jar about a quarter full of water. Through the stopper of the jar, another tube led to a tank of oxygen. There were several jars of various liquids on a table, and a number of chemicals. Among other things was a sort of gourd, encrusted with a black substance, and, in a corner, was a box from which sounds issued as if it contained something alive. I did not trouble Kennedy with questions, for I was only too glad when he consented to take a brisk walk and join me in a thick porter-house. It was a large party that gathered in Kennedy's laboratory that night, one of the largest he had ever had. Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright and Miss Marion came. The ladies heavily veiled. Dr. Nott and Mr. Whitney were among the first to arrive. Later came Mr. van der Dijk and, last of all, Mrs. Rolston with Inspector O'Connor. Although it was an unwilling party. I shall begin, said Kennedy, by going over briefly the facts in this case. Thirsty he summarized it, to my surprise laying great stress on the proof that the couple had been asphyxiated. But it was no ordinary asphyxiation, he continued. We will have to deal in this case with a poison which is apparently among the most subtle known. A particle of matter so minute as to be hardly distinguishable by the naked eye. On the point of a needle or a lancet, a prick of the skin's gersly felt unto any circumstances and which would pass quite unheeded if the attention were otherwise engaged. And not all the power in the world, unless one was fully prepared, could save the life of the person in whose skin the puncture had been made. Craig paused a moment, but no one showed any evidence of being more than ordinarily impressed. This poison, I find, acts on the so-called end plates of the muscles and nerves. It produces complete paralysis, but not loss of consciousness, sensation, circulation or respiration, until the end approaches. It seems to be one of the most powerful sedatives I have ever heard of. When introduced in even a minute quantity, it produces death finally by asphyxiation, by paralyzing the muscles of respiration. This asphyxia is what so puzzled the corner. I will now inject a little of the blood serum of the victims into a white mouse. He took a mouse from the box I had seen and, with a needle, injected the serum. The mouse did not even wince, so lightly did he touch it. But, as we watched, its life seemed gently to ebb away, without pain and without struggle. Its breath simply seemed to stop. Next he took the gourd I had seen on the table and, with a knife scraped off, just the minutest particle of the black licorice-like stuff that encrusted it. He dissolved the particle in some alcohol and, with a sterilized needle, repeated his experiment on a second mouse. The effect was precisely similar to that produced by the blood on the first. It did not seem to me that anyone showed any emotion except, possibly, the slight exclamation that escaped the Miss Marion Wainwright. I fell to wondering whether it was prompted by a soft heart or a guilty conscience. We were all intent on what Craig was doing, especially Dr. Nock, who now broke in with a question. Professor Kennedy, may I ask a question? Admitting that the first mouse died in an apparently similar manner to the second, what proof have you that the poison is the same in both cases? And, if it is the same, can you show that it affects human beings in the same way, and that enough of it has been discovered in the blood of the victims who have caused their death? In other words, I want that last doubt set aside. How do you know, absolutely, that this poison which you have discovered in my office last night in that black precipitate, when you added the ether, how do you know that it is fixated the victims? If ever Craig startled me, it was by his quiet reply. I have isolated it in their blood, extracted it, sterilized it, and I have tried it on myself. In breathless amazement with eyes riveted on Craig, we listened. Altogether I was able to recover from the blood samples of both the victims of this crime six centigrams of the poison he pursued. Starting with two centigrams of it as a moderate dose, I injected it into my right arm subcutaneously. Then I slowly worked my way up to three and then four centigrams. They did not produce any very appreciable results other than to cause some dizziness slight vertigo, a considerable degree of lassitude, and an extremely painful headache of rather unusual duration. But five centigrams considerably improved on this. It caused a degree of vertigo and lassitude that was most distressing, and six centigrams, the whole amount which I had recovered from the samples of blood, gave me the fright of my life right here in this laboratory this afternoon. Perhaps I was not wise in giving myself so large an injection on a day when I was overheated, and below par otherwise because of the strain I have been under in handling this case. However that may be, the added centigram produced so much more on top of the five centigrams previously taken that for a time I had reason to fear that the additional centigram was just the amount needed to bring my experiments to a permanent close. Within three minutes of the time of injection, the dizziness and vertigo had become so great as to make walking seem impossible. In another minute, the lassitude rapidly crept over me, and the serious disturbance of my breathing made it apparent to me that walking, waving my arms, anything was imperative. My lungs felt glued up, and the muscles of my chest refused to work. Everything swam before my eyes, and I was soon reduced to walking up and down the laboratory with halting steps, only preventing falling on the floor by holding fast to the edge of this table. It seemed to me that I spent hours gasping for breath. It reminded me of what I once experienced in the cave of the winds of Niagara, where water is more abundant in the atmosphere than air. My watch afterward indicated only about twenty minutes of extreme distress, but that twenty minutes is one never to be forgotten, and I advise you all, if you ever are so foolish as to try the experiment, to remain below the five-centagram limit. How much was administered to the victims, Dr. Knot? I cannot say, but it must have been a good deal more than I took. Six centigrams, which I recovered from these small samples, are only nine-tenths of a grain. Yet you see what effect it had. I trust that answers your question. Dr. Knot was too overwhelmed to reply. And what is this deadly poison? continued Craig, anticipating our thoughts. I have been fortunate enough to obtain a sample of it from the Museum of Natural History. It comes in a little gourd, or often a calabash. This is in a gourd. It is blackish brittle stuff and crusting the sides of the gourd, just as if it was poured in the liquid state and left to dry. Indeed, that is just what has been done by those who manufacture this stuff after a lengthy and somewhat secret process. He placed the gourd on the edge of the table, where we could all see it. I was almost afraid even to look at it. The famous traveler Sir Robert Shumburr first brought it into Europe, and Darwin has described it. It is now an article of commerce and is to be found in the United States Pharmacopia as a medicine, though, of course, it is used only in very minute quantities as a heart stimulant. Craig opened the book to a place he had marked. At least one person in this room will appreciate the local color of a little incident I am going to read to illustrate what death from this poison is like. Two natives of the part of the world once he comes were one day hunting. They were armed with blowpipes and quivers full of poison dots made of thin charred pieces of bamboo tipped with his stuff. One of them aimed a dot. It missed the object overhead, glanced off the tree, and fell down on the hunter himself. That is how the other native reported the result. Quacka takes the dart out of his shoulder, never a word, puts it in his quiver and throws it in the stream. Gives me his blowpipe for his little son, says to me, goodbye for his wife and the village. Then he lies down. His tongue talks no longer. No sight in his eyes. He folds his arms. He rolls over slowly. His mouth moves without sound. I feel his heart. It goes fast and then slow. It stops. Quacka has shot his last warali dart. We looked at each other, and the horror of the thing sank deep into our minds. Warali! What was it? There were many travelers in the room who had been in the Orient, home of poisons, and in South America. Which one had run across the poison? Warali or cura, said Quacka slowly, is the well-known poison with which the South American Indians of the Upper Orinco tip their arrows. Its principal ingredient is derived from the stichnose tuxifera tree, which yields also the drug Nuxvamica. A great light dawned on me. I turned quickly to where Vanderdijk was sitting next to Mrs. Ralston, and a little behind her. His stony stare and labored breathing told me that he had read the poor part of Kennedy's actions. For God's sake, Craig, I gassed. An emetic, quick, Vanderdijk! A trace of a smile flitted over Vanderdijk's features, as much to say that he was beyond our interference. Vanderdijk, said Craig, with what seemed to me to be brutal calmness, then it was you who were the visitor who last saw Laura Wainwright and John Templeton alive. Whether you shall have dawned at them, I do not know, but you are the murderer. Vanderdijk raised his hand as if to assent. It fell back limp. I noted the ring of the bluest lap as Luzuli. Mrs. Ralston threw herself toward him. Will you not do something? Is there no antidote? Don't let him die, she cried. You are the murderer! repeated Kennedy, as if demanding a final answer. Again his hand moved in confession, and he feebly moved the finger on which shown the ring. Our attention was centered on Vanderdijk. Mrs. Ralston, unobserved, went to the table and picked up the gourd. Before O'Connor could stop her, she had rubbed her tongue on the black substance inside. It was only a little bit, for O'Connor quickly dashed it from her lips and threw the gourd through the window, smashing the glass. Kennedy, he shouted frantically. Mrs. Ralston has swallowed some of it! Kennedy seemed so intent on Vanderdijk that I had to repeat the remark. Without looking up, he said, Oh, one can swallow it. It's strange, but it's comparatively inert if swallowed, even in a pretty good-sized quantity. I doubt if Mrs. Ralston ever heard of it before, except by hearsay. If she had, she'd have scratched herself with it instead of swallowing it. If Craig had been indifferent to the emergency of Vanderdijk before, he was all action now that the confession had been made. In an instant, Vanderdijk was stretched on the floor and Craig had taken out the apparatus I had seen during the afternoon. I am prepared for this, he exclaimed quickly. Here is the apparatus for artificial respiration. Not hold that rubber funnel over his nose and start the oxygen from the tank. Pull his tongue forward so it won't fall down his throat and choke him. I'll work his arms. Walter, make a tourniquet of your handkerchief and put it tightly on the muscles of his left arm that might keep some of the poison in his arm from spreading into the rest of his body. That is the only antidote known, artificial respiration. Kennedy was working feverishly, going through the motions of first aid to a drowned man. Mrs. Ralston was on her knees beside Vanderdijk, kissing his hands and forehead whenever Kennedy stopped for a minute and crying softly. Shoeiler, poor boy. I wonder how you could have done it. I was with him that day. We wrote up in his car, and as we passed through Williston he said he would stop for a minute and wish Templeton luck. I didn't think it's strange, for he said he had nothing any longer against Laura Wainwright, and Templeton only did his duty as a lawyer against us. I forgave John for prosecuting us, but Shoeiler didn't after all. Oh, my poor boy, why did you do it? We could have gone somewhere else and started all over again. It wouldn't have been the first time. At last came the flutter of an eyelid and a voluntary breath or two. Vanderdijk seemed to realize where he was. With a last supreme effort he raised his hand and drew it slowly across his face. Then he fell back, exhausted by the effort. But he at last put himself beyond the reach of the law. There was no tourniquet that would confine the poison now in the scratch across his face. Back at those lackluster eyes he heard and knew what could not move or speak. His voice was gone, his limbs, his face, his chest, and last his eyes. I wondered if it were possible to conceive a more dreadful torture than that endured by a mind which so witnessed the dying of one organ after another of its own body, shut up as it were, in the fullness of life within a corpse. I looked in but Wilderman at the scratch across his face. How did he do it, I asked. Carefully Craig drew off the azure ring and examined it. In that part which surrounded the blue lapis lazuli he indicated a hollow point concealed. It worked with a spring and communicated with a little receptacle behind, in such a way that the murderer could give the fatal scratch while shaking hands with his victim. I shuddered, for my hand had once been clasped by the one wearing that poison ring, which had sent Templeton and his fiancee and now van der Dijk himself to their deaths. End of THE AZURE RING Recording by Elliott Miller www.voiceofe.com Chapter 8 OF THE SILENT BULLET by Arthur B. Reeve This leap of ox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elliott Miller SPONTANIUS COMBUSTION Kennedy and I had risen early for we were hustling to get off a weekend at Atlantic City. Kennedy was tugging at the straps of his grip and remonstrating with it under his breath when the door opened and a messenger boy stuck his head in. Does Mr. Kennedy live here? He asked. Craig impatiently seized the pencil, signed his name in the book, and tore open a night letter. From the prolonged silence of followed I felt a sense of misgiving. I at least had set my heart on the Atlantic City outing, but with the appearance of the messenger boy I intuitively felt that the boardwalk would not see us that week. I'm afraid the Atlantic City trip is all-falter, remarked Craig seriously. You remember Tom Lingley in our class at the university? Well, read that. I laid down my safety razor and took the message. Tom had not spared words, and I could see at a glance at the mere length of the thing that it must be important. It was from Camp Hangout in the Anderondacks. Dear old Kay, it began, regardless of expense. Can you arrange to come up here by next train after you receive this? Uncle Lewis is dead, most mysterious. Last night, after we retired, noticed peculiar odor about house. Didn't pay much attention. This morning found him lying on floor of living room, head and chest literally burned to ashes, but lower part of body and arms untouched. Room shows no evidence of fire, but full of sort of oily soot. Otherwise, nothing unusual. On table near body siphon of seltzer, bottle of imported limes and glass for rickies. Have removed body, but am keeping room exactly as found until you arrive. Bring Jameson. Wire if you cannot come, but make every effort and spare no expense. Anxiously, Tom Langley. Craig was impatiently looking at his watch as I hastily ran through the letter. Hurry, Walter, he exclaimed. We can just catch the Empire State. Never mind shaving, we'll have a stop over at Utica to wait for the Montreal Express. Here, put the rest of your things in your grip and jam it shut. We'll get something to eat on the train, I hope. I'll buy overcoming. Don't forget to latch the door. Now, Kennedy was already halfway to the elevator, and I followed roofily, still thinking of the ocean and the piers, the bands and the roller-chairs. It was a good ten-hour journey up to the little station nearest Camp Hangout, and at least a two-hour ride after that. We had plenty of time to reflect over what this death might mean to Tom and his sister, and to speculate on the manner of it. Tom and Grace Langley were relatives by marriage of Lewis Langley, who, after the death of his wife, had made them his protégés. Lewis Langley was principally noted, as far as I could recall, for being a member of some of the fastest clubs of both New York and London. Neither Kennedy nor myself had shared in the world's opinion of him, for we knew how good he had been to Tom in college, and, from Tom, how good he had been to Grace. In fact, he had made Tom assume the Langley name, and in every way had treated the brother and sister as if they had been his own children. Tom met us with a smart trap at the station, a sufficient indication, if we had not already known, of the roughing it at such a luxurious on-direct camp as Camp Hangout. He was unaffectedly glad to see us, and it was not difficult to read in his face the worry which the affair had already given him. Tom, I'm awfully sorry too, began Craig, when, warned by Langley's look at the curious crowd that always gathers at the railroad station at train time, he cut it short. We stood silently a moment while Tom was arranging the trap-force. As we swung around the bend in the road, they cut off the little station and its crowd of lookers on. Kennedy was the first to speak. Tom, he said, first of all, let me ask that when we get to the camp we are to be simply two old classmates whom we had asked to spend a few days before the tragedy occurred. Anything will do. There may be nothing at all to your evident suspicions, and then again there may. At any rate, play the game safely. Don't arouse any feeling which might cause unpleasantness later in case you are mistaken. I quite agree with you, answered Tom. You wired from Albany, I think, to keep the facts out of the papers as much as possible. I'm afraid it is too late for that. Of course, the thing became vaguely known in Sarinac, although the county officers had been very considerate of us, and this morning a New York record correspondent was over and talked with us. I couldn't refuse that would have put a very bad face on it. Too bad, I exclaimed. I had hoped, at least, to be able to keep the report down to a few lines in a star, but the record will have such a yellow story about it that I'll simply have to do something to counteract the effect. Yes, ascended Craig, but—wait, let's see the record story first. The office doesn't know you're up here. You can hold up the star and give us time to look things over. Perhaps get in a beat on the real story and set things right. Anyhow, the news is out. That's certain. We must wear quickly. Tell me, Tom, who are at the camp? Anyone except relatives? No, he replied, guardedly measuring his words. Uncle Lewis had invited his brother James and his niece and nephew, Isabel, and James, Junior—we call him Junior. Then there are Grace and myself and a distant relative, Harrington Brown—and, oh, of course, Uncle's physician, Dr. Putnam. Who is Harrington Brown? asked Craig. He's on the other side of the Langley family, on Uncle Lewis' mother's side. I think, or at least Grace thinks, that he is quite in love with Isabel. Harrington Brown would be quite a catch. Of course he isn't wealthy, but his family is mighty well connected. Oh, Craig, sighed Langley. I wish he hadn't done it. Uncle Lewis, I mean. Why did he invite his brother up here now when he needed to recover from the swift pace of last winter in New York? You know—or you don't know, I suppose—but you'll know it now. When he and Uncle Jim got together there was nothing to it but one drink after another. Dr. Putnam was quite disgusted. At least he professed to be. But, Craig, he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if the very forest had ears. They're all alike. They've been just waiting for Uncle Lewis to drink himself to death. Oh, he added bitterly. There's no love lost between me and the relatives on that score, I can assure you. How did you find him that morning? asked Kennedy, as if to turn off his unlocking of family secrets to strangers. That's the worst part of the whole affair, replied Tom, and even in the dusk I could see the lines of his face tighten. You know Uncle Lewis was a hard drinker, but he never seemed to show it much. We had been out on the lake in the motorboat fishing all the afternoon, and, well, I must admit, both my uncles had had frequent recourse to pocket pistols, and I remember they referred to it each time as bait. Then, after supper, nothing would do but fizzes and rickies. I was disgusted, and after reading a bit went to bed. Harrington and my uncle sat up with Dr. Putnam, according to Uncle Jim, for a couple of hours longer. Then Harrington, Dr. Putnam, and Uncle Jim went to bed, leaving Uncle Lewis still drinking. I remember walking in the night, and the house seemed saturated with the peculiar odor. I never smelled anything like it in my life, so I got up and slipped into my bathrobe. I met Grace in the hall. She was sniffing. Don't you smell something burning? She asked. I said I did, and started downstairs to investigate. Everything was dark, but that smell was all over the house. I looked in each room downstairs as I went, but could see nothing. The kitchen and dining room were all right. I glanced into the living room, but, while the smell was more noticeable there, I could see no evidence of a fire except the dying embers on the hearth. It had been coolish that night, and we had a few logs blazing. I didn't examine the room. There seemed no reason for it. We went back to our rooms, and in the morning they found the gruesome object I had missed in the darkness and shadows of the living room. Kennedy was intently listening. Who found him? he asked. Harrington replied to Tom. He roused us. Harrington's theory is that Uncle set himself on fire with a spark from his cigar. A charred cigar-bud was found on the floor. We found Tom's relatives a sad and silent party in the face of the tragedy. Kennedy and I apologized very profusely for our intrusion, but Tom quickly interrupted, as we had agreed, by explaining that he had insisted on our coming, as old friends on whom he felt he could rely, especially to set the matter right in the newspapers. I think Craig noticed keenly their reticence of the family grouped in the mystery. I might almost have called it suspicion. They did not seem to know just whether to take it as an accident or something worse, and each seemed to entertain a reserve toward the rest which was a very uncomfortable. Mr. Langley's attorney in New York had been notified, but apparently was out of town, for he had not been heard from. They seemed rather anxious to get word from him. Dinner over, the family groups separated, leaving Tom an opportunity to take us into the gruesome living room. Of course, the remains had been removed, but otherwise the room was exactly as it had been when Harrington discovered the tragedy. I did not see the body, which was lying in the enter room, but Kennedy did. And spent some time in there. After he rejoined us, Kennedy next examined the fireplace. It was full of ashes from the logs which had been lighted on the fatal night. He noted attentively the distance of Louis Langley's chair from the fireplace, and remarked that the varnish on the chair was not even blistered. Before the chair, on the floor where the body had been found, he pointed out to us the peculiar ash marks for some space around, but it really seemed to me as if something else interested him more than these ash marks. We had been engaged perhaps a half an hour in viewing the room. At last Craig suddenly stopped. Tom, he said, I think I'll wait till daylight before I go any further. I can't tell what's certainly under these lights, though. Perhaps they show me some things the sunlight wouldn't show. We'd better leave everything just as it is until morning. So we locked the room again and went into a sort of library across the hall. We were sitting in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts on the mystery, when the telephone rang. It proved to be a long-distance call from New York for Tom himself. His uncle's attorney had received the news at his home, out on Long Island, and hurried to the city to take charge of the estate. But that was not the news that caused a grave look on Tom's face as he nervously rejoined us. That was Uncle's lawyer, Mr. Clark, of Clark and Burdick, he said. He had opened Uncle's personal safe in the offices of the Langley estate. You remember them, Craig. Where all the property of the Langley heirs is administered by the trustees? He says he can't find the will, though he knows there was a will and that it was placed in that safe some time ago. There's no duplicate. The full purport of this information had once flashed on me, and I was on the point of blurting out my sympathy when I saw by the look which Craig and Tom exchanged that they had already realized it and understood each other. Without the will, the blood relatives would inherit all of Louis Langley's interest in the old Langley estate. Tom and his sister would be penniless. It was late, yet we sat for nearly an hour longer, and I don't think we exchanged half a dozen sentences in all that time. Craig seemed absorbed and thought. At length, as the great hall clock sounded midnight, we rose as if by common consent. Tom, said Craig, and I could feel the sympathy that welled up in his voice. Tom, old man, I'll get at the bottom of this mystery if human intelligence can do it. I know you will, Craig, responded Tom, grasping each of us by the hand. That's why I so much wanted you fellows to come up here. Early in the morning, Kennedy aroused me. Now, Walter, I'm going to ask you to come down into the living room with me, and we'll take a look at it in the daytime. I hurried into my clothes, and together we quietly went down. Starting with the exact spot where the unfortunate man had been discovered, Kennedy began a minute examination of the floor, using his pocket lens. Every few moments he would stop to examine a spot on the rug or on the hardwood floor more intently. Several times I saw him scrape up something with a blade of his knife and carefully preserve the scrapings. Each in a separate piece of paper. Sitting idly by, I could not for the life of me see just what good it did for me to be there, and I said as much. Kennedy laughed quietly. You're a material witness, Walter, he replied. Perhaps I shall need you some day to testify that I actually found these spots in this room. Just then Tom stuck his head in. Can I help? he asked. Why didn't you tell me you were going at it so early? No thanks, answered Craig rising from the floor. I was just making careful examination of the room before anyone was up, so that nobody would think I was too interested. I finished, but you can help me after all. Do you think you could describe exactly how everyone was dressed that night? Why, I can try, let me see. To begin with, Uncle had on a shooting jacket. That was pretty well burnt, as you know. Why, in fact, we all had our shooting jackets on. The ladies were in white. Craig pondered a little, but did not seem disposed to pursue the subject further, until Tom volunteered the information that since the tragedy, none of them had been wearing their shooting jackets. We've all been wearing city clothes, he remarked. Could you get your Uncle James and your cousin Junior to go with you for an hour or two this morning on the lake, or on a tramp in the woods? asked Craig after a moment's thought. Really, Craig, responded time doubtfully. I ought to go to Saranac to complete the arrangements for taking Uncle Lewis' body to New York. Very well, persuade them to go with you. Anything, so long as you keep me from interruption for an hour or two. They agreed on doing that, and, as by that time most of the family were up, we went into breakfast, another silent and suspicious meal. After breakfast, Kennedy tactfully withdrew from the family, and I did the same. We wandered off in the direction of the stables, and there fell to admiring some of the horses. The groom, who seemed to be a sensible and pleasant sort of fellow, was quite ready to talk, and soon he and Craig were deep in discussing the game of the North Country. Many rabbits round here, as Kennedy had lengthed when they had exhausted the larger game. Oh, yes, I saw one this morning, sir, replied the groom. Indeed, said Kennedy. Do you suppose you could catch a couple for me? I guess I could, sir. Alive, you mean? Oh, yes, alive. I don't want you to violate the game laws. This is the closed season, isn't it? Yes, sir, but then it's all right, sir, here on the estate. Bring them to me this afternoon, or no, keep them here in the stable in a cage, and let me know when you have them. If anybody asks you about them, say that they belong to Mr. Tom. Craig handed a small treasury note to the groom, who took it with a grin and touched his hat. Thanks, he said. I'll let you know when I have the bunnies. As we walked slowly back from the stables, we caught sight of Tom down at the boathouse, just putting off in the motorboat with his uncle and cousin. Craig waved to him, and he walked up to meet us. While you're in Sarenac, said Craig, buy me a dozen or so test tubes, only don't let anyone here at the house know you are buying them. They might ask questions. While they were gone, Kennedy stole into James Langley's room, and after a few minutes returned to our room with a hunting jacket. He carefully examined it with his pocket-lens. Then he filled a drinking glass with warm boiled water, and added a few pinches of table salt. With a piece of sterilized gauze from Dr. Putnam's medicine chest, he carefully washed off a few portions of the coat, and set the glass and the gauze soaking in it aside. Then he returned the coat to the closet where he had found it. Next, as silently, he stole into Junior's room, and repeated the process with his hunting jacket, using another glass and piece of gauze. While I am out of the room, Walter, he said, I want you to take these two glasses, cover them, and number them, and on a slip of paper which you must retain, place the names of the owners of the respective coats. I don't like this part of it. I hate to play spy and would much rather come out in the open, but there is nothing else to do, and it is much better for all concerned that I should play the game secretly just now. There may be no cause for suspicion at all. In that case, I'd never forgive myself for starting a family row. And then again, but we shall see. After I had numbered and recorded the glasses, Kennedy returned, and we went downstairs again. Curious about the will, isn't it? I remarked, as we stood on the wide veranda a moment. Yes, he replied. It may be necessary to go back to New York to delve into that part of it before we get through, but I hope not. We'll wait. At this point the groom interrupted us to say he had caught the rabbits. Kennedy at once hurried to the stable. There he rolled up his sleeves, pricked the vein in his arm, and injected a small quantity of his own blood into one of the rabbits, the other he did not touch. It was late in the afternoon when Tom returned from town with his uncle and cousins. He seemed even more agitated than usual. Without a word he hurried up from the landing and sought us out. What do you think of that? he cried, opening a copy of the record, and laying it flat on the library table. There, on the front page, was Lewis Langley's picture with a huge scare-head. Mysterious case of spontaneous combustion. It's all out, grown Tom, as we bent over and read the account, and such a story! Under the date of the day previous, a Sarnor Act dispatch ran Lewis Langley, well known as Spawning Man and Club Member in New York, and eldest son of the late Lewis Langley, the banker, was discovered dead under the most mysterious circumstances this morning at Camp Hangout, twelve miles from this town. The death of Old Crook in Dickens Bleak House, or of the victim in one of Marriott's most thrilling tales, was not more gruesome than this actual fact. It is without a doubt a case of spontaneous human combustion, such as is recorded beyond dispute in medical and medical legal textbooks of the past two centuries. Scientists in this city consulted for the record agree that, while rare, spontaneous human combustion is an established fact, and that everything in this curious case goes to show that another has been added to the already well-authenticated list of cases recorded in America and Europe. The family refused to be interviewed, which seems to indicate that the rumors and medical circles in Sarnor Act have a solid basis of fact. Then followed a circumstantial account of the life of Langley and the events leading up to the discovery of the body, fairly accurate in itself, but highly colored. The record man must have made good use of his time here, I commented, as I finished reading the dispatch. And, well, they must have done some hard work in New York to get this story up so completely. See, after the dispatch follow a lot of interviews, and here's a short article on spontaneous combustion itself. Harrington and the rest of the family had just come in. What's this we hear about the record having an article? Harrington asked. Read it aloud, Professor, so we can all hear it. Spontaneous human combustion, or catechosis ebriosis, began Craig, is one of the baffling human scientific mysteries. Indeed, there can be no doubt but that individuals have in some strange and inexplicable manner caught fire and been partially or almost wholly consumed. Some have attributed it to gases in the body, such as carbureted hydrogen. Once it was noted at the Hotel Dieu in Paris that a body on being dissected gave forth a gas which was inflammable and burnt with a bluish flame. Others have attributed the combustion to alcohol. Othopa several years ago in Brooklyn and New York used to make money by blowing his breath through a wire gauze and lighting it. Whatever the cause, medical literature records 76 cases of catechosis in 200 years. The combustion seems to be sudden and is apparently confined to the cavities, the abdomen, chest and head. Victims of ordinary fire accidents rush hither and thither frantically, succumb from exhaustion, their limbs are burned and their clothing is all destroyed. But in catechosis they are stricken down without warning. The limbs are rarely burned and only the closing in contact with the head and chest is consumed. The residue is like a distillation of animal tissue, gray and dark, with an overpoweringly fetid odor. They are said to burn with a flickering stifled blue flame and water, far from arresting the combustion seems to add to it. Gin is particularly rich in inflammable ephromatic oils, as they are called, and in most cases it is recorded that the catechosis took place among gin drinkers, old and obese. Within the past few years cases are on record which seem to establish catechosis beyond doubt. In one case the heat was so great as to explode a pistol in the pocket of the victim. In another a woman, the victim's husband was asphyxiated by the smoke. The woman weighed 180 pounds in life, but the ashes weighed only 12 pounds. In all these cases the proof of spontaneous combustion seems conclusive. As Craig finished reading we looked blankly horrified at one another. It was too dreadful to realize. What do you think of it, Professor? Asked James Langley at length. I've read somewhere of such cases, but to think of it actually happening. And to my own brother. Do you really think Lewis could have met his death in this terrible manner? Kennedy made no reply. Harrington seemed absorbed in thought. A shudder passed over us as we thought about it. But gruesome as it was, it was evident that the publication of the story in the record had relieved the feelings of the family group in one respect. It at least seemed to offer an explanation. It was noticeable that the suspicious air with which everyone had regarded everyone else was considerably dispelled. Tom said nothing until the others had withdrawn. Kennedy, he burst out then. Do you believe that such combustion is absolutely spontaneous? Don't you believe that something else is necessary to start it? I'd rather not express an opinion just yet, Tom. Answered Craig carefully. Now, if you can get Harrington and Doctor Putnam away from the house for a short time, as you did with your uncle and cousin this morning, I may be able to tell you something about this case soon. Again Kennedy stole into another bedroom and returned to our room with a hunting jacket, just as he had done before. He carefully washed it off with the gauze soaked in the salt solution and quickly returned the coat, repeating the process with Doctor Putnam's coat and, last, that of Tom himself. Finally he turned his back while I sealed the glasses and marked and recorded them on my slip. The next day was spent mainly in preparations for the journey to New York with the body of Lewis Langley. Kennedy was very busy on what seemed to me to be preparations for some mysterious chemical experiments. I found myself fully occupied in keeping special correspondence from all over the country at bay. That evening after dinner we were all sitting in the open summer house over the boat house. Smudges of green pine were burning and smoking on the little artificial islands of stone near the lake shore, lighting up the trees on every side with a red glare. Tom and his sister were seated with Kennedy and myself on one side. While some distance from us, Harrington was engaged in earnest conversation with Isabelle. The other members of the family were further removed. That seemed typical to me of the way of the family group split up. Mr. Kennedy remarked grace in a thoughtful tone. What do you make of that record article? Very clever, no doubt, replied Craig. But don't you think it's strange about the will? Hush! whispered Tom, for Isabelle and Harrington had ceased talking and might perhaps be listening. Just then one of the servants came up with a telegram. Tom hastily opened it and read the message eagerly in the corner of the summer house nearest one of the glowing smudges. I felt instinctively that it was from his lawyer. He turned and beckoned to Kennedy and myself. What do you think of that? he whispered hoarsely. We bent over and in the flickering light read the message. New York papers full of spontaneous combustion story. Record had exclusive story yesterday but all papers today feature even more. Is it true? Please wire additional details at once. Also, immediate instructions regarding loss of will has been abstracted from safe. Could Louis Langley have taken it himself, unless new facts soon must make loss public or issue statement Louis Langley interstate? Daniel Clark Tom looked blankly at Kennedy and then at his sister who was sitting alone. I thought I could read what was passing in his mind. With all his faults Louis Langley had been a good foster parent to his adopted children. But it was all over now if the will was lost. What can I do, as Tom hopelessly? I have nothing to reply to him. But I have, quietly returned Kennedy, deliberately folding up the message and handing it back. Tell them all to be in the library in fifteen minutes. This message hurries me a bit but I am prepared. You will have something to wire out Mr. Clark after that. Then he strode off toward the house leaving us to gather the group together in considerable bewilderment. A quarter of an hour later we had all assembled in the library, across the hall from the room in which Louis Langley had been found. As usual Kennedy began by leaving straight into the middle of a subject. Early in the eighteenth century, he commenced slowly, a woman was found burned to death. There were no clues and the scientists of the time suggested spontaneous combustion. This explanation was accepted. The theory always has been that the process of respiration by which the tissues of the body are used up and got rid of gives the body a temperature, and it has seemed that it may be possible by preventing the escape of this heat to set fire to the body. We were leaning forward expectantly, horrified by the thought that perhaps, after all, the record was correct. Now, resumed Kennedy, his tone changing. Suppose we try a little experiment, one that was tried very convincingly by the immortal Liebig. Here is a sponge. I am going to soak it in gin from this bottle, the same that Mr. Langley was drinking from on the night of the tragedy. Kennedy took the saturated sponge and placed it in an agate iron pan from the kitchen. Then he lighted it. The bluish flame shot upward, and in tense silence we watched it burn lower and lower till all the alcohol was consumed. Then he picked up the sponge and passed it around. It was dry, but the sponge itself had not been singed. We now know, he continued, that from the nature of combustion it is impossible for the human body to undergo spontaneous ignition or combustion in the way the scientific experts of the past century believed. Swayed the body in the thickest of nonconductors of heat, and what happens? A profuse perspiration exudes, and before such an ignition could possibly take place, all the moisture of the body would have to be evaporated. As 75% or more of the body is water, it is evident that enormous heat would be necessary. Moisture is a great safeguard. The experiment which I have shown you could be duplicated with specimens of human organs preserved for years in alcohol in museums. They would burn just as the sponge, the specimen itself would be very nearly uninjured by the burning of the alcohol. Then, Professor Kennedy, you maintain that my brother did not meet his death by such an accident? Asked James Langley. Exactly that, sir, replied Craig. One of the most important aspects of the historic faith in this phenomenon is that of its skillful employment in explaining away what would otherwise appear to be convincingly circumstantial evidence in cases of accusations of murder. Then how do you explain Mr. Langley's death? demanded Harrington. My theory of a spark from a cigar may be true after all. I'm coming to that in a moment, answered Kennedy quietly. My first suspicion was aroused by what not even Dr. Putnam seems to have noticed. The skull of Mr. Langley, charred and consumed as it was, seemed to show marks of violence. It might have been from a fracture of the skull, or it might have been an accident to his remains as they were being removed to the enter room. Again, his tongue seemed as though it was protruding. That might have been a natural suffocation, or it might have been from forcible strangulation. So far I had nothing but conjecture to work on, but in looking over the living room I found near the table, on the hardwood floor, a spot, just one little round spot. Now, deductions from spots, even if we know them to be blood, must be made very carefully. I did not know this to be a blood spot, and so was very careful at first. Let us assume it was a blood spot, however. What did it show? It was just a little regular round spot, quite thick. Now, drops of blood falling only a few inches usually make a round spot with a smooth border. Still, the surface on which the drop falls is quite as much a factor as the height from which it falls. If the surface is rough, the border may be irregular. But this was a smooth surface and not absorbent. The thickness of a dried blood spot on a non-absorbent surface is less the greater the height from which it had fallen. This was a thick spot. Now, if it had fallen, say, six feet, the height of Mr. Langley, the spot would have been thin. Some secondary spatters might have been seen, or at least an irregular edge round the spot. Therefore, if it was a blood spot, it had fallen only one or two feet. I ascertain next that the lower part of the body showed no wounds or bruises whatever. Tracks of blood, such as are left by dragging a bleeding body, differ very greatly from the tracks of arterial blood, which are left when the victim has strength to move himself. Continuing my speculations, supposing it to be a blood spot, what did it indicate? Clearly that Mr. Langley was struck by somebody on the head with a heavy instrument, perhaps in another part of the room, that he was choked that as the drops of blood oozed from the wound on his head, he was dragged across the floor in the direction of the fireplace. But Professor Kennedy, interrupted Dr. Putnam, have you proved that the spot was a blood spot? Might it not have been a paint spot or something of that sort? Kennedy had apparently been waiting for just such a question. Ordinarily water has no effect on paint, he answered. I found that the spot could be washed off with water. That is not all. I have a test for blood that is so delicately sensitive that the blood of an Egyptian mummy thousands of years old will respond to it. It was discovered by a German scientist, Dr. Ulenho, and was no longer a gold in last winter applied in England in connection with the Clapham murder. The suspected murderer declared that the stains on his clothes were only spatters of paint, but the test proved them to be spatters of blood. Malter, bring in the cage with the rabbits. I opened the door and took the cage from the groom, who had brought it up from the stable and stood waiting with it some distance away. This test is very simple, Dr. Putnam, continued Craig, as I placed the cage on the table and Kennedy unwrapped the sterilized test tubes. A rabbit is inoculated with human blood, and after a time the serum that is taken from the rabbit supplies the material for the test. I will insert this needle in one of these rabbits, which has been so inoculated, and will draw off some of the serum, which I place in this test tube to the right. The other rabbit has not been inoculated. I draw off some of its serum and place that tube here on the left. We will call that our control tube. It will check the results of our tests. Wrapped up in this paper, I have the scrapings of the spot which I found on the floor, just a few grains of dark dried powder. To show how sensitive this test is, I would take only one of the smallest of these minute scrapings. I dissolve it in this third tube with distilled water. I will even divide it in half and place the other half in this fourth tube. Next, I add some of the serum of the inoculated rabbit to the half in this tube. You observe nothing happens. I add a little of the serum of the inoculated rabbit to the other half in this other tube. Observe how delicate this test is. Kennedy was leaning forward, almost oblivious of the rest of us in the room, talking almost as if to himself. We too had riveted our eyes on the tubes. As he added the serum from the inoculated rabbit, a cloudy milky ring formed almost immediately in the hitherto colorless, very dilute blood solution. That, continued Craig triumphantly holding the tube aloft, that conclusively proves that the little round spot on the hardwood floor was not paint, was not anything in this wide world but blood. No one in the room said a word, but I knew there must have been someone there who thought volumes in the few minutes that elapsed. Having found one blood spot, I began to look about for more but was able to find only two or three traces where spots seem to have been. The fact is that the blood spots had been apparently carefully wiped up. That is an easy matter. Hot water and salt or hot water alone or even cold water would make quite short work of fresh blood spots at least to all outward appearances. But nothing but a most thorough cleaning can conceal them from the Olinho test, even when they are apparently wiped out. It is a case of Lady Macbeth over again, crying in the face of modern science, out, out, damn spot! I was able, with sufficient definiteness, to trace roughly a cause of blood spots from the fireplace to a point near the door of the living room, but beyond the door in the hall nothing. Still, interrupted Harrington, to get back to the facts in the case. They are perfectly in accord either with my theory of the cigar or the records of spontaneous combustion. How did you account for the facts? I suppose you referred to the charred head, the burn neck, the up chest cavity, while the arms and legs were untouched? Yes, and then the body was found in the midst of combustible furniture that was not touched. It seems to me that even the spontaneous combustion theory has considerable support in spite of this very interesting circumstantial evidence about blood spots. Next to my own theory, the combustion theory seems most in harmony with the facts. If you will go over in your mind, all the points proved to have been discovered, not the added points in the record story, I think you will agree with me that mine is a more logical interpretation than spontaneous combustion, reasoned Craig. Hear me out, and you will see that the facts are more in harmony with my less fanciful explanation. No, someone struck Lewis Langley down either in passion or in cold blood, and then, seeing what he had done, made a desperate effort to destroy the evidence of violence. Consider my next discovery. Kennedy placed the five glasses which I had carefully sealed and labelled on the table before us. The next step, he said, was to find out whether any articles of clothing in the house showed marks that might be suspected of being blood spots, and here I must beg the pardon of all in the room for intruding in their private wardrobes. But in this crisis it was absolutely necessary, and under such circumstances, I never let ceremony stand before justice. In these five glasses on the table, I have the washings of spots from the clothing worn by Tom, Mr. James Langley, Junior, Harrington Brown, and Dr. Putnam. I am not going to tell you which is which. Indeed, I merely have them marked, and I do not know them myself. But Mr. Jameson has the marks with the names opposite on a piece of paper in his pocket. I am simply going to proceed with the test to see if any of the stains on the coats were of blood. Just then Dr. Putnam interposed. One question, Professor Kennedy. It is a comparatively easy thing to recognize a blood stain, but it is difficult, usually impossible, to tell whether the blood is out of a man or of an animal. I recall that we were all in our hunting jackets that day. I had been all day. Now in the morning there had been an operation on one of the horses at the stable, and I assisted the veterinary from town. I may have a spotter to a blood on my coat from that operation. Do I understand that this test will show that? No, replied Craig. This test would not show that. Other tests would, but not this. But if the spot of human blood were less than the size of a pinhead, it would show. It would show if the spot contained even so little as one-twenty thousandth of a gram of albinimum. Blood from a horse, a deer, a sheep, a pig, a dog could be obtained, but when the test was applied the liquid in which they were diluted would remain clear. No white precipitin, as it is called, would form, but let human blood ever so diluted be added to the serum of the inoculated rabbit and the test is absolute. A deathlike silence seemed to pervade the room. Kennedy slowly and deliberately began to test the contents of the glasses. Dropping into each as he broke the seal, some of the serum of the rabbit, he waited a moment to see if any change occurred. It was thrilling. I think no one could have gone through that fifteen minutes without having it indelibly impressed on his memory. I recall thinking as Kennedy took each glass, which is it to be? Guilt or innocence? Life or death? Could it be possible that a man's life might hang on such a slender thread? I knew Kennedy was too accurate and serious to deceive us. It was not only possible, it was actually a fact. The first glass showed no reaction. Someone had been vindicated. The second was neutral likewise. Another person in the room had been proved innocent. The third, no change. Science had released a third. The fourth. Almost it seemed as if the record in my pocket burned, spontaneously. So intense was my feeling. There in the glass was that fatal telltale white precipitate. My God! It's the milk-ring! whispered Tom close to my ear. Hastily Kennedy dropped the serum into the fifth. It remained as clear as crystal. My hand trembled as it touched the envelope containing my record of the names. The person who wore the coat with that blood stain on it was the person who struck Lewis Langley down, who joked him and then dragged his scarcely dead body across the floor and obliterated the marks of violence in the blazing log fire. Jameson, whose name is opposite the sign on this glass? I could scarcely tear the seal to look at the paper in the envelope. At last I unfolded it, and my eye fell on the name opposite the fatal sign. But my mouth was dry and my tongue refused to move. It was too much like reading a death sentence. With my finger on the name I faltered an instant. Tom leaned over my shoulder and read it to himself. For heaven's sake, Jameson, he cried, let the ladies retire before you read the name. It's not necessary, said a thick voice. We quarreled over the estate. My shares mortgaged up to the limit, and Lewis refused to lend me more even until I could get Isabel happily married. Now Lewises goes to an outsider. Harrington Boy, take care of Isabel. Fortune or no fortune, good. Someone sees James Langley's arm as he pressed an automatic revolver to his temple. He reeled like a drunken man and dropped the gun on the floor with an oath. Beaten again, he muttered. Forgot to move the ratchet from safety to fire. Like a madman, he wrenched himself loose from us, spraying through the door and darted upstairs. I'll show you some combustion, he shouted back fiercely. Kennedy was after him like a flash. The will, he cried. We literally tore the door off its hinges and burst into James Langley's room. He was bending eagerly over the fireplace. Kennedy made a flying leap at him. Just enough of the will was left unburned to be admitted to probate.