 CHAPTER V. OF THE SILENT BULLET by Arthur B. Reeve. Dr. James Hansen, Coronel's physician, criminal chords-building, read Craig Kennedy as he held the visitor's card in his hand, then to the visitor he added, Take a chinatokta. The physician thanked him and sat down. Professor Kennedy, he began, I have been referred to you by Inspector O'Connor of the Detective Bureau. It may seem an impertence for a city official to call on you for assistance, but, well, you see, I'm completely floored. I think, too, that the case will interest you. It's the Van Damme case. If Dr. Hansen had suddenly turned on the current of an induction coil and I had been holding the handles, I don't think the thrill that I received could have been any more sudden. The Van Damme case was a sensation of the moment, a triple puzzle, as both Kennedy and myself had agreed. Was it suicide, murder, or sudden death? Every theory so far had proved unsatisfactory. I have read only what the newspapers have published, replied Craig to the doctor's look of inquiry. You see, my friend Jameson here is on the staff of the Star, and we are in the habit of discussing these cases. Very glad to meet you, Mr. Jameson. Exclaimed Dr. Hansen at the implied introduction. The relations between my office and your paper have always been very satisfactory. I can assure you. Thank you, doctor. Depend on me to keep them so, I replied, shaking his preferred hand. Now, as to the case, continued the doctor slowly. Here is a beautiful woman in the prime of life. The wife of a very wealthy retired banker considerably older than herself. Perhaps nearly seventy. A very fine family. Of course you've read it all, but let me sketch it so you will look at it from my point of view. This woman, apparently in good health, with every luxury money can buy, is certain within a very few years from her dowry rights to be numbered among the richest women in America. Yet she is discovered in the middle of the night by her maid, seated at the table in the library of her home unconscious. She never regains consciousness, but dies the following morning. The coroner is called in, and, as his physician, I must advise him. The family physician has pronounced it due to natural causes, the uremic coma of latent kidney trouble. Some of the newspapers, I think the star among them, have hinted at suicide, and then there are others who have flatly asserted it was murder. The coroner's physician paused to see if we were following him, needless to say Kennedy was ahead of him. Have you any facts in your possession which have not been given to the public yet?" asked Craig. I'm coming to that in a moment, replied Dr. Hansen. Let me sketch the case first. Henry Van Dam had become, well, very eccentric in his old age, we will say. Among his eccentricities none seem to have impressed the newspapers more than his devotion to a medium and her manager, Mrs. May Popper and Mr. Howard Farrington. Now, of course, the case does not go into the truth or falsity of spiritualism, you understand. You have your opinion, and I have mine. What this aspect of the case involves is merely the character of the medium and her manager. You know, of course, that Henry Van Dam is completely under their control. He paused again to emphasize the point. You ask me if I was in possession of any facts which have not been given to the press. Yes, I am. And just there lies the trouble. They are so very conflicting as to be almost worse than useless, as far as I can see. We found near the unfortunate woman a small pill-box with three capsules still in it. It was labeled One Before Retiring, and bore the name of a certain druggist in the initials, Dr. C. W. H. Now, I am convinced that the initials are merely a blind and do not give any clue. The druggist says that a maid from the Van Dam house brought in the prescription, which of course he filled. It's a harmless enough prescription, contains, among other things, four-and-a-half grains of quinine, and one-sixth of a grain of morphine. Six capsules were prepared altogether. Now, of course, my first thought was that she might have taken several capsules at once, and that was a case of accidental morphine poisoning. Or it might have even been suicide. But it cannot be either, to my mind, for only three of the six capsules are gone. No doubt, also, you are acquainted with the fact that the one invariable symptom of morphine poisoning is the contraction of the pupils of the eyes to a pinpoint, often so that they are unrecognizable. Moreover, the pupils are symmetrically contracted, and this symptom is the one invariably present in coma from morphine poisoning, and distinguishes it from all other forms of death. On the other hand, in the coma of kidney disease, one pupil is dilated, and the other contracted. They are unsymmetrical. But in this case, both the pupils are normal. Or only a very little dilated. And they are symmetrical. So far as we've been able to find, no other poisoned in the slight traces of morphine remaining in the stomach after so many hours. I think you're enough of a chemist to know that no doctor would dare go on the stand and swear to death from morphine poisoning in the face of such asifdence against him. The various Tyro of an expert toxicologist could too easily confute him. Kennedy nodded. Have you the pillbox and the prescription? I have, replied Dr. Hansen, placing them on the table. Kennedy scrutinized them sharply. I shall need these, he said. Of course you understand I will take very good care of them. Is there anything else of importance? Really, I don't know, said the physician dubiously. It's rather out of my province, but perhaps you would think it's important. It's mighty uncanny anyhow. Henry Vandem, as you doubtless know, was much more deeply interested in the work of this medium than was his wife. Perhaps Mrs. Vandem was a bit jealous, I don't know. But she too had an interest in spiritualism, though he was much more deeply influenced by Mrs. Popper than she. Here's a strange part of it. The old man believed so thoroughly in wrappings and materializations that he constantly keeps a notebook in his pocket in which he records all the materializations he thinks he sees and the wrappings he hears, along with the time and place. Now it so happened that on the night Mrs. Vandem was taken ill, he had retired. I believe in another part of the house, where he has a regular seance room. According to his story he was awakened from a profound sleep by a series of wrappings. As was his custom he noted the time at which they occurred. Something made him uneasy, and he said to his control, at least this is his story. John, is it about Mary? Three raps answered yes, the usual code. What is the matter? Is she ill? The three answering raps were so vigorous that he sprang out of bed and called for his wife's maid. The maid replied that Mrs. Vandem had not gone to bed yet, but that there was a light in the library and she would go to her mistress immediately. The next moment the house was awakened by the screams of the maid calling for help. That Mrs. Vandem was dying. That was three nights ago. On each of the two succeeding nights Henry Vandem says he has been awakened at precisely the same hour by a wrapping, and on each night his control has given him a message from his dead wife. As a man of science I attribute the whole thing to an over-rawed imagination. The original wrappings may have been mere coincidence with the fact of the condition of Mrs. Vandem. However, I give this to you for what it's worth. Craig said nothing but, as was his habit, shaded his eyes with the tips of his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. I suppose, he said, you can give me the necessary authority to enter the Vandem house to look at the scene of these happenings? Certainly, ascended the physician. But you will find it a queer place. There are spirit paintings and spirit photographs in every room, and Vandem's own part of the house, well, it's creepy. That's all I can say. And also I suppose you have performed an autopsy on the body and will allow me to drop into your laboratory tomorrow morning to satisfy myself on this morphine point? Certainly, replied the coroner's physician, at any time you say. At ten sharp, then, tomorrow I shall be there, said Craig. It is now eight thirty. Do you think I can see Vandem tonight? What time do these wrappings occur? Why, yes, you surely will be able to see him tonight. He hasn't stirred from the house since his wife died. He told me he momentarily expected messages from her direct when she got strong enough in her new world. I believe they had some kind of a compact to that effect. The wrappings come at twelve-thirty. Ah! Then I shall have plenty of time to run over to my laboratory before seeing Mr. Vandem and get some apparatus I have in mind. No, Doctor, you needn't bother go with me. Just give me a card of introduction. I'll see you to-morrow at ten. Good night. Oh, by the way, don't give out any of the facts you have told me. Jameson, said Craig, when we were walking rapidly over toward the university. This promises to be an uncommonly difficult case. As I view it now, I said, I have suspicions of everybody concerned in it. Even the view of the star, that it is a case of suicide due to overall nerves, may explain it. It might even be a natural death, Craig added. And that would make it a greater mystery than ever. A case for psychical research. One thing I'm going to do tonight will tell me much, however. At the laboratory he unlocked the glass case and took out a little instrument which looked like two horizontal pendulums suspended by fine wires. There was a large magnet near each pendulum, and at the end of each pendulum bore a needle which touched a circular drum driven by clockwork. Craig fussed with and adjusted the apparatus while I said nothing. Right a long ago it learned that in applying a new apparatus to doing old things, Craig was as dumb as an oyster. Until his work was crowned with success. We had no trouble getting in to see Mr. Vandem in his seance room. His face was familiar to me, for I had seen him in public a number of times, but it looked strangely altered. He was nervous and showed his age very perceptibly. It was as the coroner's physician had said. The house was littered with reminders of the cult, books, papers, curious dobs of paintings handsomely framed, and photographs, hazy over exposures. I should have called them. But Mr. Vandem took great pride in them and Kennedy quite won him over by his admiration for them. They talked about the wrappings, and the old man explained where and when they occurred. They proceeded from a little cabinet or closet at one end of the room. It was evident that he was a thorough believer in them and in the messages they conveyed. Craig carefully noted everything about the room and then fell to admiring the spirit photographs, if such they might be called. The best of all I do not display. They are too precious, said the old man. Would you like to see them? Craig assented eagerly, and Vandem left us for a moment to get them. In an instant Craig had entered the cabinet, and in a dark corner on the floor he deposited the mechanism which he had brought from the laboratory. Then he resumed his seat, shutting the box in which he had brought the mechanism, so that it would not appear that he had left anything about the room. Artfully he led the conversation along lines that interested the old man, until he seemed to forget the hour. Not so Craig. He knew it was nearing half-past twelve. The more they talked, the more uncanny did this house and the room of spirit seem to me. In fact, I was rapidly reaching the point where I could have sworn that once or twice something incorporeal brushed by me. I know now that it was purely imagination, but it shows what tricks the imagination can play on us. Five times came a curiously hollow noise from the cabinet. If it had been possible, I should certainly have fled. It was so sudden and unexpected. The hall-clock downstairs struck the half-hour in those chimes written by Handel for St. Paul's. Craig leaned over and whispered hoarsely, Keep perfectly still. Don't move a Handel foot. The old man seemed utterly to have forgotten us. Is that you, John? He asked expectantly. Came a reply. Is Mary strong enough to speak to me tonight? Is she happy? What makes her unhappy? What does she want? Will you spell it out? Then, after a pause, the rapping started slowly and distinctly to spell out words. It was so weird and uncanny that I scarcely breathed. Letter after letter the message came. Nineteen raps for S, eight for H, five for E, according to the place in the alphabet, numerically, of the required letter. At last it was complete. She thinks you are not well. She asks you to have that prescription filled again. Tell her I will do it tomorrow morning. Is there anything else? Came back faintly. John, John, don't go yet. pleaded the old man earnestly. It was easy to see how thoroughly he believed in John, as perhaps well he might after the warning of his wife's death three nights before. Won't you answer one other question? Fainter, almost imperceptibly, came a rap-rap. For several minutes the old man sat absorbed and thought, trance-like, then gradually he seemed to realize that we were in the room with him. With difficulty he took up the thread of the conversation where the wrappings had broken it. We were talking about photographs, he said slowly. I hope soon to get one of my wife, as she is now, that she is transfigured. John has promised me one soon. He was gathering up his treasures preparatory to putting the back in their places of safekeeping. The moment he was out of the room Craig darted into the cabinet and replaced his mechanism in the box. Then he began softly to tap the walls. At last he found the side that gave a noise similar to that which we had heard, and he seemed pleased to have found it, for he hastily sketched on an old envelope, a plan of that part of the house, noting on it the location of the side of the cabinet. Kennedy almost dragged me back to our apartment. He was in such a hurry to examine the apparatus at his leisure. He turned on all the lights, took the thing out of its case, and stripped off the two sheets of ruled paper wound around the two revolving drums. He laid them flat on the table and studied them for some minutes with evidently growing satisfaction. At last he turned to me and said, Walter, here is a ghost caught in the act. I looked dubiously at the irregular up and down scrawl on the paper, while he rang up the homicide bureau of the central office and left a word for O'Connor to call him up the first thing in the morning. Still eyeing with satisfaction the record traced on the sheets of paper, he lighted a cigarette in a matter-of-fact way and added, It proves to be a very much flesh-and-blood ghost, this John. It walked up to the wall back of that cabinet, rapped, listened to old Vandam, rapped some more, got the answer it wanted, and walked deliberately away. The cabinet, as you may have noticed, is in the corner of the room with one side along the hallway. The ghost must have been in the hall. But who was it? Not so fast, Walter, laughed Craig. Isn't it enough for one night that we have found out that much? Fortunately I was tired, or I certainly should have dreamed of wrappings and of John that night. I was awakened early by Kennedy talking with someone over the telephone. It was Inspector O'Connor. Of course, I heard only one side of the conversation, but, as near as I could gather, Kennedy was asking the inspector to obtain several samples of ink for him. I had not heard the first part of the conversation and was considerably surprised when Kennedy hung up the receiver and said, Vandam had the prescription filled again early this morning, and it will soon be in the hands of O'Connor. I hope I haven't spoiled things by acting too soon, but I don't want to run the risk of a double tragedy. Well, I said. It is incomprehensible to me. First I suspect suicide, then I suspect murder, now I almost suspect a murder and a suicide. The fact is, I don't know just what I suspect. I'm like Dr. Hanson, floored. I wonder if Vandam would voluntarily take all the capsules at once in order to be with his wife. One of them alone would be quite sufficient if the ghost should take a notion, as I think it will, to walk in the daytime, replied Craig enigmatically. I don't want to run any chances, as I have said. I may be wrong in my theory of the case, Walter, so let us not discuss this phase of it until I have gone a step farther and am sure of my ground. O'Connor's man will get the capsules before Vandam has a chance to take the first one anyhow. The ghost has a purpose in that message, for O'Connor tells me that Vandam's lawyer visited him yesterday, and in all probability a new will is being made. Perhaps has already been made. We breakfasted in silence and later rode down to the office of Dr. Hanson, who greeted us enthusiastically. I've solved it at last, he cried. And it's easy! Kennedy looked gravely over the analysis which Dr. Hanson shoved into his hand, and seemed very much interested in the probable quantity of morphine that must have been taken to yield such an analysis. The physician had a textbook open on his desk. Our old ideas of the infallible test of morphine poisoning are all exploded, he said, excitedly beginning to read a passage he had marked in the book. I have thought that any quality of the pupils, that is to say, where they are not symmetrically contracted, is proof that a case is not one of narcotism, or morphine poisoning. But Professor Taylor has recorded a case of morphine poisoning in which the unsymmetrical contraction occurred. There, now. Until I happened to run across that in one of the authorities, I had supposed the symmetrical contraction of the pupils of the eyes to be the distinguishing symptom of morphine poisoning, Professor Kennedy. In my opinion we can, after all, make out our case as one of morphine poisoning. Is that case in the book all you base your opinion on? asked Craig with excessive politeness. Yes, sir, replied the doctor reluctantly. Well said Kennedy quietly. If you will investigate that case quoted from Professor Taylor, you will find that it has been proved that the patient had one glass eye. Then my contention collapses and she was not poisoned? No, I do not say that. All I say is that expert testimony would refute us as far as we have gone. But if you will let me make a few tests of my own, I can readily clear up that end of the case. I now feel sure. Let me take these samples to my laboratory. I was surprised when we ran into Inspector O'Connor waiting for us in the quarter of the criminal court's building as we left the office of the coroner's physician. He rushed up to Kennedy and shoved into his hand a pill box in which six capsules rattled. Kennedy narrowly inspected the box, opened it, and looked thoughtfully at the six white capsules lying so innocently within. One of these capsules would have been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to John, said Craig contemplatively, as he shut the box and deposited it carefully in the inside vest pocket. I don't believe I even said good morning to you, O'Connor, he continued. I hope I haven't kept you waiting here long. Have you obtained the samples of ink? Yes, Professor, here they are. As soon as you telephone this morning, I sent my men out separately to get them. There's the ink from the drugst. This is from the Van Dam Library. This is from Farmington's room, and this is from Mrs. Popper's apartment. Thank you, Inspector. I don't know what I'd do without your help, said Kennedy, eagerly taking four small vials from him. Science is all right, but organization enables science to work quickly, and quickness is the essence of this case. During the afternoon, Kennedy was very busy in his laboratory, where I found him that night after my hurried dinner, from which he was absent. What? Is it after dinnertime? he exclaimed, holding up a glass beaker and watching the reaction of something he poured into it from a test tube. Craig, I believe that when you're absorbed in a case you would rather work than eat. Did you have any lunch after I left you? I don't think so, he replied, regarding the beaker, and not his answer. Now, Walter, old fellow, I don't want you to be offended with me, but really I can work better if you don't constantly remind me of such things as eating and sleeping. Say, do you want to help me, really? Certainly. I'm as interested in the case as you are, but I can't make heads or tails of it, I replied. Then I wish you to look up Mrs. Popper tonight and have a private seance with her. What I want you to do particularly is to get a good idea of the looks of the room in which she is accustomed to work. I am going to duplicate it here in my laboratory as nearly as possible. Then I want you to arrange with her for a private circle here tomorrow night. Tell her it is with a few professors at the university who are interested in psychical research, and that Mr. Vandum will be present. I'd rather have her come willingly than to force her to come. Incidentally, what's that manager of hers, Farrington? By all means, he must accompany her. That evening I dropped casually in on Mrs. Popper. She was a woman of great brilliance and delicacy, both in her physical and mental perceptions, of exceptional vivacity and cleverness. She must have studied me more closely than I was aware of, for I believe she relied on diverting my attention whenever she desired to produce one of her really wonderful results. Needless to say, I was completely mystified by her performance. She did spirit writing that would have done credit to the immortal slate, told me a lot of things that were true and many more that were unverifiable or hopelessly vague. It was really worth much more than the price, and I did not need to feign the interest necessary to get her terms for a circle in the laboratory. Of course, I had to make the terms with Farrington. The first glance aroused my suspicions of him. He was shifty-eyed, and his face had a hard and mercenary look. In spite of, perhaps rather because of, my repugnance, we quickly came to an agreement, and as I left the apartment I mentally resolved to keep my eye on him. Craig came in late, having been engaged in his chemical analyses all the evening. From his manner I inferred that they had been satisfactory, and he seemed much gratified when I told him that I had arranged successfully for the seance, and that Farrington would accompany the medium. As we were talking over the case, a messenger arrived with a note from O'Connor. It was written with his usual brevity. Have just found from servants that Farrington and Mrs. P. have key to Vandemhaus. Wish I had known it before. How shadowed. No one has entered or left it tonight. Craig looked at his watch. It was a quarter after one. The ghost won't walk to night, Walter. He said as he entered his bedroom for a much needed rest. I guess I was right after all in getting the capsules as soon as possible. The ghost must have flitted unobserved in there this morning, directly after the maid brought them back from the druggist. Again, the next morning, he had me out of bed bright and early. As we descended from the sixth avenue, L, he led me into a peculiar little shop in the shadow of the L structure. He entered as though he knew the place well, but then that era of assurance was Kennedy's stock and trade, and sat very well on him. Few people, I suppose, have ever had a glimpse of this workshop of magic and deception. This little shop of marinas was the headquarters of the magicians of the country. Levitation and ghostly disappearing hands were on every side. The shelves in the back of the shop were full of nickel, brass, wire, wood, and paper mache contrivances, new and strange to the eye of the uninitiated. Yet it was all as systematic as a hardware shop. Is Señor Marina in, asked Craig of a girl in the first room, given up to picture postcards. The room was as deceptive as the trade, for it was only an antheroom to the storeroom I had described above. This storeroom was also a factory, and half a dozen artisans were hard at work in it. Yes, the Señor was in, the girl replied, leading us back into the workshop. He proved to be a short man with a bland open face and frank eyes, the very antithesis of his trade. I have arranged for a circle with Mrs. May Papa, began Kennedy, handing the man his card. I suppose you know her? Indeed, yes, he answered. I furnished her seantroom. Well, I want to hire for tonight just the same sort of tables, cabinets, carpets, everything that she has. Only hire, you understand, but I am willing to pay you well for them. It is the best way to get a good sitting, I believe. Can you do it? The little man thought for a moment, then replied. See, Señor, yes, very nearly, near enough. I would do anything for Mrs. Popper. She is a good customer, but her manager. My friend here, Mr. Jameson, has had seances with her in her own apartment. Interposed, Craig. Perhaps he can help you recollect just what is necessary. I know very well, Señor. I have the duplicate bill, the bill which was paid by that Farrington with a check from the banker of Andham. Leave it to me. Then you will get the stuff together this morning and have it to my place this afternoon? Yes, Professor, yes. It is a bargain. I would do anything for Mrs. Popper. She is a fine woman. Late that afternoon I rejoined Craig at his laboratory. Señor Marina had already arrived with the truck and was disposing the paraphernalia about the laboratory. He had first laid a thick black rug. Mrs. Popper very much affected black carpets, and I had noticed that Van Doms room was carpeted in black, too. I suppose black conceals everything that one ought to see in a seance. A cabinet with a black curtain, several chairs, a light deal table, several banjos, horns, and other instruments were disposed about the room. With a few suggestions from me, we made a fair duplication of the hangings on the walls. Kennedy was manifestly anxious to finish, and at last it was done. After Marina had gone, Kennedy stretched a curtain over the end of the room farthest from the cabinet. Behind it he placed on a shelf the apparatus composed of the pendulums and magnets. The beakers and test tubes were also on this shelf. He had also arranged that the cabinet should be so situated that it was next a hallway that ran past his laboratory. Tonight, Jameson, he said, indicating a spot on the hall wall, just back at the cabinet, I shall want you to bring my guests out here and do a little spirit wrapping. I'll tell you just what to do when the time comes. That night, when we gathered in the transform laboratory, there were Henry Vandum, Dr. Hanson, Inspector O'Connor, Kennedy, and myself. At last the sound of wheels was heard, and Mrs. Popper drove up in a handsome, accompanied by Farrington. They both inspected the room narrowly and seemed satisfied. I had, as I have said, taken a serious dislike to the man, and watched him closely. I did not like his air of calm assurance. The lights were switched off, all except one sixteen candle-power lamp in the farthest corner, shaded by a deep red globe. It was just light enough to see to read very large print with difficulty. Mrs. Popper began immediately with the table. Kennedy and I sat on her right and left, respectively, in the circle, and held her hands and feet. I confessed to a real thrill when I felt the light table rise first on two legs, then on one, and finally remained suspended in the air, once it dropped with a thud, as if someone had suddenly withdrawn his support. The medium sat with her back to the curtain of the cabinet, and several times I could have sworn that a hand reached out and passed close to my head. At least, it seemed so. The curtain bulged at times, and a breeze seemed to sweep out from the cabinet. After some time of this sort of work, Craig led gradually up to a request for a materialization of the control of Vandam. But Mrs. Popper refused. She said she did not feel strong enough, and Farrington put a hasty word that he, too, could feel that there was something working against them. But Kennedy was important, and at last she consented to see if John would do some wrapping, even if he could not materialize. Kennedy asked to be permitted to put the questions. Are you the John who appears to Mr. Vandam every night to twelve-thirty? came the faint reply from the cabinet. Or rather, it seemed to me to come from the floor near the cabinet, and perhaps to be a trifle muffled by the black carpet. Are you in communication with Mrs. Vandam? Can she be made to wrap for us? Will you ask her a question and spell out her answer? Craig paused the moment to frame the question, then shouted out point blank. Does Mrs. Vandam know now in the other world whether anyone in this room substituted a morphine capsule for one of those ordered by her three days before she died? Does she know whether the same person has done the same thing with those later ordered by Mr. Vandam? John seemed considerably perturbed at the mention of capsules. It was a long time before any answer was forthcoming. Kennedy was about to repeat the question when a faint sound was heard. Suddenly came a wild scream. It was such a scream as I have never heard before in my life. It came as though a dagger had been thrust into the heart of Mrs. Popper. The lights flashed up as Kennedy turned to switch. A man was laying flat on the floor. It was Inspector O'Connor. He had succeeded in slipping noiselessly like a snake below the curtain into the cabinet. Craig had told him to look out for wires or threads stretched from Mrs. Popper's clothing to the bulging curtain of the cabinet. Imagine his surprise when he saw that she had simply freed her foot from the shoe, which I was carefully holding down, and with the backward movement of the leg was reaching out into the cabinet behind her chair and was doing the wrapping with her toes. Lying on the floor, he had grasped her foot and caught her heel with a firm hand. She had responded with a wild yell that showed she knew she was trapped. Her secret was out. Hysterically Mrs. Popper began to upgrade the inspector as he rose to his feet, but Farrington quickly interposed. Something was working against us tonight, gentlemen. Yet you demanded results, and when the spirits will not come, what is she to do? She forgets herself in her trends. She produces herself the things that you all see supernaturally if you were in sympathy. The mere sound of Farrington's voice seemed to rouse in me all the animosity of my nature. I felt the man who could trump up an excuse like that when a person was caught with the goods was capable of almost anything. Enough of this fake seance, exclaimed Craig. I have let it go on merely for the purpose of opening the eyes of a certain deluded gentleman in this room. Now, if you will all be seated, I shall have something to say that will finally establish whether Mary Vandham was the victim of accident, suicide, or murder. With hearts beating rapidly, we sat in silence. Craig took the beakers and test tubes from the shelf behind the curtain and placed them on a little deal table that had been so merrily dancing about the room. The increasing frequency with which tales of murder by poison appear in the newspapers, he began formally, is proof of how rapidly this new civilization of ours is taking on the aspects of the older civilizations across the seas. Human life is cheap in this country, but the ways in which human life has been taken among us have usually been direct, simple, aboveboard, in keeping with our democratic and pioneer traditions. The pistol and the bowie knife for the individual, the rope and the torch for the mob, have been the usual instruments of sudden death. But when we begin to use poisons most artfully compounded in order to hasten an inspected bequest and remove obstacles in its way, well, we are practicing an art that calls up all the memories of 16th century Italy. In this beaker, he continued, I have some of the contents of the stomach of the unfortunate woman, but Gornald's physician was found that they showed traces of morphine. Was the morphine in such quantities as to be fatal? Without doubt. But equally without doubt, analysis could not discover and prove it in the face of one inconsistency. The usual test which shows morphine poisoning failed in this case. The pupils of her eyes were not symmetrically contracted. In fact, they were normal. Now, the murderer must have known of this test. This clever criminal also knew that to be successful in the use of this drug where others had failed, the drug must be skewfully mixed with something else. In that first box of capsules there were six. The drug has compounded them correctly according to the prescription. But between the time when they came into the house from the drugists and the time when she took the first capsule that night, someone who had access to the house emptied one capsule of its harmless contents and refilled it with a deadly dose of morphine, a white powder which looks just like the powder already in the capsules. Why then, the normal pupils of the eyes? Simply because the criminal put a little atrophine or belladonna with the morphine. My test show absolutely the presence of atropine, Dr. Hanson, said Greg, bowing to the physician. The best evidence, however, is yet to come. A second box of six capsules, all intact, was discovered yesterday in the possession of Henry Vandam. I have analyzed the capsules. One contains no quinine at all. It is all morphine and atropine. It is, without doubt, precisely similar to the capsule which killed Mrs. Vandam. Another night or so, and Henry Vandam would have died the same death. The old man groaned. Two such exposures had shaken him. He looked from one of us to another, as if not knowing in whom he could trust. But Kennedy hurried on to his next point. Who was it that gave the prescription to Mrs. Vandam originally? She is dead and cannot tell. The others won't tell. For the person who gave her that prescription was a person who later substituted the fatal capsule in place of the harmless. The original prescription is here. I have been able to discover from it nothing at all by examining the handwriting. Nor does the texture of the paper indicate anything to me. But the ink. Ha ha, the ink. Most inks seem very similar, I suppose. But to a person who has made a study of the chemical composition of ink, they are very different. Ink is composed of iron tenet, which on exposure to air gives the black of writing. The original pigments, say blue or black ink, is placed in the ink to make the writing visible at first and gradually fades, giving place to the black of the tenet which is formed. The dye stops employed in the commercial inks of today vary in color from pale greenish blue to indigo and deep violet. No two give identical reactions. At all events, not when mixed with the iron tenet to form the pigment in writing. It is owing to the difference in these provincial coloring matters that it is possible to distinguish between writing written with different kinds of ink. I was able easily to obtain samples of the inks used by the Vandems, by Mrs. Papa, by Mr. Farrington, and by the drugist. I have compared the writing of the original prescription with a color scale of my own construction, and I have made chemical tests. The drugist ink conforms exactly to the writing on the two pill boxes, but not to the prescription. One of the other three inks conforms by test absolutely to the ink in that prescription signed Dr. C. W. H. as a blind. In a moment my chain of evidence against the owner of that bottle of ink will be complete. I could not help but think of the two pendulums on the shelf behind the curtain, but Craig said nothing for a moment to indicate that he referred to that apparatus. We sat dazed. Farrington seemed nervous and ill at ease. Mrs. Papa, who had not recovered from the hysterical condition of her exposure, with difficulty controlled her emotion, Vandem was crushed. I have not only arranged this laboratory so as to reproduce Mrs. Papa's seance room, began Craig afresh, but I have had the cabinet placed in relatively the same position a similar cabinet occupies in Mr. Vandem's private seance room in the Vandem mansion. One night Mr. Jameson and myself were visiting Mr. Vandem. At precisely 12.30 we heard most unaccountable wrappings from that cabinet. I particularly noted the position of the cabinet. Back of it ran a hallway. This is duplicated here. Back of this cabinet is a hallway. I had heard of these wrappings before we went, but was afraid that it would be impossible for me to catch the ghost red-handed. There is a limit to what you can do for the first time you enter a man's house, and besides, that was no time to arouse suspicion in the minds of anyone. But science has a way out of every dilemma. I determined to learn something of these wrappings. Craig paused and glanced first at Farrington, then at Mrs. Papa, and then at Mr. Vandem. Mr. Jameson, he resumed, will escort the doctor, the inspector, Mr. Farrington, Mrs. Papa, and Mr. Vandem into my imitation hall of the Vandem mansion. I want each of you in turn to tiptoe up that hall to a spot indicated on the wall, back of the cabinet, and strike that spot several sharp blows with your knuckles. I did as Craig instructed, tiptoeing up myself first so that they could not mistake his meaning. The rest followed separately, and, after a moment, we returned silently and suppressed excitement to the room. Craig was still standing by the table, but now the pendulums with the magnets and needles in the drums worked by clockwork were before him. Another person outside the Vandem family had a key to the Vandem mansion, he began gravely. That person, by the way, was the one who waited night by night until Mrs. Vandem took the fatal capsule, and then, when she had taken it, appraise the old man of the fact and strengthened an already blind faith in the shadow world. You could have heard a pin drop. In fact, you could have almost felt it drop. That other person who, unobserved, had free access to the house, he continued in the breathless stillness, is in this room now. He was looking at O'Connor as if for corroboration. O'Connor nodded. Information that I from the butler, he muttered. I did not know this until yesterday, Kennedy continued, but I suspected that something of the sort existed when I was first told by Dr. Hanson of the wrappings. I determined to hear those wrappings and make a record of them. So the night Mr. Jameson and I visited Mr. Vandem, I carried this little instrument with me. Almost lovingly he touched the pendulums on the table. They were now at rest and kept so by means of a lever that prevented all vibration whatever. See, I released this lever. Now, let no one in the room move. Watch the needles on the paper as the clockwork revolves the drums. I take a step ever so lightly. The pendulums vibrate, and the needles trace a broken line on the paper on each drum. I stop. The lines are practically straight. I take another step, and another, ever so lightly. See, the delicate pendulums vibrate. See, the lines they trace are jagged lines. He stripped the paper off the drums and laid it flat on the table before him, with two other similar pieces of paper. Just before the time of the wrappings, I placed this instrument in the corner of the Vandem cabinet. Just as I placed it in this cabinet after Mr. Jameson conducted you from the room, in neither case were suspicions aroused. Everything in both cases was perfectly normal. I mean, the ghost was in ignorance of the presence, if not the very existence of this instrument. This is an improved seismograph, he explained, one after a very recent model by Prince Geltzen of Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg. The seismograph, as you know, was devised to register earthquakes at a distance. This one not only measures the size of a distant earthquake, but the actual direction from which the earth tremors come. That is why there are two pendulums and two drums. The magnetic arrangement is to cut short the vibrations set up in the pendulums, to prevent them from continuing to vibrate after the first shock. Thus, they are ready in an instant to record another tremor. Other seismographs continue to vibrate for a long time as a result of one tremor only. Besides, they give little indication of the direction from which the tremors come. I think you must all appreciate that your tip towing up the hall must cause a far greater disturbance in this delicate seismograph than even a very severe earthquake thousands of miles away, which it was built to record. He paused and examined the paper sharply. This is the record made by the ghosts walked the other night, he said, holding up two of them in his left hand. Here, on the table, on two other longer sheets, I have recorded the vibrations set up by those in this room walking tonight. Here is Mr. Jamesons. His is not a bit like the ghosts, nor is Mr. Vandems. Least of all are Dr. Hansen and Inspector O'Connor's, for they are heavy men. Now, here is Mr. Farrington's. He bent down closely. He is a light man, and the ghost was light. Craig was playing with his victim like a cat with a mouse. Suddenly, I felt something brush by me, and with a swish of air and garments I saw Mrs. Popper fling herself wildly at the table to bore the incriminating records. In another instant, Farrington was on his feet, and it made a wild leap in the same direction. It was done so quickly that I must have acted first and thought afterward. I found myself in the midst of a melee with my hand at his throat and his at mine. O'Connor, with the Jujutsu movement, bent Farrington's other arm until he released me with a cry of pain. In front of me, I saw Craig grasping Mrs. Popper's wrist as in a vice. She was glaring at him like a Tigris. Do you suppose for a moment that that toy is going to convince the world that Henry Vandem has been deceived, and that the spirit which visited him was a fraud? Is that why you have lured me here under false pretenses? To play on my feelings? To insult me? To take advantage of a lone defenseless woman surrounded by hostile men? Shame on you! she added contemptuously. You call yourself a gentleman, but I call you a coward! Kennedy, always calm and collected, ignored the tirade. His voice was as cold as steel, as he said. It would do little good, Mrs. Popper, to destroy this one link in the chain I have forged. The other links are too heavy for you. Don't forget the evidence of the ink. It was your ink. Don't forget that Henry Vandem will not any longer conceal that he has altered his will in favor of you. Tonight he goes from here to his lawyers to draw up a new will altogether. Don't forget that you have caused the Vandem separately to have the prescription filled, and you are now caught in the act of a double murder. Don't forget that you had access to the Vandem mansion, that you substituted the deadly for the harmless capsules. Don't forget that your wrappings announced the death of one of your victims and urged the other, a cruelly wronged and credulous old man, to leave millions to you who had deceived and would have killed him. No, the record of the ghost on the seismograph was not Mr. Farrington's, as I implied at the moment when you so kindly furnished this additional proof of your guilt by trying to destroy the evidence. The ghost was you, Mrs. Popper, and you are at liberty to examine the markings as minutely as you please, but you must not destroy them. You are an astute criminal, Mrs. Popper, but tonight you are under arrest for the murder of Mary Vandem and the attempted murder of Henry Vandem. The Diamond Maker. I've called Professor Kennedy to see if we can retain you in a case which, I'm sure, will tax even your resources. Heaven knows it is taxed ours. The visitor was a large, well-built man. He placed his hat on the table and, without taking off his gloves, sat down in an easy chair which he completely filled. Andrews is my name, third vice president of the Great Eastern Life Insurance Company. I am the nominal head of the company's private detective force, and, though I have some pretty clever fellows on my staff, we've got a case that none of us has been able to unravel. I'd like to consult you about it. Kennedy expressed his entire willingness to be consulted in, and after the usual formalities were over, Mr. Andrews proceeded. I suppose you're aware that the large insurance companies maintain quite elaborate detective forces and follow very keenly such cases of their policyholders, as I look at all suspicious. This case, which I wish to put in your hands, is that of Mr. Solomon Morowitz, a wealthy Maiden Lane jeweler. I suppose you've read something in the papers about his sudden death and the strange robbery of his safe? Very little, replied Craig. There hasn't been much to read. Of course not, of course not, said Mr. Andrews, with some show of gratification. I flatter myself that we have pulled the wires so as to keep the thing out of the papers as much as possible. We don't want to frighten the quarry till the net is spread. The point is, though, to find out who is the quarry, it's most baffling. I am at your service, interposed Craig quietly, but you will have to enlighten me as to the facts in the case. As to that, I know no more than the newspapers. Oh, certainly, certainly. That is to say, you know nothing at all and can approach it without bias. He paused, and then seemed to notice something in Craig's manner, added hastily. I'll be perfectly frank with you. The policy in question is for one hundred thousand dollars, and is incontestable. His wife is a beneficiary. The company is perfectly willing to pay, but we want to be sure that it is all straight first. There are certain suspicious circumstances that, in justice to ourselves, we think should be cleared up. That is all. Believe me, we are not seeking to avoid an honest liability. What are these suspicious circumstances? asked Craig, apparently satisfied with the explanation. This is in strict confidence, gentlemen, began Mr. Andrews. Mr. Morovich, according to the story as it comes to us, returned home late one night last week, apparently from his office, in a very weakened, a semi-conscious condition. His family physician, Dr. Thornton, was summoned, not at once, but shortly. He pronounced Mr. Morovich to be suffering from a congestion of the lungs that was likely a sudden attack of pneumonia. Mr. Morovich had, at once, gone to bed, or at least was in bed when the doctor arrived. But his condition grew worse so rapidly that the doctor hastily resorted to oxygen, under which treatment he seemed to revive. The doctor had just stepped out to see another patient when a hurry call was sent to him that Mr. Morovich was rapidly sinking. He died before the doctor could return. No statement, whatever, concerning the cause of his sudden illness was made by Mr. Morovich, and the death certificate, a copy of which I have, gives pneumonia as the cause of death. One of our men has seen Dr. Thornton, what has been able to get nothing out of him. Mrs. Morovich was the only person with her husband at the time. There was something in his tone that made me take particular note of this last fact, especially as he paused for an instant. Now, perhaps there would be nothing surprising about it all, so far at least, were it not for the fact that the following morning, when his junior partner, Mr. Kahan, opened the place of business, or rather went to it, for it was to remain closed, of course, he found that during the night someone had visited it. The lock on the Great Safe, which contained thousands of dollars worth of diamonds, was intact, but in the top of the safe a huge hole was found, an irregular round hole big enough to put your foot through. Imagine it, Professor Kennedy, a great hole in a safe that is made of chrome steel, a safe that, short of a safety deposit vault, ought to be about the strongest thing on earth. Why, that steel would dull and splinter even the finest diamond drill before it made an impression. The mere taking out and refitting of drills into the brace would be a most lengthy process. Eighteen or twenty hours is the time by actual test which it would take to bore such a hole through those laminated plates, even if there were means of exerting artificial pressure. As for the police, they haven't even a theory yet. And the diamonds? All gone. Everything of any value was gone. Even the letter files were ransacked. His desk was broken open, and papers of some nature had been taken out of it. Thoreau is no name for the job. Isn't that enough to arouse suspicion? I should like to see that safe, was all Kennedy said. So you shall, so you shall, said Mr. Andrews. Then we may retain you in our service. My car is waiting downstairs. We can go right down to Maiden Lane, if you wish. You may retain me on one condition, said Craig, without moving. I am to be free to get at the truth whether it benefits or hurts the company, and the case is to be entirely in my hands. Hats on, agreed Mr. Andrews, reaching in his vest pocket and pulling out three or four bravahs. My chauffeur is quite a driver. He can almost beat the subway down. First to my laboratory, interposed Craig. It will only take a few minutes. We drove up to the university and stopped on the campus while Craig hurried into the chemistry building to get something. I like your professor of criminal science, said Andrews to me, blowing a huge fragrant cloud of smoke. I, for my part, like the Vice President, he was a man who seemed thoroughly to enjoy life, to have most of the good things and a capacity for getting out of them all that was humanly possible. He seemed to be particularly enjoying this Moro-Witch case. He has solved some naughty cases, was all I said. I've come to believe that there's no limit to his resourcefulness. I hope not. He's up against a tough one this trip, though, my boy. I did not even resent the my boy. Andrews was one of those men in whom we newspaper writers instinctively believe. I knew that it would be pens lifted only so long as the case was incomplete. When the time comes with such men, they are ready to furnish us the best copy in the world. Kennedy quickly rejoined us, carrying a couple of little glass bottles with ground glass stoppers. Moro-Witching Company was, of course, closed when we arrived, but we had no trouble in being admitted by the central office man who had been detailed to lock the barn door after the horse was stolen. It was precisely as Mr. Andrews had said. Mr. Cahan showed us the safe. Through the top a great hole had been made. I say made, for at the moment I was at a loss to know whether it had been cut, drilled, burned, blown out, or whatnot. Kennedy examined the edges of the hole carefully, and just a trace of a smile of satisfaction flitted over his face as he did so. Without saying a word he took the glass stopper out of the larger bottle which he had brought and poured the contents on the top of the safe near the hole. There it lay, a little mound of reddish powder. Kennedy took a little powder of another kind from the other bottle and lighted it with a match. Stand back, close to the wall, he called as he dropped the burning mass on the red powder. In two or three leaps he joined us at the far end of the room. Almost instantly a dazzling intense flame broke out and sizzled and crackled. With bated breath we watched. It was almost incredible, but that glowing mass of powder seemed literally to be sinking, sinking right down into the cold steel. Intense silence we waited. On the ceiling we could still see the reflection of the molten mass in the cup, which it had burned for itself in the top of the safe. At last it fell through into the safe, fell as the burning roof of a frame building would fall into the building. No one spoke a word, but as we cautiously peered over the top of the safe we instinctively turned to Kennedy for an explanation. The central office man, with eyes as big as half-dollars, acted almost as if he would have liked to clap the irons on Kennedy, for there in the top of the safe was another hole, smaller but identical in nature with the first one. Thurmit, was all Kennedy said. Thurmit, echoed Andrews, shifting the cigar which he had allowed to go out in the excitement. Yes, an invention of a chemist named Goldschmidt of Essen, Germany. It is a compound of iron oxide, such as comes off a blacksmith's anvil or the rolls of a rolling mill, and powdered metallic aluminum. You could thrust a red hard bar into it without setting it off, but when you light a little magnesium powder and drop it on thurmit, a combustion is started that quickly reaches 5400 degrees Fahrenheit. It has the peculiar property of concentrating its heat to the immediate spot on which it is placed. It is one of the most powerful oxidizing agents known, and it doesn't even melt the rest of the steel surface. You see how it ate its way through the steel? Either black or red thurmit will do the trick equally well. No one said anything. There was nothing to say. Someone uncommonly clever or instructed by someone uncommonly clever must have done that job, added Craig. Well, there's nothing more to be done here, he added, at the cursory look about the office. Mr. Andrews, may I have a word with you? Come on, Jameson. Good day, Mr. Cahan. Good day, officer. Outside we stop for a moment at the door of Andrews' car. I shall want to see Mr. Morowitz's papers at home, said Craig, and also to call on Dr. Thornton. Do you think I shall have any difficulty? Not at all, replied Mr. Andrews. Not at all. I will go with you myself and see that you have none. Say, Professor Kennedy, he broke out. That was marvelous! I never dreamed such a thing was possible. But don't you think you could have learned something more up there in the office by looking around? I did learn it, answered Kennedy. The lock on the door was intact. Whoever did the job let himself in by a key. There was no other way to get in. Andrews gave a low whistle and glanced involuntarily up the window with a side of Morowitz and company and gold letters several floors above. Don't look up. I think there was Cahan looking out at us. He said, fixing his eyes on his cigar. I wonder if he knows more about this than he has told. He was the company, you know, but his interest in the business was only very slight. By George, not too fast, Mr. Andrews, interrupted Craig. We have still to see Mrs. Morowitz and the doctor before we form any theories. A very handsome woman, too, said Andrews, as we seated ourselves in the car. A good deal younger than Morowitz. Say, Cahan isn't a bad-looking chap either, is he? I hear he was a very frequent visitor at his partner's house. Well, which first? Mrs. M. or the doctor? The house, answered Craig. Mr. Andrews introduced us to Mrs. Morowitz, who was in very deep morning, which served as I could not help noticing, rather to heighten and lessen her beauty. By contrast, it brought out the rich deep color of her face and the graceful lines of her figure. She was altogether a very attractive young widow. She seemed to have a sort of fear of Andrews, whether merely because he represented the insurance company on which so much depended, or because there were other reasons for fear I could not, of course, make out. Andrews was very courteous and polite, yet I caught myself asking if it was not a professional, rather than a personal, politeness. Remembering his stress on the fact that she was alone with her husband when he died, it suddenly flashed across my mind that somewhere I had read of a detective who, as his net was being woven about a victim, always grew more and more ominously polite toward the victim. I know that Andrews suspected her of a close connection with the case. As for myself, I don't know what I suspected as yet. No objection was offered to our request to examine Mr. Morowitz's personal effects in the library, and, accordingly, Craig ransacked the desk in the letter file. There was practically nothing to be discovered. Had Mr. Morowitz ever received any threats of robbery? asked Craig as he stood before the desk. Not that I know of, replied Mrs. Morowitz. Of course, every jeweler who carries a large stock of diamonds must be careful. But I don't think my husband had any special reason to fear robbery. At least he never said anything about it. Why do you ask? Oh, nothing. I merely thought there might be some hint as to the motives of the robbery, said Craig. He was fingering one of those desk calendars which have separate leaves for each day, with blank spaces for appointments. Closed deal pass on, he read slowly from one of the entries as it to himself. That's strange. It was the correspondence under the letter P that was destroyed at the office, and there is nothing in the letter file here either. Who was Poisson? Mrs. Morowitz hesitated, either from ignorance or from a desire to evade the question. A chemist, I think, she said doubtfully. My husband had some dealings with him, some discovery he was going to buy. I don't know anything about it. I thought the deal was off. The deal? Really, Mr. Kennedy. You'd better ask Mr. Cahan. My husband talked very little to me about business affairs. But what was the discovery? I don't know. I only heard Mr. Morowitz and Mr. Cahan refer to some deal about a discovery regarding diamonds. Then Mr. Cahan knows about it. I presume so. Thank you, Mrs. Morowitz, said Kennedy, when it was evident that she either could not or would not add anything to what she had said. Pardon us for causing all this trouble. No trouble at all, she replied graciously, though I could see she was intent on every word and motion of Kennedy and Andrews. Kennedy stopped the car at a drug store a few blocks away and asked for the business telephone directory. In an instant under chemists he put his finger on the name of Poisson. Henry Poisson Electric Frenes' William Street, he read. I shall visit him to-morrow morning. Now for the doctor. Dr. Thornton was an excellent specimen of the genus physician to the wealthy, polished, cool, suave. One of Mr. Andrews' men, as I have said, had seen him already, but the interview had been very unsatisfactory. Evidently, however, the doctor had been turning something over in his mind since then, and had thought better of it. At any rate, his manner was cordial enough now. As he closed the doors to his office, he began to pace the floor. Mr. Andrews, he said, I am in some doubt whether I had better tell you or the corner or what I know. There are certain professional secrets that a doctor must, as a duty to his patients, conceal. That is, professional ethics. But there are also cases when, as a matter of public policy, a doctor should speak out. He stopped and faced us. I don't mind telling you that I dislike the publicity that would attend any statement I might make to the corner. Exactly, said Andrews. I appreciate your position exactly. Your other patients would not care to see you involved in a scandal, or at least you would not care to have them see you so involved. With all the newspaper notoriety such a thing brings. Dr. Thornton shot a quick glance at Andrews, as if he would like to know just how much his visitor knew or suspected. Andrews drew a paper from his pocket. This is a copy of the death certificate, he said. The Board of Health has furnished it to us. Our physicians at the insurance company tell me it is rather extraordinarily vague. A word from us calling the attention of the proper authorities to it would be sufficient, I think. But, doctor, that is just the point. We do not desire publicity any more than you do. We could have the body of Mr. Morrowich exhumed and examined, but I prefer to get the facts in the case without resorting to such extreme measures. It would do no good, interrupted the doctor hastily. And if you'll save me the publicity, I'll tell you why. Andrews nodded, but still held the death certificate where the doctor was constantly reminded of it. In that certificate I have put down the cause of death as congestion of the lungs due to an acute attack of pneumonia. That is substantially correct as far as it goes. When I was summoned to see Mr. Morrowich, I found him in a semi-conscious state and scarcely breathing. Mrs. Morrowich told me that he had been brought home in a taxi cab by a man who had picked him up on William Street. I'm frank to say that at first sight I thought it was a case of plain intoxication, for Mr. Morrowich sometimes indulged a little freely when he made a splendid deal. I smelled his breath, which was very feeble. It had a sickish sweet odor, but that did not impress me at the time. I applied my stethoscope to his lungs. There was a very marked congestion, and I made as my working diagnosis pneumonia. It was a case for quick and heroic action. In a very few minutes I had a tank of oxygen from the hospital. In the meantime I thought over that Swedish odor and it flashed on my mind that it might, after all, be a case of poisoning. When the oxygen arrived I administered it at once. As it happens the Rockefeller Institute has just published a report of experiments with a new antidote for various poisons, which consists simply in a new method of enforced breathing and throwing off the poison by oxidizing it that way. In either case, the pneumonia theory or the poison theory, this line of action was the best that I could have adopted on the spur of the moment. I gave him some strychnine to strengthen his heart, and by hard work I had him resting apparently a little easier. A nurse had been sent for but had not arrived when a messenger came to me telling of a very sudden illness of Mrs. Mori, the wife of the steel magnet. As the Mori home is only a half block away, I left Mr. Morović, with very particular instructions to his wife as to what to do. I had intended to return immediately, but before I got back Mr. Morović was dead. Now I think I told you all. You see, it was nothing but a suspicion, hardly enough to warrant making a fuss about. I made out the death certificate as you see. Probably that would have been all there was to it if I hadn't heard of this incomprehensible robbery. That set me thinking again. There. I'm glad I got it out of my system. I've thought about it a good deal since your man was here to see me. What do you suspect was the cause of that Swedish odour? Ask Kennedy. The doctor hesitated. Mind, it is only a suspicion. Cyanide of potassium or cyanogen gas either would give such an odour. Your treatment would have been just the same had you been certain. Practically the same, the Rockefeller treatment. Could it have been suicide? asked Andrews. There was no motive for it, I believe, replied the doctor. But was there any such poison in the Morović house? I know that they were much interested in photography. Cyanide of potassium is used in certain processes in photography. Who was interested in photography, Mr. or Mrs. Morović? Both of them. Was Mrs. Morović? Both of them, repeated the doctor hastily. It was evident how Andrews questions were tending, and it was also evident that the doctor did not wish to commit himself, or even to be misunderstood. Kennedy had sat silently for some minutes, turning the thing over in his mind. Apparently disregarding Andrews entirely, he now asked. Doctor, supposing it had been cyanogen gas which caused the congestion of the lungs, and supposing it had not been inhaled in quantities large enough to kill outright, do you nevertheless feel that Mr. Morović was in a weak enough condition to die as a result of the congestion produced by the gas after the traces of the cyanogen had been perhaps thrown off? That is precisely the impression I wish to convey. Might I ask whether in his semi-conscious state he said anything that might at all serve as a clue? He talked randomly, incoherently. As near as I can remember it, he seemed to believe himself to have become a billionaire. He talked of diamonds, diamonds, diamonds. He seemed to be picking them up, running his fingers through them, and, once I remember, he seemed to want to send for Mr. Kahan and tell him something. I can make them, Kahan, he said. The finest, the largest, the widest, I can make them. Kennedy was all attention as Dr. Thornton added this new evidence. You know, concluded the doctor, that in cyanogen poisoning there might be hallucinations of the wildest kind, but then, too, in the delirium of pneumonia, it might be the same. I could see by the way Kennedy acted that for the first time a ray of light had dawned upon him in tracing out the case. As we rose to go, the doctor shook hands with us. His last words were said with an air of great relief. Gentlemen, I have eased my conscience considerably. As we parted for the night, Kennedy faced Andrews. You recall that you promised me one thing when I took up this case? He asked. Andrews nodded. Then take no steps until I tell you. Shadow misses Morowitz and Mr. Kahan, but do not let them know you suspect them of anything. Let me run down this croissant clue. In other words, leave the case entirely in my hands in other respects. Let me know any new facts you may unearth, and sometime tomorrow I shall call upon you, and we will determine what the next step is to be. Good night. I want to thank you for putting me in the way of this case. I think we shall all be surprised at the outcome. It was late the following afternoon before I saw Kennedy again. He was in his laboratory winding two strands of platinum wire carefully about a piece of porcelain and smearing out at some peculiar black grassy granular substance that came in a sort of pencil, like a stick of ceiling wax. I noticed that he was very particular to keep the two wires exactly the same distance from each other throughout the entire length of the piece of porcelain, but I said nothing to distract his attention. Though a thousand questions about the progress of the case were at my tongue's end. Instead, I watched him intently. The black substance formed a sort of bridge connecting and covering the wires. When he had finished, he said, Now you can ask me more questions while I heat and anneal this little contrivance. I see you're bursting with curiosity. Well, did you see Poisson? I asked. Kennedy continued to heat the wire-covered porcelain. I did, and he is going to give me a demonstration of his discovery tonight. His discovery? You remember Morowitz's hallucination, as the doctor called it? That was no hallucination. That was reality. This man Poisson says he has discovered a way to make diamonds artificially out of pure carbon in an electric furnace. Morowitz, I believe, was to buy his secret. His dream of millions was a reality, at least to him. And out at Cajun and Mrs. Morowitz know it, I asked quickly. I don't know yet, replied Craig, finishing the annealing. The black glassy substance was now a dull gray. What's that stuff you were putting on the wire, I asked? Oh, just a by-product made in the manufacture of sulfuric acid, answered Kennedy eerily, adding, as if to change the subject. I want you to go with me tonight. I told Poisson I was a professor in the university, and that I would bring one of our younger trustees, the son of a banker, T. Pirmont Spencer, who might put some capital into his scheme. Now, Jameson, while I'm finishing up my work here, run over to the apartment and get my automatic revolver. I may need it tonight. I have communicated with Andrews, and he will be ready. The demonstration will take place at half-fast eight at Poisson's laboratory. I tried to get him to give it here, but he absolutely refused. Half an hour later, I'd rejoined Craig at his laboratory, as we rode down to the Great Eastern Life Building. Andrews was waiting for us in his solidly furnished office. Outside, I noted a couple of husky men who seemed to be waiting for orders from their chief. From the manner in which the vice-president greeted us, it was evident he was keenly interested in what Kennedy was about to do. So you think more of which's deal was a deal to purchase the secret of diamond-making? he mused. I feel sure of it, replied Craig. I felt sure of it the moment I looked up Poisson and found that he was a manufacturer of electric furnaces. Don't you remember the famous Le Mans case in London and Paris? Yes, but Le Mans was a faker of the first water, said Andrews. Do you think this man is too? That is what I'm going to find out tonight before I take another step, said Craig. Of course, there can be no doubt that by proper use of the electric furnace will make small, almost microscopic diamonds. It is not unreasonable to suppose that someday someone will be able to make large diamonds synthetically by the same process. Maybe this man has done it, agreed Andrews. Who knows? I'll wager that if he has and that if Morowitz had bought an interest in the process, Cahan knew of it. He's a sharp one. And Mrs. Morowitz doesn't let grass grow under her feet when it comes to seeing the main chance as to money. Now, just supposing Mr. Morowitz had bought an interest in a secret like that, and supposing Cahan was in love with Mrs. Morowitz, and that they, let us suppose nothing, Mr. Andrews, interrupted Kennedy. At least not yet. Let me see. It is now ten minutes after eight. Pussant's place is only a few blocks from here. I'd like to get there a few minutes early. Let's start. As we left the office, Andrews signaled to the two men outside and they quietly followed a few feet in the rear, but without seeming to be with us. Pussant's laboratory was at the top of a sort of loft building a dozen stories or so high. It was a peculiar building, with several entrances beside a freight elevator at the rear and fire escapes that led to adjoining lower roofs. We stopped around the corner in the shadow, and Kennedy and Andrews talked earnestly. As near as I could make out, Kennedy was insisting that it would be best for Andrews and his men not to enter the building at all, but wait downstairs while he and I went up. At last the arrangement was agreed on. Here, said Kennedy, undoing a package he had carried, is a little electric bell with a couple of fresh dry batteries attached to it, and wires that will reach at least four hundred feet. You and the men wait in the shadows here by this side entrance for five minutes after Jameson and I go up. Then you must engage the night watchman in some way. While you are away, you will find two wires dangling down the elevator shaft. Attach them to these wires from the bell and the batteries. These two. You know how to do that. The wires will be hanging in the third shaft. Only one elevator is running at night. The first. The moment you hear the bell begin to ring, jump into the elevator and come up to the twelfth floor. We'll need you. As Kennedy and I rolled up in the elevator, I could not help thinking what an ideal place a downtown office building is for committing a crime, even at this early hour of the evening. If the streets were deserted, the office buildings were positively uncanny in their grim black silence, with only here and there a light. The elevator in the first shaft shot down again to the ground floor, and as it disappeared, Kennedy took two spools of wire from his pocket and hastily shoved them through the latticework of the third elevator shaft. They quickly unrolled and I could hear them strike the top of the empty car below in the basement. That meant that Andrews on the ground floor could reach the wires and attach them to the bell. Quickly, in the darkness, Kennedy attached the ends of the wires to the curious little coil I had seen him working on in the laboratory, and we proceeded down the hall to the rooms occupied by Passant. Kennedy had allowed for the wire to reach from the elevator shaft up to this hall also, and as he walked he pated out in such a manner that it fell on the floor close to the wall, where, in the darkness, it would never be noticed or stumbled over. Around an L in the hall, I could see a ground glass window with a light shining through it. Kennedy stopped at the window and quickly placed a little coil on the ledge, close up against the glass, with the wires running from it down the hall. Then we entered. On time to the minute, Professor, exclaimed Passant, snapping his watch. And this, I presume, is the banker who is interested in my great discovery of making artificial diamonds of any size or color? He added, indicating me. Yes, answered Craig. As I told you, a son of Mr. T. Pirmont Spencer. I shook hands with as much dignity as I could assume, for the role of impersonation was a new one to me. Kennedy, carelessly laid his coat and hat on the inside ledge of the ground glass window, just opposite the spot where he had placed a little coil on the other side of the glass. I noted that the window was simply a large pane of wire glass set in the wall for the purpose of emitting light in the daytime from the hall outside. The whole thing seemed eerie to me, especially as Passant's assistant was a huge fellow and had an evil look such as I had seen in pictures of the inhabitants of quarters of Paris which one does not frequent except in the company of a safe guide. I was glad Kennedy had brought his revolver, and rather vexed that he had not told me to do likewise. However, I trusted that Craig knew what he was about. We seated ourselves some distance from a table on which was a huge, plain, oblong contrivance that reminded me of the diagram of a parallelopipe which had caused so much trouble in my solid geometry at college. That's the electric furnace, sir, said Craig to me with an assumed deference, becoming a college professor explaining things to the son of a great financier. You see electrodes at either end? When the current is turned on and led through them into the furnace you can get the most amazing temperatures in the crucible. The most refractory of chemical compounds can be broken up by that heat. What is the highest temperature you have attained, professor? Something over 3,000 degrees centigrade, replied Passant, as he and his assistant busy themselves about the furnace. We sat watching him in silence. Ah, gentlemen, now I am ready, he exclaimed at length, when everything was arranged to his satisfaction. You see, here is a lump of sugar carbon, pure amorphous carbon. Diamonds, as you know, are composed of pure carbon crystallized under enormous pressure. Now my theory is that if we can combine an enormous pressure and an enormous heat, we can make diamonds artificially. The problem of pressure is the same, for here in the furnace we have the necessary heat. It occurred to me that when molten cast iron cools, it exerts a tremendous pressure. That pressure is what I use. You know, Spencer, solid iron floats on molten iron like solid water, ice floats on liquid water, explained Craig to me. Passant nodded. I take this sugar carbon and place it in the soft iron cup. Then I screw on this cap over the cup so. Now I place this massive iron scraps in the crucible of the furnace and start to furnace. He turned a switch, and long yellowish blue sheets of flame spurred it out from the electrodes on either side. It was weird, gruesome. One could feel the heat of the tremendous electric discharge. As I looked at the bluish yellow flames, they gradually changed to a beautiful purple, and the sickish sweet odor filled the room. The furnace roared at first, but as the vapors increased it became a better conductor of the electricity and the roaring ceased. In almost no time the mass of iron scraps became molten. Suddenly Passant plunged the cast iron cup into the seething mass. The cup floated and quickly began to melt. As it did so, he waited attentively until the proper moment. Then, with a deft notion, he seized the whole thing with a long pair of tongs and plunged it into a bat of running water. A huge call out of steam filled the room. I felt the drowsy sensation stealing over me as a sickish sweet smell from the furnace increased. Gripping the chair, I roused myself and watched Passant attentively. He was working rapidly. As the molten mass cooled and solidified, he took it out of the water and laid it on an anvil. Then his assistant began to hammer it with careful sharp blows, chipping off the outside. You see, we have to get down to the coral carbon gently, he said, as he picked up the little pieces of iron and threw them into a scrap box. First, rather brittle cast iron, then hard iron, then iron and carbon, and then some black diamonds, and in the very center the diamonds. Ah, we are getting to them. Here is a small diamond. See, Mr. Spencer? Gently, Francois, we shall come to the large ones presently. One moment, Professor Passant, interrupted Craig. Let your assistant break them out while I stand over him. Impossible. You would not know when you saw them. They are just rough stones. Oh, yes, I would. No, stay where you are. Unless I attend to it, the diamonds might be ruined. There was something peculiar about his insistence, but after he picked out the next diamond, I was hardly prepared for Kennedy's next remark. Let me see the palms of your hands. Passant shot an angry glance at Kennedy, but he did not open his hands. I merely wish to convince you, Mr. Spencer, said Kennedy to me, that it is no slight of hand trick, and that the professor has not several uncut stones palmed in his hand like a prestidigitator. The Frenchman faced us. His face liveth with rage. You call me a prestidigitator? A fraud? You shall suffer for that. Sacre bleu. Venture to St. Yes. No man ever insults Sian or Passant. Francois, water on the electrodes. The assistant dashed a few drops of water on the electrodes. The sickish odor increased tremendously. I felt myself almost going, but with an effort I again roused myself. I wondered how Craig stood the fumes, for I suffered an intense headache and nausea. Stop, Craig thundered. There's enough cyanogen in this room already. I know your game. The water forms acetylene with a carbon, and that uniting with the nitrogen of the air under the terrific heat of the electric arc forms hydrocyanetic acid. Would you poison us too, doctor? Do you think you can put me unconscious out on the street and have a society doctor diagnose my case as pneumonia? Or do you think we shall die quietly in some hospital, as a certain New York banker did last year after he had watched an alchemist make silver out of apparently nothing? The effect on Passant was terrible. He advanced toward Kennedy. The veins in his face fairly standing out. Shaking his forefinger, he shouted. You know that, do you? You are no professor, and this is no banker. You are spies, spies. You come from the friends of Morowitz, do you? You have gone too far with me. Kennedy said nothing but retreated and took his coat and head off the window ledge. The hideous penetrating light of the tongues of flame from the furnace played on the ground glass window. Passant laughed a hollow laugh. Put down your hat and coat, Mr. Kennedy, he hissed. The door has been locked ever since you have been here. Those windows are barred. The telephone wire is cut, and it is three hundred feet to the street. We shall leave you here when the films have overcome you. François and I can stand them up to a point, and when we reach that point, we are going. Instead of being cowed, Kennedy grew bolder, though I, for my part, felt so weakened that I feared the outcome of a hand-to-hand encounter with either Passant or François, who appeared as fresh as if nothing had happened. They were hurriedly preparing to leave us. That would do you no good, Kennedy rejoined, for we have no say full of jewels for you to rob. There are no keys to offices to be stolen from our pockets, and let me tell you, you are not the only man in New York who knows the secret of Thermite. I have told the secret to the police, and they are only waiting to find out who destroyed Morowitz's correspondence under the letter P to apprehend the robber of his safe. Your secret is out. Revenge! Revenge! Passant cried. I will have revenge. François, bring out the jewels. Ha! Ha! Here in this bag are the jewels of Mr. Morowitz. Tonight, François and I will go down by the back elevator to a secret exit. In two hours, all your police in New York cannot find us. But in two hours, you two imposters will be suffocated. Perhaps you will die of cyanogen, like Morowitz, whose jewels I have at last. He went to the door into the hall and stood there with a mocking laugh. I moved to make a rush toward them, but Kennedy raised his hand. You will suffocate! Passant hissed again. Just then we heard the elevator door clang, and hurried steps came down the long hall. Craig whipped out his automatic and began pumping the bullets out in rapid succession. As the smoke cleared, I expected to see Passant and François lying on the floor. Instead, Craig had fired at the lock of the door. He had shattered it into a thousand bits. Andrews and his men were running down the hall. Guess you, muttered Passant, as he banged the now useless lock. Who led these fellows in? Are you a wizard? Craig smiled coolly as the ventilation cleared the room of the deadly cyanogen. On the window still outside is a selenium cell. Selenium is a bad conductor of electricity in the dark, and an excellent conductor when exposed to light. I merely moved my coat and hat, and the light from the furnace, which was going to suffocate us, played through the glass on the cell. The circuit was completed without just suspecting that I could communicate with friends outside. A bell was rung on the street, and here they are. Andrews, there is the murderer of Morovitch, and there in his hands are the Morovitch. Passant had moved toward the furnace. With a quick motion he seized the long tongs. There was a cloud of choking vapor. Kennedy leaped to the switch and shut off the current. With the tongs he lifted out a shapeless piece of valueless black graphite. All that is left of the priceless Morovitch jewels, he exclaimed ruefully, but we have the murderer. And tomorrow a certified check for one hundred thousand dollars goes to Mrs. Morovitch with my humblest apologies and sympathy, headed Andrews. Professor Kennedy, you have earned your retainer. End of The Diamond Maker, recording by Elliott Miller, www.voiceofee.com