 CHAPTER III. A THING which was as unfamiliar to me as Khamchatka, but as familiar to Kennedy as Broadway and 42nd Street. RARELY, he remarked, laying down his fountain pen and lighting his cigar for the hundredth time. The more one thinks of how the modern criminal misses his opportunities, the more astonishing it seems. Why do they stick to pistols, chloroform, and Prussian acid, when there is such a splendid assortment of refined methods? Give it up, old man, I replied helplessly, unless it's because they haven't any imagination. I hope they don't use them. What would become of my business if they did? How would you ever get a really dramatic news feature for the star out of such a thing? Dotted line marks route taken by fatal germ? Cross-indicated spot where anti-toxin attacked it? Ha! Not much for the Yellow Journals and that, Craig. To my mind, Walter, it would be the height of the dramatic, far more dramatic than sending a bullet into a man. Any fool can shoot a pistol or cut a throat, but it takes brains to be up to date. It may be so, I admitted, and went on reading, while Kennedy scratched away diligently on his lecture. I mentioned this conversation both because it bears on my story by a rather peculiar coincidence, and because it showed me a new side of Kennedy's amazing approaches, he was as much interested in bacteria as in chemistry. And the story is one of bacteria. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when the buzzer on our hall door sounded. Imagine my surprise on opening the door to discover the slight figure of what appeared to be a most fascinating young lady who was heavily veiled. She was in a state almost bordering on hysteria, as even I, in spite of my usual obtuseness, noticed. Is Professor Kennedy in? She inquired anxiously. Yes, ma'am, I replied, opening the door into our study. She advanced toward him, repeating her inquiry. I am Professor Kennedy. Pray be seated, he said. The presence of a lady in our apartment was such a novelty that, really, I forgot to disappear, but busied myself straightening the furniture and opening a window to allow the odor of stale tobacco to escape. My name is Evelyn Bisbee, she began. I have heard, Professor Kennedy, that you are an adept at getting at the bottom of difficult mysteries. You flatter me, he said in acknowledgment. Who was so foolish as to tell you that? A friend who has heard of the Kerr Parker case, she replied. I beg your pardon, I interrupted. I didn't mean to intrude. I think I'll go out. I'll be back in an hour or two. Please, Mr. Jameson, it is Mr. Jameson, is it not? I bowed in surprise. If it is possible, I wish you would stay and hear my story. I am told that you and Professor Kennedy always work together. It was my turn to be embarrassed by the compliment. It's Fletcher of Great Neck, she explained, has told me. I believe Professor Kennedy performed a great service for the Fletchers, though I do not know what it was. At any rate, I have come to you with my case, in which I have some small hope of obtaining assistance unless you can help me. If Professor Kennedy cannot solve it, well, I'm afraid nobody can. She paused a moment and added, No doubt you have read of the death of my guardian the other day. Of course we had. Who did not know that Jim Bisbee, the Southern California oil magnet, had died suddenly of typhoid fever at the private hospital of Dr. Bell, where he had been taken from his magnificent apartment on Riverside Drive? Kennedy and I had discussed it at the time. We had commented on the artificiality of the twentieth century. No longer did people have homes. They had apartments, I had said. They didn't fall ill in the good old-fashioned way any more. Either, in fact, they even hired special rooms to die in. They hired halls for funeral services. It was a wonder that they didn't hire graves. It was all part of our twentieth century break-up of tradition. Indeed, we did know about the death of Jim Bisbee. But there was nothing mysterious about it. It was just typical in all its surroundings of the first decade of the twentieth century in a great artificial city, a lonely death of a great man surrounded by all that money could buy. We had read of his ward, too, the beautiful Miss Evelyn Bisbee, a distant relation, as under the heat of the room and her excitement she raised her veil. We were very much interested in her. At least I am sure that even Kennedy had by this time completely forgotten the electron toxins. There is something about my guardian's death, she began in a low and tremulous voice, that I am sure will bear investigating. It may only be a woman's foolish fears, but I haven't told this to a soul till now, except Mrs. Fletcher. My guardian had, as you perhaps know, spent his summer at his country place at Bisbee Hall, New Jersey, from which he returned rather suddenly about a week ago. Our friends thought it merely a strange whim which he should return to the city before the summer was fairly over, but it was not. The day before he returned, his gardener fell sick of typhoid. That decided Mr. Bisbee to return to the city on the following day. Imagine his consternation to find his valet they stricken the very next morning. Of course they motored to New York immediately. Then he wired me a new-port and together we opened his apartment at the Louise Quincy. But that was not to be the end of it. One after another the servants at Bisbee Hall were taken with the disease until five of them were down. Then came the last blow. Mr. Bisbee fell a victim in New York. So far I have been spared. But who knows how much longer it will last. I have been so frightened that I haven't eaten a meal in the apartment since I came back. When I am hungry I simply steal out to a hotel, a different one every time. I never drink any water except that which I have surreptitiously boiled in my own room over a gas stove. Disinfectants and germicides have been used by the gallon and still I don't feel safe. Even the health authorities don't remove my fears. With my guardian's death I had begun to feel that possibly it was over. But no. This morning another servant who came up from the hall last week was taken sick. And the doctor pronounces that typhoid too. Will I be the next? Is it just a foolish fear? Why does it pursue us to New York? Why didn't it stop at Bisbee Hall? I don't think I ever saw a living creature more overcome by horror by an invisible deadly fear. That was why it was doubly horrible and a girl so attractive as Evelyn Bisbee. As I listened I felt how terrible it must be to be pursued by such a fear. What must it be to be dogged by a disease as relentlessly as the typhoid had dogged her? If it had been some great but visible tangible peril, how gladly I could have faced it merely for the smile of a woman like this. But it was a peril that only knowledge and patience could meet. Instinctively I turned toward Kennedy, my own mind being an absolute blank. Is there anyone you suspect of being the cause of such an epidemic? He asked. I may as well tell you that right now I have already formed two theories, one perfectly natural, the other diabolical. Tell me everything. Well, I had expected to receive a fortune of one million dollars, free and clear, by his will, and this morning I am informed by his lawyer, James Denney, that a new will had been made. It is still one million, but the remainder, instead of going to a number of charities in which he was known to be interested, goes to a form of trust fund for the Bisbee School of Mechanical Arts, of which Mr. Denney is the sole trustee. Of course, I do not know much about my guardian's interests while he was alive, but it strikes me as strange that he should have changed so radically. And besides, the new will is so worded that if I die without children, my million also goes to this school, location unnamed. I can't help wondering about it all. Why should you wonder? At least what other reasons have you for wondering? Oh, I can't express them. Maybe after all it's only a woman's silly intuition. But often I have thought in the past few days about this illness of my guardian. It was so queer. He was always so careful, and you know the rich don't often have typhoid. You have no reason to suppose it was not typhoid fever of which he died? She hesitated. No, she replied. But if you had known Mr. Bisbee you would think it's strange, too. He had a horror of infectious and contagious diseases. His apartment and his country home were models. No sanitarium could have been more punctilious. He lived what one of his friends called an antiseptic life. Maybe I'm foolish, but it keeps getting closer and closer to me now, and, well, I wish you'd look into the case. Please set my mind at rest and assure me that nothing is wrong, that it's all natural. I will help you, Mr. Bisbee. Tomorrow night I want to take a trip quietly to Bisbee Hall. You will see that it is all right, that I have the proper letter so I can investigate thoroughly. I shall never forget the mutant eloquent thanks with which she had said good night after Kennedy's promise. Kennedy sat with his eyes shaded under his hands for fully an hour after she had left. Then he suddenly jumped up. Walter, he said, let us go over to Dr. Bills. I know the head nurse there. We may possibly learn something. As we sat in the waiting room with its thick oriental rugs and handsome mahogany furniture, I found myself going back to our conversation of the early evening. By Jove Kennedy you were right, I exclaimed. If there is anything in this germ-plot idea of hers, it is indeed the height of the dramatic. It is diabolical. No ordinary mortal would ever be capable of it. Just then the head nurse came in, a large woman breathing of germlessness and cheerfulness in her spotless uniform. We were shown every courtesy. There was in fact nothing to conceal. The visit set at rest my last suspicion that perhaps Jim Bisbee had been poisoned by a drug. The charts of his temperature and the sincerity of the nurse were absolutely convincing. It had really been typhoid, and there was nothing to be gained by pursuing that inquiry further. Back at the apartment, Craig began packing his suitcase with a few things he would need for the journey. I'm going out to Bisbee Hall tomorrow for a few days, Walter, and if you could find it convenient to come along, I should like to have your assistance. I'm afraid the go, I said. You needn't be. I'm going down to the army post on Governor's Island first to be vaccinated against typhoid. Then I'm going to wait a few hours till it takes effect before going. It's the only place in the city where one can be inoculated against it, as far as I know. While three inoculations are really best, I understand that one is sufficient for ordinary protections, and that is all we shall need, if any. You're sure of it? Almost positive. Very well, Craig. I'll go. Down at the army post the next morning we had no difficulty in being inoculated against the disease. The work of immunizing our army was going on at that time, and several thousands of soldiers in various parts of the country had already been vaccinated, the best of results. Do many civilians come over to be vaccinated? asked Craig of Major Carol, the surgeon in charge. Not many, for very few have heard of it, he replied. I suppose you keep a record of them? Only their names. We can't follow them outside the army to see how it works. Still, when they come to us, as you and Mr. Jameson have done, we are perfectly willing to vaccinate them. The Army Medical Corps takes the position that, if it is good for the army, it's good for civil life, and as long as only a few civilians apply, we are perfectly willing to do it for a fee covering the cost. And would you let me see the list? Certainly. You may look it over in a moment. Kennedy glanced hurriedly through the short list of names, pulled out his notebook, made an entry, and handed the list back. Thank you, Major. Bizby Hall was a splendid place set in the heart of a great park whose area was measured by square miles rather than by acres. But Craig did not propose to stay there, for he arranged for accommodations in a nearby town, where we were to take our meals also. It was late when we arrived, and we spent a restless night, for the inoculation torque. It wasn't any worse than a light attack of the grip, and in the morning we were both all right again, after the passing of what is called the negative phase. I for one felt much safer. The town was very much excited over the epidemic at the hall. And if I had been wondering why Craig wanted me along, my wonder was soon set at rest. He had me scouring the town and country looking up every case or rumor of typhoid for miles around. I made the local weekly paper my headquarters, and the editor was very obliging. He let me read all his newsletters from his local correspondence at every crossroads. I waded through accounts of new calves and colts, new fences and barns, who sundayed with his brother, etc., and soon had a list of all the cases in that part of the country. It was not a long one, but it was scattered. After I traced them out following Kennedy's instructions, they showed nothing, except that they were unrelated to the epidemic at the hall. Meanwhile, Kennedy was very busy there. He had a microscope and slides and test tubes and chemicals for testing things, and I don't know what all, for there was not time to initiate me into all the mysteries. He tested the water from the various driven wells and in the water tank, and the milk from the cows. He tried to find out what food had come in from the outside, though there was practically none, for the hall was self-supporting. There was no stone he left unturned. When I rejoined him that night he was clearly perplexed. I don't think my report decreased his perplexity, either. There is only one thing left as far as I have been able to discover after one day's work. He said, after we had gone over our activities for the day. Jim Bisbee never drank the water from his own wells. He always drank a bottled water shipped down from a camp in his own New York State, where he had a remarkable mountain spring. I tested a number of the full bottles at the hall, but they were perfectly pure. There wasn't a trace of the bacteriostyphosis in any of them. Then it occurred to me that, after all, that was not the thing to do. I should test the empty ones. But there weren't any empty ones. They told me they had all been taken down to the freight station yesterday to be shipped back to the camp. I hope they haven't gone yet. Let's drive around and see if they are there. The freight master was just leaving, but when he learned we were from the hall he consented to let us examine the bottles. They were corked and in wooden cases which protected them perfectly. By the light of the station's lamps and the aid of a pocket-lens, Kennedy examined them on the outside, and satisfied himself that, after being replaced in the wooden cases, the bottles themselves had not been handled. "'Will you let me borrow some of the bottles tonight?' he asked the agent. "'I'll give you my word that they will be returned safely to-morrow. If necessary, I'll get an order for them.'" The station agent reluctantly yielded, especially as a small green banknote figured in the transaction. Craig and I tenderly lifted the big bottles in their cases into our trap and drove back to our rooms in the hotel. It quite excited the hangers on to see us drive up with a lot of empty five-gallon bottles and carry them upstairs, but I had long ago given up on having any fear of public opinion in carrying out anything Craig wanted. In our room we worked far into the night. Craig carefully swabbed out the bottom and sides of each bottle by inserting a little piece of cotton on the end of a long wire. Then he squeezed the water out of the cotton swab on a small glass slide coated with agar-agar, or Japanese seaweed, a medium in which germ cultures multiply rapidly. He put the slides away in a little oven with an alcohol lamp which he had brought along, leaving them to remain overnight at blood-heat. I had noticed all this time that he was very particular not to touch any of the bottles on the outside. As for me, I wouldn't have touched them for the world. In fact, I was getting so I hesitated to touch anything. I was almost afraid to breathe, though I knew there was no harm in that. However, it was not danger of infection in touching the bottles that made Craig so careful. He had noted in the dim light of the station lamps what seemed to be finger marks on the bottles, and they had interested him. In fact, had decided him on a further investigation of the bottles. I am now going to bring out these very faint fingerprints on the bottles, marked Craig, proceeding with his examination in the better light of our room. Here is some powder known to chemists as grey powder, mercury and chalk. I sprinkle it over the faint marking so, and then I brush it off with a camel's hair brush lightly. That brings out the imprint much more clearly, as you can see. For instance, if you place your dry thumb on a piece of white paper, you leave no visible impression. If grey powder is sprinkled over the spot and then brushed off, a distinct impression is seen. If the impression of the fingers is left on something soft, like wax, it is often best to use printer's ink to bring out the ridges and patterns of the finger marks, and so on for various materials. Later science has been built up around fingerprints. I wish I had that enlarging camera which I have in my laboratory. However, my ordinary camera will do, for all I want is to preserve a record of these marks, and I can enlarge the photographs later. In the morning I will photograph these marks and you can do the developing of the films. Tonight we'll improvise the bathroom as a dark room and get everything ready so that we can start in bright and early. We were indeed up early. One never has difficulty in getting up early in the country. It's so noisy, at least to the city breadman. City noise at five a.m. is sepulchral silence compared with bucolic activity at that hour. There were a dozen negatives which I had set about developing after Craig had used up all our films. Meanwhile, he busied himself adjusting his microscope and test tubes and getting the agar slides ready for examination. Wood sleeves rolled up. I was deeply immersed in my work when I heard a shout in the next room and the bathroom door flew open. "'Confound you, Kennedy? Do you want to ruin these films?' I cried. He shut the door with a bang. "'Hurrah, Walter!' he exclaimed. "'I think I have it at last. I have just found some most promising colonies of the bacteria eye on one of my slides. I almost dropped the pan of acid I was holding in my excitement. "'Well,' I said, concealing my own surprise, I found out something too. Every one of these fingerprints so far is from the same pair of hands. We scarcely ate any breakfast and were soon on our way up to the hall. Craig had provided himself at the local stationers with an inking-pad such as is used for rubber stamps. At the hall he proceeded to get the impressions of the fingers and thumbs of all the servants. It was quite a long and difficult piece of work to compare the fingerprints we had taken with those photographed, in spite of the fact that writers discount on the ease with which criminals are traced by the system devised by the famous Galton. However, we at last finished the job between us, or rather Craig finished it, with an occasional remark from me. His dexterity amazed me. It was more than mere book-knowledge. For a moment we sat regarding each other hopelessly. One of the fingerprints taken at the hall tallied with the photographed prints. Then Craig ranked for the housekeeper, a faithful old soul whom even the typhoid scare could not budge from her post. Are you sure I have seen all the servants who were at the hall where Mr. Bisbee was here? Asked Craig. Why, no, sir. You didn't ask that. You asked to see all who are here now. There is only one who has left, the cook, Bridget Fallon. She left a couple of days ago, said she was going back to New York to get another job. Glad enough I was to get rid of her, too, for she was drunk most of the time after the typhoid appeared. Well, Walter, I guess we shall have to go back to New York again then, exclaimed Kennedy. Oh, beg pardon, Mrs. Rawson, for interrupting. Thank you ever so much. Where did Bridget come from? She came well recommended, sir. Here is a letter in my writing-desk. She had been employed by the Caswell Joneses at Shelter Island before she came here. I may keep this letter? Asked Craig, scanning it quickly. Yes. By the way, where are the bottles of spring water kept? In the kitchen. Did Bridget take charge of them? Yes. Did Mr. Bisbee have any guests during the last week that he was here? I missed it any one night. Hmm, exclaimed Craig. Well, it would not be so hard for us to unravel this matter, after all, when we get back to the city. We must take that noon train, Walter. There is nothing more for us to do here. Emerging from the tube at Ninth Street, Craig hustled me into a taxi cab, and in almost no time we were at police headquarters. Fortunately, Inspector Barney O'Connor was in, and in an amiable mood, too, for Kennedy had been careful that the central office received a large share of credit for the Kerr Parker case. Craig sketched hastily the details of this new case. O'Connor's face was a study. His honest blue Irish eyes barely bulged in wonder, and when Craig concluded with a request for help, I think O'Connor would have given him anything in the office, just a figure in the case. First, I want one of your men to go to the surrogate's office and get the original of the will. I shall return it within a couple of hours. All I want to do is make a photographic copy. Then, another man must find this lawyer, James Denney, and in some way get his fingerprints. You must arrange that yourself, and send another fellow up to the employment offices on Fourth Avenue, and have him locate this cook, uh, Bridget Fallon. I want her fingerprints, too. Perhaps she had better be detained, or I don't want her to get away. Oh, and say, O'Connor, do you want to finish this case up like a crack of a whip to-night? I'm game, sir, what of it? Let me see. It is now four o'clock. If you can get hold of all these people in time, I think I shall be ready for the final scene to-night, say at nine. You know how to arrange it. Have them all present at my laboratory at nine, and I promise we shall have a story that will get into the morning papers with leaded type on the front page. Now, Walter, he added, as we hurried down to the taxi cab again. I want you to drop off at the Department of Health with this card to the commissioner. I believe you know Dr. Leslie. Well, ask him if he knows anything about this Bridget Fallon. I will go on uptown to the laboratory and get my apparatus ready. You'd needn't come up till nine, old fellow, for I shall be busy till then, but be sure when you come that you bring the record of this Fallon woman, if you have to beg, borrow, or steal it. I didn't understand it, but I took the card and obeyed implicitly. It is needless to say that I was keyed up to the greatest pitch of excitement during my interview with the health commissioner, when I finally got in to see him. I hadn't talked to him long before a great light struck me, and I began to see what Craig was driving at. The commissioner saw it first. If you don't mind, Mr. Jameson, he said, after I had told him as much of my story as I could, will you call up Professor Kennedy and tell him I'd like very much to be present tonight myself? Certainly I will, I replied, glad to get my errand done in first-class fashion in that way. Things must have been running smoothly. For while I was sitting in our apartment after dinner, impatiently waiting for half-past eight, when the commissioner had promised to call for me and go up to the laboratory, the telephone rang. It was Craig. Walter, might I ask a favour of you, he said. When the commissioner comes, ask him to stop at the Louise Quincy and bring Miss Bisbee up too. Tell her it is important. No more now. Things are going ahead fine. Fromly at nine we were assembled, a curious crowd. The health commissioner and the inspector, being members of the same political party, greeted each other by their first names. Miss Bisbee was nervous. Bridget was abusive, Denny was sullen. As for Kennedy, he was, as usual, as cool as a lump of ice, and I, well, I just sat on my feelings to keep myself quiet. At one end of the room, Craig had placed a large white sheet such as he used in his stereo-opticon lectures, while, at the top of the tier of seats that made a sort of little empathy error out of his lecture room, his stereo-opticon sputtered. Move in pictures tonight, eh? said Inspector O'Connor. Not exactly, said Craig, though, yes, they will be moving in another sense. Now, if we are all ready, I'll switch off the electric lights. The calcium sputtered some more, and a square of light was thrown on the sheet. Kennedy snapped a little announcer such as lectures use. Let me invite your attention to these enlargements of fingerprints, he began, as a huge thumb appeared on the screen. Here we have a series of fingerprints which I will show one after another slowly. They are of all the fingers of the same person, and they were found on some empty bottles of spring water used at Bisbee Hall during the two weeks previous to the departure of Mr. Bisbee for New York. Here are, in succession, the fingerprints of the various servants employed about the house, and of a guest, added Craig with a slight change of tone. They differ markedly from the fingerprints on the glass, he continued, as one after another appeared. All except this last one. That is identical. It is, Inspector, what we call a composite type of fingerprint. In this case, a combination of what is called the loop and the whirl types. No sound broke the stillness, save the sputtering of the oxygen on the calcium of the stereo-opticon. The owner of the fingers from which these prints were made is in this room. It was from typhoid germs on these fingers that the fever was introduced into the drinking water at Bisbee Hall. Kennedy paused to emphasize a statement, then continued, I am now going to ask Dr. Leslie to give us a little talk on a recent discovery in the field of typhoid fever. You understand, Commissioner, what I mean, I believe. Perfectly. Shall I mention names? No, not yet. Well, began Dr. Leslie, clearing his throat. Within the past year or two we have made a most weird and startling discovery in typhoid fever. We have found what we now call typhoid carriers, persons who do not have the disease themselves, perhaps never even had it, but who are literally living test tubes of the typhoid baxilis. It is positively uncanny. Everywhere they go they scatter the disease. Down at the department we have the records of a number of such instances, and our men in the research laboratories have come to the conclusion that, far from being of rare occurrence, these cases are comparatively common. I have in mind one particular case of a servant girl who, during the past five or six years, has been employed in several families. In every family, typhoid fever has later broken out. Experts have traced out at least thirty cases and several deaths due to this one person. In another case, we found an epidemic up in Harlem to be due to a typhoid carrier on a remote farm in Connecticut. This carrier, innocently enough, it is true, contaminated the milk supply coming from that farm. The result was over fifty cases of typhoid here in this city. However, to return to the case of the servant I have mentioned, last spring we had her under surveillance, but as there was no law by which we could restrain her permanently, she is still at large. I think one of the Sunday papers at the time had an account of her. They called her Typhoid Bridget, and in red ink she was drawn across the page in gruesome fashion, frying the skulls of her victims in a frying pan over a roaring fire. That particular typhoid carrier, I understand. Excuse me, Commissioner, if I interrupt, but I think we have carried this part of the program far enough to be absolutely convincing, said Craig. Thank you very much for the clear way in which you have put it. Craig snapped the announcer, and a letter appeared on the screen. He said nothing, but let us read it through. To whom it may concern. This is to certify that Bridget Fallon has been employed by my family at Shelter Island for the past season, and that I have found her a reliable servant and an excellent cook. St. John Caswell Jones. The full God, Mr. Kennedy, I'm innocent, screeched Bridget. Don't have me arrested, I'm innocent, I'm innocent. Craig gently but firmly forced her back into her chair. Again the announcer snapped. This time the last page of Mr. Bisbee's will appeared on the sheet, ending with his signature and the witnesses. I'm now going to show these two specimens of handwriting very greatly enlarged, he said, as the stereo apricot plates were shifted again. An author of many scientific works, Dr. Lindsay Johnson of London has recently elaborated a new theory with regard to individuality in handwriting. He maintains that in certain diseases a person's pulse beats are individual, and that no one's suffering from any such disease can control, even for a brief space of time, the frequency or peculiar irregularities of his heart's action, as shown by a chart recording his pulsations. Such a chart is obtained for medical purposes by means of a sphigmograph, an instrument fitted to the patient's forearm and supplied with a needle, which can be so arranged as to record automatically on a prepared sheet of paper the peculiar force and frequency of the pulsation. All the pulsation may be simply observed in the rise and fall of liquid in a tube. Dr. Johnson holds the opinion that a pen in the hand of a writer serves, in a modified degree, the same end as the needle in the first named form of the sphigmograph, and that in such a person's handwriting one can see by projecting the letters greatly magnified on a screen the scarcely perceptible turns and quivers made in the lines by the spontaneous action of that person's peculiar pulsation. To prove this, the doctor carried out an experiment at Charing Cross Hospital. At his request, a number of patients suffering from heart and kidney diseases wrote the Lord's prayer in their ordinary handwriting. The different manuscripts were then taken and examined microscopically. By throwing them, highly magnified on a screen, the jerks or involuntary motions due to the patient's peculiar pulsations were distinctly visible. The handwriting of persons in normal health, says Dr. Johnson, does not always show their pulse beats. What one can say, however, is that when a document purporting to be written by a certain person contains traces of pulse beats and the normal handwriting of that person does not show them, then clearly that document is a forgery. Now, in these two specimens of handwriting, which we have enlarged, it is plain that the writers of both of them suffered from a certain peculiar disease of the heart. Moreover, I am prepared to show that the pulse beats exhibited in the case of certain pen strokes in one of these documents are exhibited in similar strokes in the other. Furthermore, I have ascertained from his family physician, whose affidavit I have here, that Mr. Bisbee did not suffer from this or any other form of heart disease. Mr. Caswell-Jones, in addition to wiring me that he refused to write Bridget Fallon a recommendation after the typhoid broke out in his country house, also says he does not suffer from heart disease in any form. From the tumultuous character of the letters and figures in both these documents, which, when magnified, is the more easily detected, I therefore conclude that both are forgeries, and I am ready to go farther and say that they are forgeries from the same hand. It usually takes a couple of weeks after infection for typhoid to develop, a time sufficient in itself to remove suspicion from acts which might otherwise be strutinized very carefully, if happening immediately before the disease developed. I may add also that it is well known that stout people do very poorly when they contract typhoid, especially if they are old. Mr. Bisbee was both stout and old. To contract typhoid was for him a virtual death warrant. Among all these facts, a certain person purposely sought out a crafty means of introducing typhoid fever into Mr. Bisbee's family. That person, furthermore, was inoculated against typhoid three times during the month before the disease was devilishly and surreptitiously introduced into Bisbee Hall in order to protect himself or herself should it become necessary for that person to visit Bisbee Hall. That person, I believe, is the one who suffered from an aneurysm of the heart, the writer, or rather the forger of the two documents I have shown, by one of which he or she was to profit greatly by the death of Mr. Bisbee and the founding of an alleged school in a distant part of the country, a subdefuge, if you recall, used in at least one famous case for which the convicted perpetrator is now under a life sentence in Singsing. I will ask Dr. Leslie to take this death of scope and examine the hearts of everyone in the room and tell me whether there is anyone here suffering from an aneurysm. The calcium light ceased to sputter. One person after another was examined by the health commissioner. Was it merely my imagination, or did I really hear a heart beating with wild leaps as if it would burst the bonds of its prison and make its escape if possible? Perhaps it was only the engine of the commissioner's machine out on the campus driveway. I don't know. At any rate, he went silently from one to the other. Betraying not even by his actions what he discovered with the death of scope. The suspense was terrible. I felt Mr. Bisbee's hand involuntarily grasped my arm convulsively. Without disturbing the silence I reached a glass of water standing near me on Craig's lecture table and handed it to her. The commissioner was bending over the lawyer, trying to adjust the death of scope better to his ears. The lawyer's head was resting heavily on his hand, and he was heaped up in an awkward position in the cramped lecture room seat. It seemed an age as Dr. Leslie tried to adjust the death of scope. Even Craig felt the excitement. While the commissioner hesitated, Kennedy reached over and patiently switched on the electric light in full force. As the light flooded the room, blinding us for an instant, the large form of Dr. Leslie stood between us and the lawyer. What does the death of scope tell you, doctor? asked Craig, leaning forward expectantly. He was as unprepared for the answer as any of us. It tells me that a higher court than those of New York has passed judgment on this astounding criminal. The aneurysm has burst. I felt a soft weight fall on my shoulder. The morning star did not have the story, after all. I missed the greatest scoop of my life seeing Evelyn Bisbee safely to her home after she had recovered from the shock of Denny's exposure and punishment. THE SILENT BULLET by Arthur B. Reeve This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Elliot Miller THE DEADLY TUBE For heaven's sake, Gregory, what is the matter? asked Craig Kennedy as a tall, nervous man stalked into our apartment one evening. Jameson, shake hands with Dr. Gregory. What's the matter, doctor? Surely your x-ray work hasn't knocked you out like this? The doctor shook hands with me mechanically. His hand was icy. The blow has fallen, he exclaimed, as he sat limply into a chair and tossed an evening paper over to Kennedy. In red ink on the first page, in the little square headed latest news, Kennedy read the caption, Society Woman Crippled for Life by X-ray Treatment A terrible tragedy was revealed in the suit begun today, continued the article. By Mrs. Huntington Close against Dr. James Gregory, an x-ray specialist with offices at Madison Avenue, to recover damages for injuries which Mrs. Close alleges she received while under his care. Several months ago, she began a cause of x-ray treatment to remove her birthmark on her neck. In her complaint, Mrs. Close alleges that Dr. Gregory has carelessly caused x-ray dermatitis, a skin disease of cancerous nature, and that she has also been rendered a nervous wreck through the effects of the rays, simultaneously with filing the suit she left home and entered a private hospital. Mrs. Close is one of the most popular hostesses in the smart set, and her loss will be keenly felt. What am I to do, Kennedy? asked the doctor imploringly. You remember I told you the other day about this case, that there was something queer about it, that after a few treatments I was afraid to carry on any more and refuse to do so. She really has dermatitis and nervous prostration exactly as she alleges in her complaint. But before Heaven, Kennedy, I can't see how she could possibly have been so affected by the few treatments I gave her. And tonight, just as I was leaving the office, I received a telephone call from her husband's attorney, Lawrence, very kindly informing me that the case will be pushed to the limit. I tell you it looks black for me. What can they do? Do. Do you suppose any jury is going to take enough expert testimony to outweigh the tragedy of a beautiful woman? Do. Why, they can ruin me. Even if I get a verdict of a quiddle. They can leave me with a reputation for carelessness that no mere court decision can ever overcome. Gregory, you can rely on me, said Kennedy. Anything I can do to help you, I will gladly do. Jameson and I were on the point of going out to dinner. Join us and, after that, we'll go down to your office and talk things over. You're really too kind, murmured the doctor. The air of relief that was written on his face was pathetically eloquent. Now, not a word about the case till we've had dinner, commanded Craig. I see very plainly that you have been worrying about the blow for a long time. Well, it has fallen. The neat thing to do is to look over the situation and see where we stand. Dinner over, we rode downtown in the subway, and Gregory ushered us into an office building on Madison Avenue, where he had a very handsome suite of several rooms. We sat down in his waiting room to discuss the affair. It is indeed a very tragic case, began Kennedy. Almost more tragic than if the victim had been killed out right. Mrs. Huntington Close is, or rather I suppose I should say was, one of the famous beauties of the city. From what the paper says, her beauty has been hopelessly ruined by this dermatitis, which, I understand, Dr. is practically incurable. Dr. Gregory nodded, and I could not help following his eyes as he looked at his own rough and scarred hands. Also, continued Craig, with his eyes half closed and his fingertips together, as if he were taking a mental inventory of the facts of the case. Her nerves are so shattered that she will be years in recovering, if she ever recovers. Yes, said the doctor simply. I, myself, for instance, am subject to the most unexpected attacks of neuritis. But, of course, I am under the influence of the rays fifty or sixty times a day, while she had only a few treatments at intervals of many days. Now, on the other hand, resumed Craig, I know you, Gregory, very well. Only the other day before any of this came out, you told me the whole story with your fears as to the outcome. I know that that lawyer of closest has been keeping this thing hanging over your head for a long time. And I also know that you are one of the most careful x-ray operators in the city. If this suit goes against you, one of the most brilliant men of science in America will be ruined. Now, having said this much, let me ask you to describe just exactly what treatments you gave, Mrs. Close. The doctor led us into his x-ray room adjoining. A number of x-ray tubes were neatly put away in a great glass case, and at one end of the room was an operating table with an x-ray apparatus suspended over it. A glance at the room showed that Kennedy's praise was not exaggerated. How many treatments did you give Mrs. Close? asked Kennedy. Not over a dozen, I should say, replied Gregory. I have a record of them and the dates which I will give you presently. Certainly they were not numerous enough or frequent enough to have caused a dermatitis such as she has. Besides, look here. I have an apparatus which, for safety to the patient, has few equals in the country. This big lead glass bowl, which is placed over my x-ray tube when in use, cuts off the rays at every point except where they are needed. He switched on the electric current, and the apparatus began to sputter. The pungent odor of ozone from the electric discharge filled the room. Through the lead glass bowl, I could see the x-ray tube inside suffused with its peculiar yellowish-green light, divided into two hemispheres of different shades. That I knew was the cathode ray, not the x-ray, for the x-ray itself, which streams outside the tube, is invisible to the human eye. The doctor placed in our hands a couple of fluoroscopes, an apparatus by which x-rays can be detected. It consists simply of a closed box with an opening to which the eyes are placed. The opposite end of the box is a piece of board coated with a salt, such as platinum oberium cyanide. When the x-ray strikes the salt, it makes it glow, or fluoresce. And objects held between the x-ray tube and the fluoroscope cast shadows according to the density of the parts which the x-rays penetrate. With the lead glass bowl removed, the x-ray tube sent forth its wonderful invisible radiation and made the back of the fluoroscope glow with light. I could see the bones of my fingers as I held them up between the x-ray tube and the fluoroscope. But, with the lead glass bowl in position over the tube, the fluoroscope was simply a black box into which I looked and saw nothing. So very little of the radiation escaped from the bowl that it was negligible, except at one point where there was an opening in the bottom of the bowl to allow the rays to pass freely through exactly on the spot on the patient where they were to be used. The dermatitis, they say, has appeared all over her body, particularly on her head and shoulders, added Dr. Gregory. Now I have shown you my apparatus to impress on you how really impossible it would have been for her to contract it from her treatments here. I've made myself thousands of exposures with never an x-ray burn before, except to myself. As for myself, I'm as careful as I can be, but you can see I am under the rays very often, while the patient is only under them once in a while. To illustrate his carry, he pointed out to us a cabinet directly back of the operating table, lined with thick sheets of lead. From this cabinet, he conducted most of his treatments as far as possible. A little peephole enabled him to see the patient and the x-ray apparatus, while an arrangement of mirrors and a fluorescent screen enabled him to see exactly what the x-rays were disclosing, without his leaving the leadline cabinet. I can think of no more perfect protection for either patient or operator, said Kennedy admiringly. By the way, did Mrs. Close come alone? No, the first time Mr. Close came with her. After that she came with her French maid. The next day we paid a visit to Mrs. Close herself at the private hospital. Kennedy had been casting about in his mind for an excuse to see her, and I had suggested that we go as reporters from the star. Fortunately, after sending out my card on which I had written Craig's name, we were at length allowed to go up to her room. We found the patient reclining in an easy chair, swathed in bandages, a wreck of her former self. I felt the tragedy keenly. All that social position and beauty had meant to her had been suddenly blasted. You will pardon my presumption, began Craig, but Mrs. Close, I assure you that I am actuated by the best of motives. We represent the New York Star. Isn't it terrible enough that I should suffer so? she interrupted. But must the newspapers hound me too? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Close, said Craig, but you must be aware that the news of your suit of Dr. Gregory has now become public property. I couldn't stop the star much less the other papers from talking about it, but I can and will do this, Mrs. Close. I will see that justice is done to you and all others concerned. Believe me, I am not here as a yellow journalist to make newspaper copy out of your misfortune. I am here to get at the truth sympathetically. Incidentally, I may be able to render you a service too. You can render me no service except to expedite the suit against that careless doctor. I hate him. Perhaps, said Craig, but suppose someone else should be proved to have been really responsible. Would you still want to press the suit and let the guilty person escape? She bit her lip. What is it you want of me? she asked. I merely want permission to visit your rooms at your home and talk with your maid. I do not mean to spy on you, far from it, but consider, Mrs. Close, if I should be able to get at the bottom of this thing, find out the real cause of your misfortune, perhaps show that you are the victim of a cruel wrong rather than of carelessness, would you not be willing to let me go ahead? I am frank to tell you that I suspect there is more to this affair than you yourself have any idea of. No, you are mistaken, Mr. Kennedy. I know the cause of it. It was my love of beauty. I couldn't resist the temptation to get rid of even a slight defect. If I had left well enough alone, I should not be here now. A friend recommended Dr. Gregory to my husband, who took me there. My husband wishes me to remain at home, but I tell him I feel more comfortable here in the hospital. I shall never go to that house again, the memory of the torture of sleepless nights in my room there when I felt my good looks going, going. She shuddered. Is such that I can never forget it. He says I would be better off there, but no, I cannot go. Still, she continued wearily. There can be no harm in your talking to my maid. Kennedy noted attentively what she was saying. I thank you, Mrs. Closed, he replied. I am sure you will not regret your permission. Would you be so kind as to give me a note to her? She rang, dictated a short note to a nurse, signed it, and languidly dismissed us. I don't know that I ever felt as depressed as I did after that interview, with one who had entered a living death to ambition. For while Craig had done all the talking, I had absorbed nothing but depression. I vowed that if Gregory or anybody else was responsible I would do my share towards bringing him repribution. The Closes lived in a splendid big house in the Murray Hill section. The presentation of the note quickly brought Mrs. Closed's maid down to us. She had not gone to the hospital because Mrs. Closed had considered the services of the trained nurses quite sufficient. Yes, the maid had noticed how her mistress had been failing, had noticed it long ago, in fact almost at the time when she had begun the x-ray treatment. She had seemed to improve once she went away for a few days, but that was at the start. And directly after her return she grew worse again, until she was no longer herself. Did Dr. Gregory the x-ray specialist ever attend Mrs. Closed in her home, in a room? Asked Craig. Yes, once, twice, he called, but he do no good, she said with her French accent. Did Mrs. Closed have other callers? But Major, everyone in his society has many. What does Major mean? Frequent callers? Mr. Lawrence, for instance? Oh, yes, Mr. Lawrence, frequently. When Mrs. Closed was at home? Yes, on business and on business, too, when he was not at home. He is the attorney, Monsieur. How did Mrs. Closed receive him? He is the attorney, Monsieur, Marie repeated persistently. And did he always call on business? Oh, yes, always on business, but, well, madame, she was a very beautiful woman. Perhaps he liked beautiful women, had he been? That was before Dr. Gregory treated madame. After the doctor treated madame, Monsieur Lawrence do no call so often, that's all. Are you thoroughly devoted to Mrs. Closed? Would you do a favor for her? Asked Craig, point blank. Sir, I would give my life, almost, for madame. She was always so good to me. I don't ask you to give your life for her, Marie, said Craig. But you can do her a great service, a very great service. I will do it. Tonight, said Craig, I want you to sleep in Mrs. Closed's room. You can do so, for I know that Mrs. Closed is living at the St. Francis Club until his wife returns from the sanitarium. Tomorrow morning, come to my laboratory. Craig handed her his card, and I will tell you what to do next. By the way, don't say anything to anyone in the house about it, and keep a sharp watch on the actions of any of the servants who may go into Mrs. Closed's room. Well, said Craig, there is nothing more to be done immediately. We had once more regained the street and were walking up town. We walked in silence for several blocks. Yes, news, Craig, there is something you can do after all, Walter. I would like you to look up Gregory and Closed and Lawrence. I already know something about them, but you can find out a good deal with your newspaper connections. I would like to have every bit of scandal that has ever been connected with them, or with Mrs. Closed, or, he added significantly, with any other woman. It isn't necessary to say that not a breath of it must be published yet. I found a good deal of gossip. But very little of it indeed seemed to me at the time to be of importance. Dropping in at the St. Francis Club, where I had some friends, I casually mentioned the troubles of the Huntington Closes. I was surprised to learn that Closed spent little of his time at the club, not at home, and only dropped into the hospital to make formal inquiries as to his wife's condition. It then occurred to me to drop into the office of Society Squibbs, whose editor I had long known. The editor told me, with that nameless look of the cynical scandal-monger, that if I wanted to learn anything about Huntington Closed, I had best watched Mrs. Francis Tulkington, a very wealthy Western divorcee, about whom the smart set were much excited, particularly those whose wealth made it difficult to stand the pace of society as it was going at present. And before the tragedy, said the editor with another nameless look, as if he were imparting the most valuable piece of gossip. It was a talk of the town. The attention that Closed's lawyer was paying to Mrs. Closed. But to her credit, let me say that she never gave us a chance to hint at anything and, well, you know us. We don't need much to make snappy society news. The editor then waved even more confidential for, if I am anything at all, I'm a good listener. And I have found that, often by sitting tight and listening, I can get more than if I were too eager questioning her. It really was a shame the way that man Lawrence played his game, he went on. I understand that it was he who introduced Closed to Mrs. T. They were both his clients. Lawrence had fought her case in the courts when she sued old Tarkington for divorce. And I had some settlement he got for her too. They say his fee ran up into the hundred thousands. Contingent, you know. I don't know what his game was. Here he lowered his voice to a whisper. But they say Closed owes him a good deal of money. You can figure it out for yourself as you like. Now, I've told you all I know. Come in again, Jameson, when you want some more scandal and remember me to the boys down at Nostar. The following day the maid visited Kennedy at his laboratory while I was reporting to him on the result of my investigations. She looked worn and haggard. She had spent a sleepless night and begged that Kennedy would not ask her to repeat the experiment. I can promise you, Marie, he said, that you will respite a tonight. But you must spend one more night in Mrs. Closed's room. By the way, can you arrange for me to go through the room this morning when you get back? Marie said she could. And an hour or so later Craig and I quietly slipped into the close residence under her guidance. He was carrying something that looked like a miniature barrel, and I had another package which he had given me, both carefully wrapped up. The butler eyed us suspiciously, but Marie spoke a few words to him and I think showed him Mrs. Closed's note. Anyhow, he said nothing. Within the room that the unfortunate woman had occupied, Kennedy took the coverings off the packages. It was nothing but a portable electric vacuum cleaner which he quickly attached and set running. Up and down the floor, around and under the bed he pushed the cleaner. He used the various attachments to clean the curtains, the walls, and even the furniture. Particularly did he pay attention to the baseboard on the wall back of the bed. Then he carefully removed the dust from the cleaner and sealed it up in a leaden box. He was about to detach and pack up the cleaner when another idea seemed to occur to him. Might as well make a thorough job of it, Walter, he said, adjusting the apparatus again. I've cleaned everything but the mattress and the brass bars behind the mattress on the bed. Now I'll tackle them. I think we ought to go into the suction cleaning business. More money in it than in being a detective, all of it. The cleaner was run over and under the mattress and along every cracking cranny of the brass bed. This done, and this dust also carefully stowed away, we departed. Very much to the mystification of Marie and I could not help feeling of other eyes appeared in through keyholes or cracks in doors. At any rate, said Kennedy exultingly, I think we have stolen a march on them. I don't believe they were prepared for this, not at least at this stage in the game. Don't ask me any questions, Walter. Then you will have no secrets to keep if anyone should try to pry them loose. Only remember that this man Lawrence is a shrewd character. The next day Marie came, looking even more care-worn than before. What's the matter, Madame Ozil? asked Craig. Didn't you pass a better night? Oh, mon dieu, I rest well, yes. But this morning while I went breakfast, Mr. Clauss sent for me. He said that I am discharged. Some servant tell of your visit and he very angry. And now what is to become of me? Will Madame his wife give a recommendation now? Walter, we have been discovered, exclaimed Craig with considerable vexation. Then he remembered the poor girl who had been an involuntary sacrifice to our investigation. Turning to her, he said, Marie, I know several very good families, and I am sure you will not suffer for what you have done by being faithful to your mistress. Only be patient a few days. Go live with some of your folks. I will see that you are placed again. The girl was profuse in her thanks as she dried her tears and departed. I hadn't anticipated having my hand fall so soon, said Craig after she'd gone, leaving her address. However, we're on the right track. What was it you were going to tell me when Marie came in? Something that may be very important, Craig, I said. Oh, I don't understand it myself. Pressure is being brought to bear on the start to keep this thing out of the papers, or at least to minimize it. I'm not surprised, commented Craig. What do you mean by pressure being brought? Why, Clos' lawyer Lawrence called up the editor this morning. I don't suppose that you know, but he has some connection with the interests which control the Star, and said that the activity of one of the reporters from the Star, Jameson by name, was very distasteful to Mr. Clos, and that this reporter was employing a man named Kennedy to assist him. I don't understand it, Craig, I confessed. But here one day they give the news to the papers, and two days later they almost threaten us with suit if we don't stop publishing it. It is perplexing, said Craig, with the air of one who was not a bit perplexed but rather enlightened. He pulled down the district telegraph messenger lever three times, and we sat in silence for a while. However, he resumed, I shall be ready for them tonight. I said nothing. Several minutes elapsed, then the messenger wrapped on the door. I want these two notes delivered right away, said Craig to the boy. Here's a quarter for you. Now, mind you don't get interested in a detective story and forget the notes. If you are back here quickly with the receipts, I'll give you another quarter. Now, scurry along. Then, after the boy had gone, he said casually to me, Two notes to Clos and Gregory, asking them to be present with their attorney to-night. Clos will bring Lawrence and Gregory will bring a young lawyer named Ash, a very clever fellow. The notes are so worded that they can hardly refuse the invitation. Meanwhile, I carried out an assignment for the star and telephoned my story in so as to be sure of being with Craig at the crucial moment, for I was thoroughly curious about his next move in the game. I found him still in his laboratory, attaching two coils of thin wire to the connections on the outside of a queer looking little black box. What's that? I asked, eyeing the sinister looking little box suspiciously. An infernal machine? You're not going to blow the culprit into eternity, I hope. Never mind what it is, Walter. You'll find that out in due time. It may or may not be an infernal machine of a different sort than any you have probably ever heard of, the less you know now the less likely you are to give anything away by a look or an act. Come now. Make yourself useful as well as ornamental. Take these wires and lay them in the cracks in the floor, and be careful not to let them show. A little dust over them will conceal them beautifully. Craig now placed a black box of one of the chairs well down toward the floor, where it could hardly have been perceived unless one were suspecting something of the sort. While he was doing so, I ran the wires across the floor and around the edge of the room to the door. There, he said, taking the wires from me. Now I'll complete the job by carrying them into the next room, and while I'm doing it, go over the wires again and make sure they are absolutely concealed. That night, six men gathered in Kennedy's laboratory. In my utter ignorance of what was about to happen, I was perfectly calm. And so were all the rest, except Gregory. He was easily the most nervous of us all, though his lawyer, Ash, tried repeatedly to reassure him. Mr. Close began Kennedy. If you and Mr. Lawrence will sit over here on this side of the room, while Dr. Gregory and Mr. Ash sit on the opposite side, with Mr. Jameson in the middle, I think both of you opposing parties will be better suited. For I apprehend that at various stages in what I am about to say, both you, Mr. Close, and you, Dr. Gregory, will want to consult your attorneys. That, of course, would be embarrassing if not impossible should you be sitting near each other. Now, if we are ready, I shall begin. Kennedy placed a small leaden casket on the table of his lecture hall. In this casket, he commenced solemnly, there is a certain substance which I have recovered from the dust swept up by a vacuum cleaner in the room of Mrs. Close. One could feel the very air of the room surcharged with excitement. Craig drew on a pair of gloves and carefully opened the casket. With his thumb and forefinger, he lifted out a glass tube and held it gingerly at arm's length. My eyes were riveted on it, for the bottom of the tube glowed with a dazzling point of light. Both Gregory and his attorney and Close and Lawrence whispered to each other when the tube was displayed, as indeed they did throughout the whole exhibition of Kennedy's evidence. No infernal machine was ever more subtle, said Craig, than the tube which I hold in my hand. The imagination of the most sensational writer of fiction might well be thrilled with the mysteries of this fatal tube and its power to work fearful deeds. A larger quantity of this substance in the tube would produce on me, as I now hold it, incurable burns, just as it did on its discoverer before his death. A smaller amount, of course, would not act so quickly. The amount in this tube, if distributed about, would produce the burns inevitably, providing I remained near enough for a long enough time. Craig paused the moment to emphasize his remarks. Here, in my hand, gentlemen, I hold the price of a woman's beauty. He stopped again for several moments, then resumed. And now, having shown it to you, for my own safety, I will place it back in its leaden casket. Drawing off his gloves, he proceeded. I have found out by a cablegram today that seven weeks ago, an order for one hundred milligrams of radium bromide, at thirty-five dollars a milligram, from a certain person in America, was filled by a corporation dealing in this substance. Kennedy said this with measured words, and I felt a thrill run through me as he developed his case. At the same time, Mrs. Close began a series of treatments with an x-ray specialist in New York, Pursuit Kennedy. Now, it is not generally known outside scientific circles, but the fact is that in their physiological effects, the x-ray and radium are quite one and the same. Radium possesses this advantage, however, that no elaborate apparatus is necessary for its use. And in addition, the emanation from radium is steady and constant, whereas the x-ray at best varies slightly with changing conditions of the current and vacuum in the x-ray tube. Still, the effects on the body are much the same. A few days before this order was placed, I recall the following dispatch which appeared in the New York papers. I will read it. Linge, Belgium, October, 1910 What is believed to be the first criminal case in which radium figures as a death dealing agent is engaging public attention at this university town. A wealthy old bachelor, Palin by name, was found dead in his flat. A stroke of epilepsy was at first believed to have caused his death, but a close examination revealed a curious discoloration of his skin. A specialist called in to view the body gave as his opinion that the old man had been exposed for a long time to the emanations of x-ray or radium. The police theory is that M. Palin was done to death by a systematic application of either x-rays or radium by a student in the university who roamed next to him. The student has disappeared. Now here I believe was the suggestion which this American criminal followed, for I cut it out of the paper rather expecting sooner or later that some clever person would act on it. I have thoroughly examined the room of Mrs. Cloves. She herself told me that she never wanted to return to it, that her memory of sleepless nights in it were too vivid. That served to fix the impression that I had already formed from reading this clipping. Either the x-ray or radium had caused her dermatitis and nervousness. Which was it? I wish to be sure that I would make no mistake. Of course I knew it was useless to look for an x-ray machine in or near Mrs. Cloves's room. Such a thing could never have been concealed. The alternative? Radium. Ah! That was different. I determined on an experiment. Mrs. Cloves's maid was prevailed on to sleep in a mistress's room. Of course, radiations of brief duration would do her no permanent harm, although they would produce their effects nevertheless. In one night the maid became extremely nervous. If she had stayed under them several nights, no doubt the beginning of a dermatitis would have affected her. If not more serious trouble. A systematic application covering weeks and months might in the end even have led to death. The next day I managed, as I have said, to go over the room thoroughly with a vacuum cleaner. I knew one of my own which I had bought myself. But tests of the dust which I got from the floor, curtains and furniture showed nothing at all. As a last thought I had, however, cleaned the mattress of the bed and the cracks and crevices in the brass bars. Tests of that dust showed it to be extremely radioactive. I had the dust dissolved by a chemist who understands that sort of thing. Re-crystallized and the radium salts were extracted from the refuse. Thus I found that I had recovered all but a very few milligrams of the radium that had been originally purchased in London. Here it is in this deadly tube in the leaden casket. It is needless to add that the night after I had cleaned out this deadly element, the maid slept the sleep of the just, and would have been all right when next I saw her, but for the interference of the unjust, on whom I had stolen a march. Craig paused while the lawyers whispered again to their clients. Then he continued. Now three persons in this room had an opportunity to secrete the contents of this deadly tube in the crevices of the metalwork of Mrs. Close's bed. One of these persons must have placed an order through a confidential agent in London to purchase the radium from the English Radium Corporation. One of these persons had a compelling motive, something to gain by using this deadly element. The radium in this tube in the casket was secreted, as I have said, in the metalwork of Mrs. Close's bed. Not in large enough quantities to be immediately fatal, but mixed with dust so as to produce the result more slowly, but no less surely, and thus avoid suspicion. At the same time Mrs. Close was persuaded, I will not say by whom, through her natural pride, to take a cause of x-ray treatment for a slight defect, that would further serve to divert suspicion. The fact is that a more horrible plot could hardly have been planned or executed. This person sought to ruin her beauty to gain a most selfish and despicable end. Again, Craig paused to let his words sink into our minds. Now I wish to state that anything you gentlemen may say will be used against you. That is why I have asked you to bring your attorneys. You may consult with them, of course, while I am getting ready for my next disclosure. As Kennedy had developed his points in the case, I had been more and more amazed, but I had not failed to notice how keenly Lawrence was following him. With a half sneer on his astute face, Lawrence drawled, I cannot see that you have accomplished anything by this rather extraordinary summoning of us to your laboratory. The evidence is just as black against Dr. Gregory as before. You may think you're clever, Kennedy, but on the very statement of facts as you have brought them out there is plenty of circumstantial evidence against Gregory, more than there was before. As for anyone else in the room, I can't see that you have anything on us, unless perhaps this new evidence you speak of may implicate Ash or Jameson, he added, including me in a wave of his hand, as if he were already addressing a jury. It's my opinion that 12 of our peers would be quite as likely to bring in a verdict of guilty against them as against anyone else even remotely connected with this case, except Gregory. No, you'll have to do better than this in your next case, if you expect to maintain that so-called reputation of yours for being a professor of criminal science. As for Kloos, taking his cue from his attorney, he scornfully added, I came to find out some new evidence against the wretch who wrecked the beauty of my wife. All I've got is a tiresome lecture on X-rays and Radium. I suppose what you say is true. Well, it only bears out what I had thought before. Gregory treated my wife at home, after he saw the damage his office treatments had done. I guess he was capable of making a complete job out of it, covering up his carelessness by getting rid of the woman who was such a damning piece of evidence against his professional skill. Never a shade past Craig's face as he listened to this tirade. Excuse me a moment, was all he said, opening the door to leave the room. I have just one more fact to disclose. I will be back directly. Kennedy was gone several minutes, during which Kloos and Lawrence fell to whispering behind their hands, with the assurance of those who had believed that this was only Kennedy's method of admitting a defeat. Gregory and Ash exchanged a few words similarly, and it was plain that Ash was endeavoring to put a better interpretation on something that Gregory himself dared hope. As Kennedy re-entered, Kloos was buttoning up his coat preparatory to leaving, and Lawrence was lighting a fresh cigar. In his hand, Kennedy held a notebook. My stenographer writes a very legible shorthand, at least I find it so, from long practice, I suppose. As I glance over her notes, I find many facts which will interest you later, at the trial, but ah, here at the end let me read. Well, he's very clever, but he has nothing against me, has he? No, not unless he can produce the agent who bought the radium for you. But he can't do that. No one could ever have recognized you on your flying trip to London disguised as a diamond merchant who had just learned that he could make his faulty diamonds good by applications of radium and who wanted a good stock of the stuff. Still, we'll have to drop the suit against Gregory. After all, in spite of what I said, that part is hopelessly spoiled. Yes, I suppose so. Oh, well, I'm free now. She can hardly help but consent to divorce now, and a quiet settlement. She brought it on herself. We tried every other way to do it, but she, she was too good to fall into it. She forced us to it. Yes, you'll get a good divorce now. But can't we shut up this man, Kennedy? Even if he can't prove anything against us, the mere rumor of such a thing coming to the ears of Mrs. Tolkington would be unpleasant. Go as far as you like, Lawrence. You know what the marriage will mean to me. It will settle my debts to you and all the rest. I'll see what I can do close. He'll be back in a minute. Close's face was livid. It's a pack of lies, he shouted, advancing toward Kennedy. A pack of lies. You are a faker and a blackmailer. I'll have you in jail for this, by God, and you too, Gregory. One moment, please, said Kennedy calmly. Mr. Lawrence, will you be so kind as to reach behind your chair? What do you find? Lawrence lifted up the plain black box, and with it he pulled up the wires which I had so carefully concealed in the cracks of the floor. That, said Kennedy, is a little instrument called the microphone. Its chief merit lies in the fact that it will magnify a sound sixteen hundred times, and carry it to any given point where you wish to place the receiver. Originally this device was invented for the aid of the deaf, but I see no reason why it should not be used to aid the law. One needn't eavesdrop at the keyhole with this little instrument about. Inside that box there is nothing but a series of plugs from which wires, much finer than a thread, are stretched out. Yet a fly walking near it would make a noise as loud as a draught horse. If the microphone is placed in any part of the room, especially if near the person's talking, even if they are talking in a whisper. A whisper such as occurred several times during the evening, and particularly while I was in the next room getting the notes made by my stenographer. A whisper, I say, is like shouting your guilt from the housetops. You two men, close in Lawrence, may consider yourselves under arrest for conspiracy, and whatever other indictments will lie against such creatures as you. The police will be here in a moment. No, close. Violence won't do now. The doors are locked and see we are fall to two.