III. The Bacteriological Detective
Kennedy was deeply immersed in writing a lecture on the chemicalcompositions of various bacterial toxins and antitoxins, a thing whichwas as unfamiliar to me as Kamchatka, but as familiar to Kennedy asBroadway and Forty-second Street.
"Really," he remarked, laying down his fountain-pen and lighting hiscigar for the hundredth time, "the more one thinks of how the moderncriminal misses his opportunities the more astonishing it seems. Why dothey stick to pistols, chloroform, and prussic acid when there is such asplendid assortment of refined methods they might employ?"
"Give it up, old man," I replied helplessly, "unless it is because theyhaven't any imagination. I hope they don't use them. What would becomeof my business if they did? How would you ever get a really dramaticnews feature for the Star out of such a thing? 'Dotted line marks routetaken by fatal germ; cross indicates spot where antitoxin attackedit'--ha! ha! not much for the yellow journals in that, Craig."
"To my mind, Walter, it would be the height of the dramatic--far moredramatic than sending a bullet into a man. Any fool can shoot a pistolor cut a throat, but it takes brains to be up-to-date."
"It may be so;" I admitted, and went on reading, while Kennedy scratchedaway diligently on his lecture. I mention this conversation both becauseit bears on my story, by a rather peculiar coincidence, and because itshowed me a new side of Kennedy's amazing researches. He was asmuch interested in bacteria as in chemistry, and the story is one ofbacteria.
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when the buzzer on our halldoor sounded. Imagine my surprise on opening the door to discover theslight figure of what appeared to be a most fascinating young lady whowas heavily veiled. She was in a state almost bordering on hysteria, aseven 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 reallyI forgot to disappear, but busied myself straightening the furniture andopening a window to allow the odour of stale tobacco to escape.
"My name is Eveline Bisbee," she began. "I have heard, ProfessorKennedy, that you are an adept at getting at the bottom of difficultmysteries."
"You flatter me;" he said in acknowledgment. "Who was so foolish as totell 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 thinkI'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 toldthat you and Professor Kennedy always work together."
It was my turn to be embarrassed by the compliment.
"Mrs. Fletcher, of Great Neck," she explained, "has told me. I believeProfessor Kennedy performed a great service for the Fletchers, though Ido not know what it was. At any rate, I have come to you with my case,in which I have small hope of obtaining assistance unless you can helpme. If Professor Kennedy cannot solve it, well, I'm afraid nobody can."She paused a moment, then added, "No doubt you have read of the death ofmy guardian the other day."
Of course we had. Who did not know that "Jim" Bisbee, the southernCalifornia oil-magnate, had died suddenly of typhoid fever at theprivate hospital of Dr. Bell, where he had been taken from hismagnificent apartment on Riverside Drive? Kennedy and I had discussedit at the time. We had commented on the artificiality of the twentiethcentury. No longer did people have homes; they had apartments, I hadsaid. 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 hiredhalls for funeral services. It was a wonder that they didn't hiregraves. 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 nothingmysterious about it. It was just typical in all its surroundings of thefirst decade of the twentieth century in a great, artificial city--alonely death of a great man surrounded by all that money could buy.
We had read of his ward, too, the beautiful Miss Eveline Bisbee, adistant relation. As under the heat of the room and her excitement, sheraised her veil, we were very much interested in her. At least, I amsure that even Kennedy had by this time completely forgotten the lectureon toxins.
"There is something about my guardian's death," she began in a low andtremulous voice, "that I am sure will bear investigating. It may be onlya 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 hissummer at his country place at Bisbee Hall, New Jersey, from which hereturned rather suddenly about a week ago. Our friends thought it merelya strange whim that he should return to the city before the summer wasfairly over, but it was not. The day before he returned, his gardenerfell sick of typhoid. That decided Mr. Bisbee to return to the city onthe following day. Imagine his consternation to find his valet strickenthe very next morning. Of course they motored to New York immediately,then he wired to me at Newport, and together we opened his apartment atthe Louis Quinze.
"But that was not to be the end of it. One after another, the servantsat 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 farI have been spared. But who knows how much longer it will last? I havebeen so frightened that I haven't eaten a meal in the apartment since Icame back. When I am hungry I simply steal out to a hotel--a differentone every time. I never drink any water except that which I havesurreptitiously boiled in my own room over a gas-stove. Disinfectantsand germicides have been used by the gallon, and still I don't feelsafe. Even the health authorities don't remove my fears. With myguardian'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 wastaken sick, and the doctor pronounces that typhoid, too. Will I be thenext? Is it just a foolish fear? Why does it pursue us to New York? Whydidn't it stop at Bisbee Hall?"
I don't think I ever saw a living creature more overcome by horror, byan invisible, deadly fear. That was why it was doubly horrible in a girlso attractive as Eveline Bisbee. As I listened I felt how terrible itmust be to be pursued by such a fear. What must it be to be dogged bya disease as relentlessly as the typhoid had dogged her? If it had beensome great, but visible, tangible peril how gladly I could have faced itmerely for the smile of a woman like this. But it was a peril thatonly knowledge and patience could meet. Instinctively I turned towardKennedy, my own mind being an absolute blank.
"Is there anyone you suspect of being the cause of such an epidemic?" heasked. "I may as well tell you right now that I have already formedtwo theories--one perfectly natural, the other diabolical. Tell meeverything."
"Well, I had expected to receive a fortune of one million dollars, freeand clear, by his will and this morning I am informed by his lawyer,James Denny, that a new will had been made. It is still one million. Butthe remainder, instead of going to a number of charities in which he wasknown to be interested, goes to form a trust fund for the Bisbee Schoolof Mechanical Arts, of which Mr. Denny is the sole trustee. Of course,I do not know much about my guardian's interests while he was alive, butit strikes me as strange that he should have changed so radically, and,besides, the new will is so worded that if I die without childrenmy million also goes to this school--location unnamed. I can't helpwondering about it all."
"Why should you wonder--at least what other reasons have you forwondering?"
"Oh, I can't express them. Maybe after all it's only a woman's sillyintuition. But often I have thought in the past few days about thisillness of my guardian. It was so queer. He was always so careful. Andyou know the rich don't often have typhoid."
"You have no reason to su
ppose that it was not typhoid fever of which hedied?"
She hesitated. "No," she replied, "but if you had known Mr. Bisbeeyou would think it strange, too. He had a horror of infectious andcontagious diseases. His apartment and his country home were models. Nosanitarium could have been more punctilious. He lived what one of hisfriends called an antiseptic life. Maybe I am foolish, but it keepsgetting closer and closer to me now, and--well, I wish you'd look intothe case. Please set my mind at rest and assure me that nothing iswrong, that it is all natural."
"I will help you, Miss Bisbee. To-morrow night I want to take a tripquietly to Bisbee Hall. You will see that it is all right, that I havethe proper letters so I can investigate thoroughly."
I shall never forget the mute and eloquent thanks with which she saidgood night after Kennedy's promise.
Kennedy sat with his eyes shaded under his hand for fully an hour aftershe had left. Then he suddenly jumped up. "Walter," he said, "let us goover to Dr. Bell's. I know the head nurse there. We may possibly learnsomething."
As we sat in the waiting-room with its thick Oriental rugs and handsomemahogany furniture, I found myself going back to our conversation ofthe early evening. "By Jove, Kennedy, you were right," I exclaimed. "Ifthere is anything in this germ-plot idea of hers it is indeed the heightof the dramatic--it is diabolical. No ordinary mortal would ever becapable of it."
Just then the head nurse came in, a large woman breathing ofgermlessness and cheerfulness in her spotless uniform. We were shownevery courtesy. There was, in fact, nothing to conceal. The visit setat rest my last suspicion that perhaps Jim Bisbee had been poisoned by adrug. The charts of his temperature and the sincerity of the nurse wereabsolutely convincing. It had really been typhoid, and there was nothingto be gained by pursuing that inquiry further.
Back at the apartment, Craig began packing his suitcase with the fewthings he would need for a journey. "I'm going out to Bisbee Hallto-morrow for a few days, Walter, and if you could find it convenient tocome along I should like to have your assistance."
"To tell you the truth, Craig, I am afraid to go," I said.
"You needn't be. I'm going down to the army post on Governor's Islandfirst to be vaccinated against typhoid. Then I am going to wait a fewhours till it takes effect before going. It's the only place in the citywhere one can be inoculated against it, so far as I know. While threeinoculations are really best, I understand that one is sufficient forordinary protection, 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 beinginoculated against the disease. The work of immunising our army wasgoing on at that time, and several thousands of soldiers in variousparts of the country had already been vaccinated, with the best ofresults. "Do many civilians come over to be vaccinated?" asked Craig ofMajor Carroll, 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 up outside the army, to see howit works. Still, when they come to us as you and Mr. Jameson have donewe are perfectly willing to vaccinate them. The Army Medical Corps takesthe position that if it is good for the army it is good for civil life,and as long as only a few civilians apply we are perfectly willing to doit 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 outhis notebook, made an entry, and handed the list back. "Thank you,Major."
Bisbee Hall was a splendid place set in the heart of a great park whosearea was measured by square miles rather than by acres. But Craig didnot propose to stay there, for he arranged for accommodations in anear-by town, where we were to take our meals also. It was late when wearrived, and we spent a restless night, for the inoculation "took." Itwasn't any worse than a light attack of the grippe, and in the morningwe 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 Ihad been wondering why Craig wanted me along my wonder was soon set atrest. He had me scouring the town and country looking up every case orrumour of typhoid for miles around. I made the local weekly paper myheadquarters, and the editor was very obliging. He let me read all hisnews letters from his local correspondent at every crossroads. I wadedthrough accounts of new calves and colts, new fences and barns, who"Sundayed" with his brother, etc., and soon had a list of all thecases in that part of the country. It was not a long one, but itwas scattered. After I had traced them out, following Kennedy'sinstructions, they showed nothing, except that they were unrelated tothe epidemic at the hall.
Meanwhile, Kennedy was very busy there. He had a microscope and slidesand test-tubes and chemicals for testing things, and I don't know whatall, for there was not time to initiate me into all the mysteries. Hetested 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 comein from outside, though there was practically none, for the hall wasself-supporting. There was no stone he left unturned.
When I rejoined him that night he was clearly perplexed. I don't thinkmy report decreased his perplexity, either.
"There is only one thing left as far as I have been able to discoverafter one day's work," he said, after we had gone over our activitiesfor the day. "Jim Bisbee never drank the water from his own wells. Healways drank a bottled water shipped down from a camp of his in New YorkState, where he had a remarkable mountain spring. I tested a number ofthe full bottles at the hall, but they were perfectly pure. There wasn'ta trace of the bacillus typhosus in any of them. Then it occurred to methat, after all, that was not the thing to do. I should test the emptyones. But there weren't any empty ones. They told me they had all beentaken down to the freight station yesterday to be shipped back to thecamp. I hope they haven't gone yet. Let's drive around and see if theyare there."
The freight-master was just leaving, but when he learned we were fromthe hall he consented to let us examine the bottles. They were corkedand in wooden cases, which protected them perfectly. By the light of thestation lamps and the aid of a pocket-lens, Kennedy examined them on theoutside and satisfied himself that after being replaced in the woodencases the bottles themselves had not been handled.
"Will you let me borrow some of these bottles to-night" he askedthe agent. "I'll give you my word that they will be returned safelyto-morrow. If necessary, I'll get an order for them."
The station-agent reluctantly yielded; especially as a small greenbanknote figured in the transaction. Craig and I tenderly lifted the bigbottles in their cases into our trap and drove back to our rooms in thehotel. It quite excited the hangers-on to see us drive up with a lot ofempty five-gallon bottles and carry them up-stairs, but I had long agogiven up having any fear of public opinion in carrying out anythingCraig wanted.
In our room we worked far into the night. Craig carefully swabbed outthe bottom and sides of each bottle by inserting a little piece ofcotton on the end of a long wire. Then he squeezed the water out of thecotton swab on small glass slides coated with agar-agar, or Japaneseseaweed, a medium in which germ-cultures multiply rapidly. He put theslides away in a little oven with an alcohol-lamp which he had broughtalong, leaving them to remain overnight at blood heat.
I had noticed all this time that he was very particular not to touch anyof the bottles on the outside. As for me, I wouldn't have touched themfor 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 thatmade Craig so careful. He had noted, in the dim light of the stationlamps, what seemed to be finger-marks on the bottles, and they hadinterested him, in fac
t, had decided him on a further investigation ofthe bottles.
"I am now going to bring out these very faint finger-prints on thebottles," remarked Craig, proceeding with his examination in the betterlight of our room. "Here is some powder known to chemists as 'greypowder'--mercury and chalk. I sprinkle it over the faint markings, so,and then I brush it off with a camel's-hair brush lightly. That bringsout the imprint much more clearly, as you can see. For instance, ifyou place your dry thumb on a piece of white paper you leave no visibleimpression. If grey powder is sprinkled over the spot and then brushedoff a distinct impression is seen. If the impression of the fingers isleft on something soft, like wax, it is often best to use printers' inkto bring out the ridges and patterns of the finger-marks. And so onfor various materials. Quite a science has been built up aroundfinger-prints.
"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 arecord of these marks, and I can enlarge the photographs later. In themorning I will photograph these marks and you can do the developing ofthe films. To-night we'll improvise the bathroom as a dark-room and geteverything ready so that we can start in bright and early."
We were, indeed, up early. One never has difficulty in getting up earlyin the country: it is so noisy, at least to a city-bred man. City noiseat five A.M. is sepulchral silence compared with bucolic activity atthat hour.
There were a dozen negatives which I set about developing after Craighad used up all our films. Meanwhile, he busied himself adjustinghis microscope and test-tubes and getting the agar slides ready forexamination.
Shirt-sleeves rolled up, I was deeply immersed in my work when I heard ashout 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 Ihave it, at last. I have just found some most promising colonies of thebacilli 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've found out something,too. Every one of these finger-prints so far is from the same pair ofhands."
We scarcely ate any breakfast, and were soon on our way up to the hall.Craig had provided himself at the local stationer's with an inking-pad,such as is used for rubber stamps. At the hall he proceeded to get theimpressions of the fingers and thumbs of all the servants.
It was quite a long and difficult piece of work to compare thefinger-prints we had taken with those photographed, in spite of the factthat writers descant on the ease with which criminals are traced by thissystem devised by the famous Galton. However, we at last finished thejob between us; or rather Craig finished it, with an occasional remarkfrom me. His dexterity amazed me; it was more than mere book knowledge.
For a moment we sat regarding each other hopelessly. None of thefinger-prints taken at the hall tallied with the photographed prints.Then Craig rang for the housekeeper, a faithful old soul whom even thetyphoid scare could not budge from her post.
"Are you sure I have seen all the servants who were at the hall whileMr. Bisbee was here" asked Craig.
"Why, no, sir--you didn't ask that. You asked to see all who are herenow. There is only one who has left, the cook, Bridget Fallon. She lefta couple of days ago--said she was going back to New York to get anotherjob. Glad enough I was to get rid of her, too, for she was drunk most ofthe time after the typhoid appeared."
"Well, Walter, I guess we shall have to go back to New York again,then," exclaimed Kennedy. "Oh, I beg pardon, Mrs. Rawson, forinterrupting. Thank you ever so much. Where did Bridget come from?"
"She came well recommended, sir. Here is the letter in my writing-desk.She had been employed by the Caswell-Joneses at Shelter Island beforeshe came here."
"I may keep this letter" asked Craig, scanning it quickly.
"Yes."
"By the way, where were 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?"
"Only Mr. Denny one night."
"H'm!" exclaimed Craig. "Well, it will not be so hard for us to unravelthis matter, after all, when we get back to the city. We must make thatnoon train, Walter. There is nothing more for us to do here."
Emerging from the "Tube" at Ninth Street, Craig hustled me into ataxicab, 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 alarge share of credit for the Kerr Parker case. Craig sketched hastilythe details of this new case. O'Connor's face was a study. His honestblue Irish eyes fairly bulged in wonder, and when Craig concluded witha request for help I think O'Connor would have given him anything in theoffice, just to figure in the case.
"First, I want one of your men to go to the surrogate's office andget the original of the will. I shall return it within a couple ofhours--all I want to do is to make a photographic copy. Then anotherman must find this lawyer, James Denny, and in some way get hisfinger-prints--you must arrange that yourself. And send another fellowup to the employment offices on Fourth Avenue and have him locate thiscook, Bridget Fallon. I want her finger-prints, too. Perhaps she hadbetter be detained, for I don't want her to get away. Oh, and say,O'Connor, do you want to finish this case up like the crack of a whipto-night?"
"I'm game, sir. What of it?"
"Let me see. It is now four o'clock. If you can get hold of allthese people in time I think I shall be ready for the final sceneto-night--say, at nine. You know how to arrange it. Have them allpresent at my laboratory at nine, and I promise we shall have a storythat will get into the morning papers with leaded type on the frontpage."
"Now, Walter," he added, as we hurried down to the taxicab again, "Iwant you to drop off at the Department of Health with this card to thecommissioner. I believe you know Dr. Leslie. Well, ask him if heknows anything about this Bridget Fallon. I will go on up-town to thelaboratory and get my apparatus ready. You needn't come up till nine,old fellow, for I shall be busy till then, but be sure when you comethat 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 isneedless to say that I was keyed up to the greatest pitch of excitementduring my interview with the health commissioner, when I finally got into 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 itfirst.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Jameson." he said, after I had told him as muchof my story as I could, "will you call up Professor Kennedy and tell himI'd like very much to be present to-night myself?"
"Certainly I will," I replied, glad to get my errand done in first-classfashion in that way.
Things must have been running smoothly, for while I was sitting in ourapartment after dinner, impatiently waiting for half-past eight,when the commissioner had promised to call for me and go up to thelaboratory, the telephone rang. It was Craig.
"Walter, might I ask a favour of you?" he said. "When the commissionercomes ask him to stop at the Louis Quinze and bring Miss Bisbee up, too.Tell her it is important. No more now. Things are going ahead fine."
Promptly at nine we were assembled, a curious crowd. The healthcommissioner and the inspector, being members of the same politicalparty, 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 keepmyself quiet.
At one end of the room Craig had placed a large white sheet such as heused in his stereopticon lectures, while at the top of the tier of seatsthat made a sort of little amphitheatre out of his lecture-room hisstereopticon sputtered.
"
Moving pictures to-night, eh?" said Inspector O'Connor.
"Not exactly," said Craig, "though--yes, they will be moving in anothersense. 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 thesheet.
Kennedy snapped a little announcer such as lecturers use. "Let me inviteyour attention to these enlargements of finger-prints," he began, asa huge thumb appeared on the screen. "Here we have a series offinger-prints which I will show one after another slowly. They are allof the fingers of the same person, and they were found on some emptybottles of spring water used at Bisbee Hall during the two weeksprevious to the departure of Mr. Bisbee for New York.
"Here are, in succession, the finger-prints of the various servantsemployed about the house--and of a guest," added Craig, with a slightchange of tone. "They differ markedly from the finger-prints on theglass," he continued, as one after another appeared, "all except thislast one. That is identical. It is, Inspector, what we call a compositetype of finger-print--in this case a combination of what is called the'loop' and 'whorl' types."
No sound broke the stillness save the sputtering of the oxygen on thecalcium of the stereopticon.
"The owner of the fingers from which these prints were made is in thisroom. It was from typhoid germs on these fingers that the fever wasintroduced into the drinking water at Bisbee Hall."
Kennedy paused to emphasise the statement, then continued. "I am nowgoing to ask Dr. Leslie to give us a little talk on a recent discoveryin the field of typhoid fever--you understand, Commissioner, what Imean, I believe?"
"Perfectly. Shall I mention names?"
"No, not yet."
"Well," began Dr. Leslie, clearing his throat, "within the past year ortwo we have made a most weird and startling discovery in typhoid fever.We have found what we now call 'typhoid carriers'--persons who do nothave the disease themselves, perhaps never have had it, but who areliterally living test-tubes of the typhoid bacillus. It is positivelyuncanny. Everywhere they go they scatter the disease. Down at thedepartment we have the records of a number of such instances, and ourmen in the research laboratories have come to the conclusion that, farfrom being of rare occurrence, these cases are comparatively common. Ihave in mind one particular case of a servant girl, who, during the pastfive or six years, has been employed in several families.
"In every family typhoid fever has later broken out. Experts have tracedout 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 typhoidcarrier on a remote farm in Connecticut. This carrier, innocentlyenough, 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. Lastspring we had her under surveillance, but as there was no law by whichwe could restrain her permanently she is still at large. I think oneof the Sunday papers at the time had an account of her--they calledher 'Typhoid Bridget,' and in red ink she was drawn across the page ingruesome fashion, frying the skulls of her victims in a frying-pan overa roaring fire. That particular typhoid carrier, I understand--"
"Excuse me, Commissioner, if I interrupt, but I think we have carriedthis part of the programme far enough to be absolutely convincing," saidCraig. "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. Hesaid nothing, but let us read it through.
To whom it may concern:
This is to certify that Bridget Fallon has been employed in my family atShelter Island for the past season and that I have found her a reliableservant and an excellent cook.
A. ST. JOHN CASWELL-JONES.
"Before God, Mr. Kennedy, I'm innocent," screeched Bridget. "Don't haveme 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'swill appeared on the sheet, ending with his signature and the witnesses.
"I'm now going to show these two specimens of handwriting very greatlyenlarged," he said, as the stereopticon 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 inhandwriting. He maintains that in certain diseases a person's pulsebeats are individual, and that no one suffering from any such diseasecan control, even for a brief space of time, the frequency or peculiarirregularities of his heart's action, as shown by a chart recording hispulsation. Such a chart is obtained for medical purposes by means of asphygmograph, an instrument fitted to the patient's forearm and suppliedwith a needle, which can be so arranged as to record automatically ona prepared sheet of paper the peculiar force and frequency of thepulsation. Or the pulsation may be simply observed in the rise and fallof a liquid in a tube. Dr. Johnson holds the opinion that a pen inthe hand of a writer serves, in a modified degree, the same end as theneedle in the first-named form of the sphygmograph and that in sucha person's handwriting one can see by projecting the letters, greatlymagnified, on a screen, the scarcely perceptible turns and quiversmade in the lines by the spontaneous action of that person's peculiarpulsation.
"To prove this, the doctor carried out an experiment at Charing CrossHospital. At his request a number of patients suffering from heart andkidney 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 orinvoluntary motions due to the patient's peculiar pulsations weredistinctly visible. The handwriting of persons in normal health, saysDr. Johnson, does not always show their pulse beats. What one can say,however, is that when a document, purporting to be written by a certainperson, contains traces of pulse beats and the normal handwriting ofthat person does not show them, then clearly that document is a forgery.
"Now, in these two specimens of handwriting which we have enlarged it isplain that the writers of both of them suffered from a certain peculiardisease of the heart. Moreover, I am prepared to show that the pulsebeats exhibited in the case of certain pen-strokes in one of thesedocuments are exhibited in similar strokes in the other. Furthermore, Ihave ascertained from his family physician, whose affidavit I have here,that Mr. Bisbee did not suffer from this or any other form of heartdisease. Mr. Caswell-Jones, in addition to wiring me that he refused towrite Bridget Fallon a recommendation after the typhoid broke out in hiscountry house, also says he does not suffer from heart disease in anyform. From the tremulous character of the letters and figures in boththese documents, which when magnified is the more easily detected, Itherefore conclude that both are forgeries, and I am ready to go fartherand say that they are forgeries from the same hand.
"It usually takes a couple of weeks after infection for typhoid todevelop, a time sufficient in itself to remove suspicion from acts whichmight otherwise be scrutinised very carefully if happening immediatelybefore the disease developed. I may add, also, that it is well knownthat stout people do very poorly when they contract typhoid, especiallyif they are old. Mr. Bisbee was both stout and old. To contract typhoidwas for him a virtual death-warrant. Knowing all these facts, a certainperson purposely sought out a crafty means of introducing typhoid feverinto Mr. Bisbee's family. That person, furthermore, was inoculatedagainst typhoid three times during the month before the disease wasdevilishly and surreptitiously introduced into Bisbee Hall, in order toprotect himself or herself should it become necessary for that person tovisit Bisbee Hall. That person, I believe, is the one who suffered froman aneurism of the heart, the writer, or rather the forger, of the twodocuments I have shown, by one of which he or she was to profit greatlyby the death of Mr. Bisbee and the founding of an alleged school in adistant part of the country--a subterfuge, if you recall, used in atleast one famous case for which the convicted perpetrator i
s now under alife sentence in Sing Sing.
"I will ask Dr. Leslie to take this stethoscope and examine the heartsof everyone in the room and tell me whether there is anyone heresuffering from an aneurism."
The calcium light ceased to sputter. One person after another wasexamined by the health commissioner. Was it merely my imagination, ordid I really hear a heart beating with wild leaps as if it would burstthe bonds of its prison and make its escape if possible? Perhaps itwas only the engine of the commissioner's machine out on the campusdriveway. I don't know. At any rate, he went silently from one to theother, betraying not even by his actions what he discovered with thestethoscope. The suspense was terrible. I felt Miss Bisbee's handinvoluntarily grasp my arm convulsively. Without disturbing the silence,I reached a glass of water standing near me on Craig's lecture-table andhanded it to her.
The commissioner was bending over the lawyer, trying to adjust thestethoscope better to his ears. The lawyer's head was resting heavilyon his hand, and he was heaped up in an awkward position in the crampedlecture-room seat. It seemed an age as Dr. Leslie tried to adjust thestethoscope. Even Craig felt the excitement. While the commissionerhesitated, Kennedy reached over and impatiently switched on the electriclight in full force.
As the light flooded the room, blinding us for the instant, the largeform of Dr. Leslie stood between us and the lawyer.
"What does the stethoscope tell you, Doctor?" asked Craig, leaningforward 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 passedjudgment on this astounding criminal. The aneurism has burst."
I felt a soft weight fall on my shoulder. The Morning Star did not havethe story, after all. I missed the greatest "scoop" of my life seeingEveline Bisbee safely to her home after she had recovered from the shockof Denny's exposure and punishment.