VIII. "Spontaneous Combustion"
Kennedy and I had risen early, for we were hustling to get off for aweek-end at Atlantic City. Kennedy was tugging at the straps of his gripand remonstrating with it under his breath, when the door opened and amessenger-boy stuck his head in.
"Does Mr. Kennedy live here?" he asked.
Craig impatiently seized the pencil, signed his name in the book, andtore open a night letter. From the prolonged silence that followed Ifelt a sense of misgiving. I, at least, had set my heart on the AtlanticCity outing, but with the appearance of the messenger-boy I intuitivelyfelt that the board walk would not see us that week.
"I'm afraid the Atlantic City trip is off, Walter," remarked Craigseriously. "You remember Tom Langley in our class at the university?Well, read that."
I laid down my safety razor and took the message. Tom had not sparedwords, and I could see at a glance at the mere length of the thing thatit must be important. It was from Camp Hang-out in the Adirondacks.
"Dear old K.," it began, regardless of expense, "can you arrange to comeup here by next train after you receive this? Uncle Lewis is dead. Mostmysterious. Last night after we retired noticed peculiar odour abouthouse. Didn't pay much attention. This morning found him lying on floorof living-room, head and chest literally burned to ashes, but lower partof body and arms untouched. Room shows no evidence of fire, but full ofsort of oily soot. Otherwise nothing unusual. On table near body siphonof seltzer, bottle of imported limes, and glass for rickeys. Haveremoved body, but am keeping room exactly as found until you arrive.Bring Jameson. Wire if you cannot come, but make every effort and spareno expense. Anxiously, Tom Langley."
Craig was impatiently looking at his watch as I hastily ran through theletter.
"Hurry, Walter," he exclaimed. "We can just catch the Empire State.Never mind shaving--we'll have a stopover at Utica to wait for theMontreal express. Here, put the rest of your things in your grip andjam it shut. We'll get something to eat on the train--I hope. I'll wirewe're coming. Don't forget to latch the door."
Kennedy was already half-way to the elevator, and I followed ruefully,still thinking of the ocean and the piers, the bands and the rollerchairs.
It was a good ten-hour journey up to the little station nearest CampHang-out and at least a two hour ride after that. We had plenty of timeto reflect over what this death might mean to Tom and his sister and tospeculate on the manner of it. Tom and Grace Langley were relatives bymarriage of Lewis Langley, who, after the death of his wife, had madethem his proteges. Lewis Langley was principally noted, as far as Icould recall, for being a member of some of the fastest clubs of bothNew York and London. Neither Kennedy nor myself had shared in theworld's opinion of him, for we knew how good he had been to Tom incollege and, from Tom, how good he had been to Grace. In fact, he hadmade Tom assume the Langley name, and in every way had treated thebrother and sister as if they had been his own children.
Tom met us with a smart trap at the station, a sufficient indication,if we had not already known, of the "roughing it" at such a luxuriousAdirondack "camp" as Camp Hang-out. He was unaffectedly glad to see us,and it was not difficult to read in his face the worry which the affairhad already given him.
"Tom; I'm awfully sorry to--" began Craig when, warned by Langley'slook at the curious crowd that always gathers at the railroad stationat train time, he cut it short. We stood silently a moment while Tom wasarranging the trap for us.
As we swung around the bend in the road that cut off the little stationand its crowd of lookers-on, Kennedy was the first to speak. "Tom," hesaid, "first of all, let me ask that when we get to the camp we areto be simply two old classmates whom you had asked to spend a few daysbefore the tragedy occurred. Anything will do. There may be nothing atall to your evident suspicions, and then again there may. At anyrate, play the game safely--don't arouse any feeling which might causeunpleasantness later in case you are mistaken."
"I quite agree with you," answered Tom. "You wired, from Albany, Ithink, to keep the facts out of the papers as much as possible. I'mafraid it is too late for that. Of course the thing became vaguely knownin Saranac, although the county officers have been very considerate ofus, and this morning a New York Record correspondent was over and talkedwith us. I couldn't refuse, that would have put a very bad face on it."
"Too bad," I exclaimed. "I had hoped, at least, to be able to keep thereport down to a few lines in the Star. But the Record will have sucha yellow story about it that I'll simply have to do something tocounteract the effect."
"Yes," assented Craig. "But--wait. Let's see the Record story first. Theoffice doesn't know you're up here. You can hold up the Star and giveus time to look things over, perhaps get in a beat on the real story andset things right. Anyhow, the news is out. That's certain. We must workquickly. Tell me, Tom, who are at the camp--anyone except relatives?"
"No," he replied, guardedly measuring his words. "Uncle Lewis hadinvited his brother James and his niece and nephew, Isabelle and James,junior--we call him Junior. Then there are Grace and myself anda distant relative, Harrington Brown, and--oh, of course, uncle'sphysician, Doctor Putnam."
"Who is Harrington Brown" asked Craig.
"He's on the other side of the Langley family, on Uncle Lewis's mother'sside. I think, or at least Grace thinks, that he is quite in love withIsabelle. Harrington Brown would be quite a catch. Of course he isn'twealthy, but his family is mighty well connected. Oh, Craig," sighedLangley, "I wish he hadn't done it--Uncle Lewis, I mean. Why did heinvite his brother up here now when he needed to recover from the swiftpace of last winter in New York? You know--or you don't know, I suppose,but you'll know it now--when he and Uncle Jim got together there wasnothing to it but one drink after another. Doctor Putnam was quitedisgusted, at least he professed to be, but, Craig," he lowered hisvoice to a whisper, as if the very forest had ears, "they're allalike--they've been just waiting for Uncle Lewis to drink himself todeath. Oh," he added bitterly, "there's no love lost between me and therelatives on that score, I can assure you."
"How did you find him that morning?" asked Kennedy, as if to turn offthis unlocking of family secrets to strangers.
"That's the worst part of the whole affair," replied Tom, and even inthe dusk I could see the lines of his face tighten. "You know UncleLewis was a hard drinker, but he never seemed to show it much. Wehad been out on the lake in the motor-boat fishing all the afternoonand--well, I must admit both my uncles had had frequent recourse to'pocket pistols,' and I remember they referred to it each time as'bait.' Then after supper nothing would do but fizzes and rickeys. I wasdisgusted, and after reading a bit went to bed. Harrington and my unclessat up with Doctor Putnam--according to Uncle Jim--for a couple ofhours longer. Then Harrington, Doctor Putnam, and Uncle Jim went to bed,leaving Uncle Lewis still drinking. I remember waking in the night, andthe house seemed saturated with a peculiar odour. I never smelt anythinglike it in my life. So I got up and slipped into my bathrobe. I metGrace in the hall. She was sniffing.
"'Don't you smell something burning?' she asked.
"I said I did and started down-stairs to investigate. Everything wasdark, but that smell was all over the house. I looked in eachroom down-stairs as I went, but could see nothing. The kitchen anddining-room were all right. I glanced into the living-room, but, whilethe smell was more noticeable there, I could see no evidence of a fireexcept the dying embers on the hearth. It had been coolish that night,and we had had a few logs blazing. I didn't examine the room--thereseemed no reason for it. We went back to our rooms, and in the morningthey found the gruesome object I had missed in the darkness and shadowsof the living-room."
Kennedy was intently listening. "Who found him?" he asked.
"Harrington," replied Tom. "He roused us. Harrington's theory is thatuncle set himself on fire with a spark from his cigar--a charred cigarbutt was found on the floor."
We found Tom's relatives a saddened, silent party in the face of thetragedy. Kennedy and I apologise
d very profusely for our intrusion, butTom quickly interrupted, as we had agreed, by explaining that he hadinsisted on our coming, as old friends on whom he felt he could rely,especially to set the matter right in the newspapers.
I think Craig noticed keenly the reticence of the family group in themystery--I might almost have called it suspicion. They did not seem toknow just whether to take it as an accident or as something worse,and each seemed to entertain a reserve toward the rest which was veryuncomfortable.
Mr. Langley's attorney in New York had been notified, but apparently wasout of town, for he had not been heard from. They seemed rather anxiousto get word from him.
Dinner over, the family group separated, leaving Tom an opportunity totake us into the gruesome living-room. Of course the remains hadbeen removed, but otherwise the room was exactly as it had been whenHarrington discovered the tragedy. I did not see the body, which waslying in an anteroom, but Kennedy did, and spent some time in there.
After he rejoined us, Kennedy next examined the fireplace. It was fullof ashes from the logs which had been lighted on the fatal night.He noted attentively the distance of Lewis Langley's chair from thefireplace, and remarked that the varnish on the chair was not evenblistered.
Before the chair, on the floor where the body had been found, he pointedout to us the peculiar ash-marks for some space around, but it reallyseemed to me as if something else interested him more than theseash-marks.
We had been engaged perhaps half an hour in viewing the room. At lastCraig suddenly stopped.
"Tom," he said, "I think I'll wait till daylight before I go anyfurther. I can't tell with certainty under these lights, though perhapsthey show me some things the sunlight wouldn't show. We'd better leaveeverything just as it is until morning."
So we locked the room again and went into a sort of library across thehall.
We were sitting in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts on themystery, when the telephone rang. It proved to be a long-distance callfrom New York for Tom himself. His uncle's attorney had received thenews at his home out on Long Island and had hurried to the city to takecharge of the estate. But that was not the news that caused the gravelook on Tom's face as he nervously rejoined us.
"That was uncle's lawyer, Mr. Clark, of Clark & Burdick," he said."He has opened uncle's personal safe in the offices of the Langleyestate--you remember them, Craig--where all the property of the Langleyheirs is administered by the trustees. He says he can't find the will,though he knows there was a will and that it was placed in that safesome time ago. There is no duplicate."
The full purport of this information at once flashed on me, and I wason the point of blurting out my sympathy, when I saw by the look whichCraig and Tom exchanged that they had already realised it and understoodeach other. Without the will the blood-relatives would inherit all ofLewis Langley's interest in the old Langley estate. Tom and his sisterwould be penniless.
It was late, yet we sat for nearly an hour longer, and I don't think weexchanged a half-dozen sentences in all that time. Craig seemed absorbedin thought. At length, as the great hall-clock sounded midnight, we roseas if by common consent.
"Tom," said Craig, and I could feel the sympathy that welled up in hisvoice, "Tom, old man, I'll get at the bottom of this mystery if humanintelligence can do it."
"I know you will, Craig," responded Tom, grasping each of us by thehand. "That's why I so much wanted you fellows to come up here."
Early in the morning Kennedy aroused me. "Now, Walter, I'm going to askyou to come down into the living-room with me, and we'll take a look atit in the daytime."
I hurried into my clothes, and together we quietly went down. Startingwith the exact spot where the unfortunate man had been discovered,Kennedy began a minute examination of the floor, using his pocket lens.Every few moments he would stop to examine a spot on the rug or onthe hardwood floor more intently. Several times I saw him scrapeup something with the blade of his knife and carefully preserve thescrapings, each in a separate piece of paper.
Sitting idly by, I could not for the life of me see just what good itdid for me to be there, and I said as much. Kennedy laughed quietly.
"You're a material witness, Walter," he replied. "Perhaps I shall needyou some day to testify that I actually found these spots in this room."
Just then Tom stuck his head in. "Can I help?" he asked. "Why didn't youtell me you were going at it so early?"
"No, thanks," answered Craig, rising from the floor. "I was just makinga careful examination of the room before anyone was up so that nobodywould think I was too interested. I've finished. But you can help me,after all. Do you think you could describe exactly how everyone wasdressed that night?"
"Why, I can try. Let me see. To begin with, uncle had on ashooting-jacket--that was pretty well burnt, as you know. Why, in fact,we all had our shooting-jackets on. The ladies were in white."
Craig pondered a little, but did not seem disposed to pursue the subjectfurther, until Tom volunteered the information that since the tragedynone of them had been wearing their shooting jackets.
"We've all been wearing city clothes," he remarked.
"Could you get your Uncle James and your Cousin Junior to go withyou for an hour or two this morning on the lake, or on a tramp in thewoods?" asked Craig after a moment's thought.
"Really, Craig," responded Tom doubtfully, "I ought to go to Saranac tocomplete the arrangements for taking Uncle Lewis's body to New York."
"Very well, persuade them to go with you. Anything, so long as you keepme from interruption for an hour or two."
They agreed on doing that, and as by that time most of the family wereup, we went in to breakfast, another silent and suspicious meal.
After breakfast Kennedy tactfully withdrew from the family, and I didthe same. We wandered off in the direction of the stables and there fellto admiring some of the horses. The groom, who seemed to be a sensibleand pleasant sort of fellow, was quite ready to talk, and soon he andCraig were deep in discussing the game of the north country.
"Many rabbits about here?" asked Kennedy at length, when they hadexhausted the larger game.
"Oh, yes. I saw one this morning, sir," replied the groom.
"Indeed?" said Kennedy. "Do you suppose you could catch a couple forme?"
"Guess I could, sir--alive, you mean?"
"Oh, yes, alive--I don't want you to violate the game laws. This is theclosed season, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir, but then it's all right, sir, here on the estate."
"Bring them to me this afternoon, or--no, keep them here in the stablein a cage and let me know when you have them. If anybody asks you aboutthem, say they belong to Mr. Tom."
Craig handed a small treasury note to the groom, who took it with a grinand touched his hat.
"Thanks," he said. "I'll let you know when I have the bunnies."
As we walked slowly back from the stables we caught sight of Tom downat the boat-house just putting off in the motor-boat with his uncle andcousin. Craig waved to him, and he walked up to meet us.
"While you're in Saranac," said Craig, "buy me a dozen or so test-tubes.Only, don't let anyone here at the house know you are buying them. Theymight ask questions."
While they were gone Kennedy stole into James Langley's room and aftera few minutes returned to our room with the hunting-jacket. He carefullyexamined it with his pocket lens. Then he filled a drinking-glass withwarm boiled water and added a few pinches of table salt. With a pieceof sterilised gauze from Doctor Putnam's medicine-chest, he carefullywashed off a few portions of the coat and set the glass and the gauzesoaking in it aside. Then he returned the coat to the closet wherehe had found it. Next, as silently, he stole into Junior's room andrepeated the process with his hunting-jacket, using another glass andpiece of gauze.
"While I am out of the room, Walter," he said, "I want you to take thesetwo glasses, cover them, and number them and on a slip of paper whichyou must retain, place the names of the owners of the respec
tive coats.I don't like this part of it--I hate to play spy and would much rathercome out in the open, but there is nothing else to do, and it is muchbetter for all concerned that I should play the game secretly justnow. There may be no cause for suspicion at all. In that case I'd neverforgive myself for starting a family row. And then again but we shallsee."
After I had numbered and recorded the glasses Kennedy returned, and wewent down-stairs again.
"Curious about the will, isn't it?" I remarked as we stood on the wideverandah a moment.
"Yes," he replied. "It may be necessary to go back to New York to delveinto that part of it before we get through, but I hope not. We'll wait."
At this point the groom interrupted us to say that he had caught therabbits. Kennedy at once hurried to the stable. There he rolled up hissleeves, pricked a vein in his arm, and injected a small quantity of hisown blood into one of the rabbits. The other he did not touch.
It was late in the afternoon when Tom returned from town with his uncleand cousin. He seemed even more agitated than usual. Without a word hehurried up from the landing and sought us out.
"What do you think of that?" he cried, opening a copy of the Record, andlaying it flat on the library table.
There on the front page was Lewis Langley's picture with a hugescare-head:
MYSTERIOUS CASE OF SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION
"It's all out," groaned Tom, as we bent over to read the account. "Andsuch a story!"
Under the date of the day previous, a Saranac despatch ran:
Lewis Langley, well known as sporting man and club member in New York,and eldest son of the late Lewis Langley, the banker, was discovereddead under the most mysterious circumstances this morning at CampHangout, twelve miles from this town.
The Death of "Old Krook" in Dickens's "Bleak House" or of the victim inone of Marryat's most thrilling tales was not more gruesome than thisactual fact. It is without doubt a case of spontaneous human combustion,such as is recorded beyond dispute in medical and medico-legaltext-books of the past two centuries. Scientists in this city consultedfor the Record agree that, while rare, spontaneous human combustion isan established fact and that everything in this curious case goes toshow that another has been added to the already well-authenticatedlist of cases recorded in America and Europe. The family refuse to beinterviewed, which seems to indicate that the rumours in medical circlesin Saranac have a solid basis of fact.
Then followed a circumstantial account of the life of Langley and theevents leading up to the discovery of the body--fairly accurate initself, but highly coloured.
"The Record man must have made good use of his time here," I commented,as I finished reading the despatch. "And--well, they must have done somehard work in New York to get this story up so completely--see, afterthe despatch follow a lot of interviews, and here is a short article onspontaneous combustion itself."
Harrington and the rest of the family had just come in.
"What's this we hear about the Record having an article?" Harringtonasked. "Read it aloud, Professor, so we can all hear it."
"'Spontaneous human combustion, or catacausis ebriosus,'" began Craig,"'is one of the baffling human scientific mysteries. Indeed, there canbe no doubt but that individuals have in some strange and inexplicablemanner caught fire and been partially or almost wholly consumed.
"'Some have attributed it to gases in the body, such as carburetedhydrogen. Once it was noted at the Hotel Dieu in Paris that a body onbeing dissected gave forth a gas which was inflammable and burned with abluish flame. Others have attributed the combustion to alcohol. A toperseveral years ago in Brooklyn and New York used to make money by blowinghis breath through a wire gauze and lighting it. Whatever the cause,medical literature records seventy-six cases of catacausis in twohundred years.
"'The combustion seems to be sudden and is apparently confined tothe cavities, the abdomen, chest, and head. Victims of ordinary fireaccidents rush hither and thither frantically, succumb from exhaustion,their limbs are burned, and their clothing is all destroyed. But incatacausis they are stricken down without warning, the limbs are rarelyburned, and only the clothing in contact with the head and chest isconsumed. The residue is like a distillation of animal tissue, grey anddark, with an overpoweringly fetid odour. They are said to burn witha flickering stifled blue flame, and water, far from arresting thecombustion, seems to add to it. Gin is particularly rich in inflammable,empyreumatic oils, as they are called, and in most cases it is recordedthat the catacausis took place among gin-drinkers, old and obese.
"'Within the past few years cases are on record which seem to establishcatacausis beyond doubt. In one case the heat was so great as to explodea pistol in the pocket of the victim. In another, a woman, the victim'shusband was asphyxiated by the smoke. The woman weighed, one hundred andeighty pounds in life, but the ashes weighed only twelve pounds: In allthese cases the proof of spontaneous combustion seems conclusive.'"
As Craig finished reading, we looked blankly, horrified, at one another.It was too dreadful to realise.
"What do you think of it, Professor" asked James Langley, at length."I've read somewhere of such cases, but to think of its actuallyhappening--and to my own brother. Do you really think Lewis could havemet his death in this terrible manner?"
Kennedy made no reply. Harrington seemed absorbed in thought. A shudderpassed over us as we thought about it. But, gruesome as it was, it wasevident that the publication of the story in the Record had relieved thefeelings of the family group in one respect--it at least seemed to offeran explanation. It was noticeable that the suspicious air with whicheveryone had regarded everyone else was considerably dispelled.
Tom said nothing until the others had withdrawn. "Kennedy," heburst out, then, "do you believe that such combustion is absolutelyspontaneous? Don't you believe that something else is necessary to startit?"
"I'd rather not express an opinion just yet, Tom," answered Craigcarefully. "Now, if you can get Harrington and Doctor Putnam away fromthe house for a short time, as you did with your uncle and cousin thismorning, I may be able to tell you something about this case soon."
Again Kennedy stole into another bedroom, and returned to our room witha hunting-jacket. Just as he had done before, he carefully washed itoff with the gauze soaked in the salt solution and quickly returned thecoat, repeating the process with Doctor Putnam's coat and, last, that ofTom himself. Finally he turned his back while I sealed the glasses andmarked and recorded them on my slip.
The next day was spent mainly in preparations for the journey to NewYork with the body of Lewis Langley. Kennedy was very busy onwhat seemed to me to be preparations for some mysterious chemicalexperiments. I found myself fully occupied in keeping specialcorrespondents from all over the country at bay.
That evening after dinner we were all sitting in the open summer houseover the boat-house. Smudges of green pine were burning and smoking onlittle artificial islands of stone near the lake shore, lighting up thetrees on every side with a red glare. Tom and his sister were seatedwith Kennedy and myself on one side, while some distance from usHarrington was engaged in earnest conversation with Isabelle. The othermembers of the family were further removed. That seemed typical to me ofthe way the family group split up.
"Mr. Kennedy," remarked Grace in a thoughtful, low tone, "what do youmake of that Record article?"
"Very clever, no doubt," replied Craig.
"But don't you think it strange about the will?"
"Hush," whispered Tom, for Isabelle and Harrington had ceased talkingand might perhaps be listening.
Just then one of the servants came up with a telegram.
Tom hastily opened it and read the message eagerly in the corner of thesummer house nearest one of the glowing smudges. I felt instinctivelythat it was from his lawyer. He turned and beckoned to Kennedy andmyself.
"What do you think of that?" he whispered hoarsely.
We bent over and in the flickering light read the message:
&nb
sp; New York papers full of spontaneous combustion story. Record hadexclusive story yesterday, but all papers to-day feature even more.Is it true? Please wire additional details at once. Also immediateinstructions regarding loss of will. Has been abstracted from safe.Could Lewis Langley have taken it himself? Unless new facts soon mustmake loss public or issue statement Lewis Langley intestate.
DANIEL CLARK
Tom looked blankly at Kennedy, and then at his sister, who was sittingalone. I thought I could read what was passing in his mind. With allhis faults Lewis Langley had been a good foster-parent to his adoptedchildren. But it was all over now if the will was lost.
"What can I do?" asked Tom hopelessly. "I have nothing to reply to him."
"But I have," quietly returned Kennedy, deliberately folding up themessage and handing it back. "Tell them all to be in the library infifteen minutes. This message hurries me a bit, but I am prepared. Youwill have something to wire Mr. Clark after that." Then he strodeoff toward the house, leaving us to gather the group together inconsiderable bewilderment.
A quarter of an hour later we had all assembled in the library, acrossthe hall from the room in which Lewis Langley had been found. As usualKennedy began by leaping straight into the middle of his subject.
"Early in the eighteenth century;" he commenced slowly, "a woman wasfound burned to death. There were no clues, and the scientists of thattime suggested spontaneous combustion. This explanation was accepted.The theory always has been that the process of respiration by whichthe tissues of the body are used up and got rid of gives the body atemperature, and it has seemed that it may be possible, by preventingthe escape of this heat, to set fire to the body."
We were leaning forward expectantly, horrified by the thought thatperhaps, after all, the Record was correct.
"Now," resumed Kennedy, his tone changing, "suppose we try a littleexperiment--one that was tried very convincingly by the immortal Liebig.Here is a sponge. I am going to soak it in gin from this bottle, thesame that Mr. Langley was drinking from on the night of the--er--thetragedy."
Kennedy took the saturated sponge and placed it in an agate-iron panfrom the kitchen. Then he lighted it. The bluish flame shot upward,and in tense silence we watched it burn lower and lower, till all thealcohol was consumed. Then he picked up the sponge and passed it around.It was dry, but the sponge itself had not been singed.
"We now know," he continued, "that from the nature of combustion itis impossible for the human body to undergo spontaneous ignitionor combustion in the way the scientific experts of the past centurybelieved. Swathe the body in the thickest of non-conductors of heat, andwhat happens? A profuse perspiration exudes, and before such an ignitioncould possibly take place all the moisture of the body would have to beevaporated. As seventy-five per cent or more of the body is water, itis evident that enormous heat would be necessary--moisture is the greatsafeguard. The experiment which I have shown you could be duplicatedwith specimens of human organs preserved for years in alcohol inmuseums. They would burn just as this sponge--the specimen itself wouldbe very nearly uninjured by the burning of the alcohol."
"Then, Professor Kennedy, you maintain that my brother did not meet hisdeath by such an accident" asked James Langley.
"Exactly that, sir," replied Craig. "One of the most important aspectsof the historic faith in this phenomenon is that of its skilfulemployment in explaining away what would otherwise appear to beconvincing circumstantial evidence in cases of accusations of murder."
"Then how do you explain Mr. Langley's death?" demanded Harrington. "Mytheory of a spark from a cigar may be true, after all."
"I am coming to that in a moment," answered Kennedy quietly. "My firstsuspicion was aroused by what not even Doctor Putnam seems to havenoticed. The skull of Mr. Langley, charred and consumed as it was,seemed to show marks of violence. It might have been from a fracture ofthe skull or it might have been an accident to his remains as they werebeing removed to the anteroom. Again, his tongue seemed as though it wasprotruding. That might have been natural suffocation, or it might havebeen from forcible strangulation. So far I had nothing but conjecture towork on. But in looking over the living-room I found near the table, onthe hardwood floor, a spot--just one little round spot. Now, deductionsfrom spots, even if we know them to be blood, must be made verycarefully. I did not know this to be a blood-spot, and so was verycareful at first.
"Let us assume it was a blood-spot, however. What did it show? It wasjust a little regular round spot, quite thick. Now, drops of bloodfalling only a few inches usually make a round spot with a smoothborder. Still the surface on which the drop falls is quite as much afactor as the height from which it falls. If the surface is roughthe border may be irregular. But this was a smooth surface and notabsorbent. The thickness of a dried blood-spot on a non-absorbentsurface is less the greater the height from which it has fallen. Thiswas a thick spot. Now if it had fallen, say, six feet, the height of Mr.Langley, the spot would have been thin--some secondary spattersmight have been seen, or at least an irregular edge around the spot.Therefore, if it was a blood-spot, it had fallen only one or two feet.I ascertained next that the lower part of the body showed no wounds orbruises whatever.
"Tracks of blood such as are left by dragging a bleeding body differvery greatly from tracks of arterial blood which are left when thevictim has strength to move himself. Continuing my speculations,supposing it to be a blood-spot, what did it indicate? Clearly thatMr. Langley was struck by somebody on the head with a heavy instrument,perhaps in another part of the room, that he was choked, that as thedrops of blood oozed from the wound on his head, he was dragged acrossthe floor, in the direction of the fireplace--"
"But, Professor Kennedy," interrupted Doctor Putnam, "have you provedthat the spot was a blood-spot? Might it not have been a paint-spot orsomething of that sort?"
Kennedy had apparently been waiting for just such a question.
"Ordinarily, water has no effect on paint," he answered. "I found thatthe spot could be washed off with water. That is not all. I have a testfor blood that is so delicately sensitive that the blood of an Egyptianmummy thousands of years old will respond to it. It was discovered bya German scientist, Doctor Uhlenhuth, and was no longer ago than lastwinter applied in England in connection with the Clapham murder.The suspected murderer declared that stains on his clothes were onlyspatters of paint, but the test proved them to be spatters of blood.Walter, bring in the cage with the rabbits."
I opened the door and took the cage from the groom, who had brought itup from the stable and stood waiting with it some distance away.
"This test is very simple, Doctor Putnam," continued Craig, as I placedthe cage on the table and Kennedy unwrapped the sterilised test-tubes."A rabbit is inoculated with human blood, and after a time the serumthat is taken from the rabbit supplies the material for the test.
"I will insert this needle in one of these rabbits which has been soinoculated and will draw off some of the serum, which I place in thistest-tube to the right. The other rabbit has not been inoculated. I drawoff some of its serum and place that tube here on the left--we will callthat our 'control tube.' It will check the results of our tests.
"Wrapped up in this paper I have the scrapings of the spot which Ifound on the floor--just a few grains of dark, dried powder. To showhow sensitive the test is, I will take only one of the smallest of theseminute scrapings. I dissolve it in this third tube with distilled water.I will even divide it in half, and place the other half in this fourthtube.
"Next I add some of the serum of the uninoculated rabbit to the half inthis tube. You observe, nothing happens. I add a little of the serum ofthe inoculated rabbit to the other half in this other tube. Observe howdelicate the test is--"
Kennedy was leaning forward, almost oblivious of the rest of us in theroom, talking almost as if to himself. We, too, had riveted our eyes onthe tubes.
As he added the serum from the inoculated rabbit, a cloudy milky ringformed almost i
mmediately in the hitherto colourless, very diluteblood-solution.
"That," concluded Craig, triumphantly holding the tube aloft, "thatconclusively proves that the little round spot on the hardwood floor wasnot paint, was not anything in this wide world but blood."
No one in the room said a word, but I knew there must have been someonethere who thought volumes in the few minutes that elapsed.
"Having found one blood-spot, I began to look about for more, but wasable to find only two or three traces where spots seemed to have been.The fact is that the blood spots had been apparently carefully wiped up.That is an easy matter. Hot water and salt, or hot water alone, or evencold water, will make quite short work of fresh blood-spots--at leastto all outward appearances. But nothing but a most thorough cleaningcan conceal them from the Uhlenhuth test, even when they are apparentlywiped out. It is a case of Lady Macbeth over again, crying in the faceof modern science, 'Out, out, damned spot.'
"I was able with sufficient definiteness to trace roughly a courseof blood-spots from the fireplace to a point near the door of theliving-room. But beyond the door, in the hall, nothing."
"Still," interrupted Harrington, "to get back to the facts in the case.They are perfectly in accord either with my theory of the cigar or theRecord's of spontaneous combustion. How do you account for the facts?"
"I suppose you refer to the charred head, the burned neck, the upperchest cavity, while the arms and legs were untouched?"
"Yes, and then the body was found in the midst of combustiblefurniture that was not touched. It seems to me that even thespontaneous-combustion theory has considerable support in spite of thisvery interesting circumstantial evidence about blood-spots. Next to myown theory, the combustion theory seems most in harmony with the facts."
"If you will go over in your mind all the points proved to have beendiscovered--not the added points in the Record story--I think youwill agree with me that mine is a more logical interpretation thanspontaneous combustion," reasoned Craig. "Hear me out and you will seethat the facts are more in harmony with my less fanciful explanation.No, someone struck Lewis Langley down either in passion or in coldblood, and then, seeing what he had done, made a desperate effort todestroy the evidence of violence. Consider my next discovery."
Kennedy placed the five glasses which I had carefully sealed andlabelled on the table before us.
"The next step," he said, "was to find out whether any articles ofclothing in the house showed marks that might be suspected of beingblood-spots. And here I must beg the pardon of all in the room forintruding in their private wardrobes. But in this crisis it wasabsolutely necessary, and under such circumstances I never let ceremonystand before justice.
"In these five glasses on the table I have the washings of spots fromthe clothing worn by Tom, Mr. James Langley, Junior, Harrington Brown,and Doctor Putnam. I am not going to tell you which is which--indeed Imerely have them marked, and I do not know them myself. But Mr. Jamesonhas the marks with the names opposite on a piece of paper in his pocket.I am simply going to proceed with the tests to see if any of the stainson the coats were of blood."
Just then Doctor Putnam interposed. "One question, Professor Kennedy.It is a comparatively easy thing to recognise a blood-stain, but it isdifficult, usually impossible, to tell whether the blood is that of aman or of an animal. I recall that we were all in our hunting-jacketsthat day, had been all day. Now, in the morning there had been anoperation on one of the horses at the stable, and I assisted theveterinary from town. I may have got a spot or two of blood on my coatfrom that operation. Do I understand that this test would show that?"
"No," replied Craig, "this test would not show that. Other tests would,but not this. But if the spot of human blood were less than the size ofa pin-head, it would show--it would show if the spot contained evenso little as one twenty-thousandth of a gram of albumin. Blood from ahorse, a deer, a sheep, a pig, a dog, could be obtained, but when thetest was applied the liquid in which they were diluted would remainclear. No white precipitin, as it is called, would form. But let humanblood, ever so diluted, be added to the serum of the inoculated rabbit,and the test is absolute."
A death-like silence seemed to pervade the room. Kennedy slowly anddeliberately began to test the contents of the glasses. Dropping intoeach, as he broke the seal, some of the serum of the rabbit, he waited amoment to see if any change occurred.
It was thrilling. I think no one could have gone through that fifteenminutes without having it indelibly impressed on his memory. I recallthinking as Kennedy took each glass, "Which is it to be, guilt orinnocence, life or death?" Could it be possible that a man's life mighthang on such a slender thread? I knew Kennedy was too accurate andserious to deceive us. It was not only possible, it was actually a fact.
The first glass showed no reaction. Someone had been vindicated.
The second was neutral likewise--another person in the room had beenproved innocent.
The third--no change. Science had released a third.
The fourth--
Almost it seemed as if the record in my pocket burned--spontaneously--sointense was my feeling. There in the glass was that fatal, telltalewhite precipitate.
"My God, it's the milk ring!" whispered Tom close to my ear.
Hastily Kennedy dropped the serum into the fifth. It remained as clearas crystal.
My hand trembled as it touched the envelope containing my record of thenames.
"The person who wore the coat with that blood-stain on it," declaredKennedy solemnly, "was the person who struck Lewis Langley down, whochoked him and then dragged his scarcely dead body across the floorand obliterated the marks of violence in the blazing log fire. Jameson,whose name is opposite the sign on this glass?"
I could scarcely tear the seal to look at the paper in the envelope. Atlast I unfolded it, and my eye fell on the name opposite the fatal sign.But my mouth was dry, and my tongue refused to move. It was too muchlike reading a death-sentence. With my finger on the name I faltered aninstant.
Tom leaned over my shoulder and read it to himself. "For Heaven's sake,Jameson," he cried, "let the ladies retire before you read the name."
"It's not necessary," said a thick voice. "We quarrelled over theestate. My share's mortgaged up to the limit, and Lewis refused to lendme more even until I could get Isabelle happily married. Now Lewis'sgoes to an outsider--Harrington, boy, take care of Isabelle, fortune orno fortune. Good--"
Someone seized James Langley's arm as he pressed an automatic revolverto his temple. He reeled like a drunken man and dropped the gun on thefloor with an oath.
"Beaten again," he muttered. "Forgot to move the ratchet from 'safety'to 'fire.'"
Like a madman he wrenched himself loose from us, sprang through thedoor, and darted upstairs. "I'll show you some combustion!" he shoutedback fiercely.
Kennedy was after him like a flash. "The will!" he cried.
We literally tore the door off its hinges and burst into James Langley'sroom. He was bending eagerly over the fireplace. Kennedy made a flyingleap at him. Just enough of the will was left unburned to be admitted toprobate.