XV
THE WEED OF MADNESS
In my absence Craig had set to work on a peculiar apparatus, as thoughhe were distilling something from several of the cigarette stubs whichhe had been studying by means of the interferometer.
"Here's your confounded cat," I ejaculated, as I placed the unhappyfeline in a basket and waited patiently until finally he seemed to berewarded for his patient labours. It was well along toward morning whenhe obtained in a test-tube a few drops of a colourless, odourlessliquid.
"My interferometer gave me a clue," he remarked, as he held the tube upwith satisfaction. "Without the tell-tale line in the spectrum which Iwas able to discover by its use I might have been hunting yet for it.It is so rare that no one would ever have thought, offhand, I suppose,to look for it. But here it is, I'm sure, only I wanted to be able totest it."
"So you are not going to try it on yourself," I said sarcastically,referring to his last experiment with a poison. "This time you aregoing to make the cat the dog."
"The cat will be better to test it on than a human being," he replied,with a glance that made me wince, for, after his performance with thecurare, I felt that once the scientific furore was on him I might becalled upon to become an unwilling martyr to science.
It was with an air of relief, both for himself and my own peace andsafety, that I saw him take the cat out of the basket and hold her inhis arms, smoothing her fur gently, to quiet the feelings that I hadseverely ruffled.
Then with a dropper he sucked up a bit of the liquid from thetest-tube. I watched him intently as he let a small drop fall into theeye of the cat.
The cat blinked a moment, and I bent over to observe it more closely.
"It won't hurt the cat," he explained, "and it may help us."
As I looked at the cat's eye it seemed to enlarge, even under the glareof a light, shining forth, as it were, like the proverbial cat's eyeunder a bed.
What did it mean?
Was there such a thing, I wondered hastily, as the drug of the evil eye?
"What have you found?" I queried.
"Something very much like the so-called 'weed of madness,' I think," hereplied slowly.
"The weed of madness?" I repeated.
"Yes. It is similar to the Mexican toloache and the Hindu datura, whichyou must have heard about."
I had heard of these weird drugs, but they had always seemed to be sofar away and to belong rather to the atmosphere of civilizationsdifferent from New York. Yet, I reflected, what was to prevent theappearance of anything in such a cosmopolitan city, especially in acase so unusual as that which had so far baffled even Kennedy's skill?
"You know the jimson weed--the Jamestown weed, as it is so oftencalled?" he continued, explaining. "It grows almost everywhere in theworld, but most thrivingly in the tropics. All the poisons that I havementioned are related to it in some way, I believe."
"I've seen the thing in lots and fields," I replied, "but I neverthought it was of much importance."
"Well," he resumed, "the jimson weed on the Pacific coast, in someparts of the Andes, has large white flowers which exhale a faint,repulsive odour. It is a harmless-looking plant, with its thick tangleof leaves, a coarse green growth, with trumpet-shaped flowers. But toone who knows its properties it is quite too dangerously convenient forsafety."
"But what has that to do with the evil eye?" I asked.
"Nothing; but it has much to do with the cigarettes that Whitney issmoking," he went on positively. "Those cigarettes have been doped!"
"Doped?" I interrogated, in surprise. "With this weed of madness, asyou call it?"
"No, it isn't toloache that was used," he corrected. "I think it mustbe some particularly virulent variety of the jimson weed that was used,though that same weed in Mexico is, I am sure, what there they calltoloache. Perhaps its virulence in this case lies in the method ofconcentration in preparing it. For instance, the seeds of thestramonium, which is the same thing, contain a much higher percentageof poison than the leaves and flowers. Perhaps the seeds were used. Ican't say. But, then, that isn't at all necessary. It is the fact ofits use that concerns us most now."
He took a drop of the liquid which he had isolated and added a drop ofnitric acid. Then he evaporated it by gentle heat and it left a residueslightly yellow.
Next he took from the shelf over his table a bottle marked "AlcoholicSolution--Potassium Hydrate." He opened it and let a drop fall on theplace where the liquid had evaporated.
Instantly the residue became a beautiful purple, turning rapidly toviolet, then to dark red, and, finally, it disappeared altogether.
"Stramonium, all right," he nodded, with satisfaction at theachievement of his night's labours. "That was known as Vitali's test.Yes, there was stramonium in those cigarettes--daturastramonium--perhaps a trace of hyoscyamine."
I tried to look wise, but all I could think of was that, whatever hisscience showed me now, my instinct had been enough to prompt me not tosmoke those cigarettes, though, of course, only Kennedy's science couldtell what it was that caused that instinctive aversion.
"They are all like atropine, mydriatic alkaloids," he proceeded, "socalled from the effect they have on the eye. Why, one-one hundredthousandth of a grain will affect the eye of a cat. You saw how itacted on our subject. It is more active in that way than atropine.Better yet, you remember how Whitney's eyes looked, how Inez said herfather stared, and how she feared for Lockwood?"
"I remember," I said, still not able to detach the evil-eye idea quitefrom my mind. "How about the Senora's eyes? What makes them so--well,effective?"
"Oh," Craig answered quickly, "her pupils were normal enough. Didn'tyou notice that? It was the difference in Whitney's and the others'that first suggested making some tests."
"What is the effect?" I asked, wondering whether it might havecontributed to the cause of Mendoza's death.
"The concentrated poison which has been used in these cigarettes doesnot kill--at least not outright. It is worse than that. Slowly itaccumulates in the system. It acts on the brain."
I was listening, spellbound, as he made his disclosure. No wonder, Ithought, even a scientific criminal stood in awe of Craig.
"Of all the dangers to be met with in superstitious countries, thesemydratic alkaloids are among the worst. They offer a chance for crimesof the most fiendish nature--worse than with the gun or the stiletto.They are worse because there is so little fear of detection. That crimeis the production of insanity!"
Horrible though the idea, and repulsive, I could not doubt it in theface of Craig's investigations and what I had already seen with my owneyes. In fact, it was necessary for me only to recall the mildsensations I myself had experienced, in order to be convinced of thepossible effect intended by the insidious poison contained in the manycigarettes which Whitney, for instance, had smoked.
"But don't you suppose they know it?" I wondered. "Can't they tell it?"
"I suppose they have gradually become accustomed to it," Craigventured. "If you have ever smoked one particular brand of cigaretteyou must have noticed how the manufacturer can gradually substitute acheaper grade of tobacco without any large number of his patronsknowing anything about it. I imagine it might have been done in someway like that."
"But you would think they'd feel the effect and attribute it tosmoking."
"Perhaps they do feel the effect. But when it comes to tracing causes,some people are loath to admit that tobacco and liquor can be the rootof the evil. No, some one is slipping these cigarettes in on them,perhaps substituting the doped brand for those that are ordered. If youwill notice, both Whitney and Lockwood have cigarettes that are madeespecially for them. So had Mendoza. It is a circumstance which someone has turned to account, though how and by whom the substitution hasbeen made I cannot say yet. I wish I had time to follow out this oneline, to the exclusion of everything else. But I've got to keep myfingers on every rope at once, else the thing will pull away from me.It is enough for the present that we know w
hat the poison is. I shalltake up the tracing of the person who is administering it the moment Iget a hint."
It was almost daylight before Craig and I left the laboratory after hisdiscovery of the manner of the cigarette poisoning by stramonium. Butthat was the only way in which he was able to make progress--takingtime for each separate point by main force.
I was thoroughly tired, though not so much so that my dreams were nothaunted by a succession of baleful eyes peering at me from the darkness.
I slept late, but was awakened by a knocking on the door. As I rose toanswer it I saw through the open door of Kennedy's room that he hadbeen about early and must already be at the laboratory. How he did it Idon't know. My own newspaper experience had made me considerable of anighthawk. But I always paid for it by sleeping the next day. WithKennedy, when he was on a case, even five hours of sleep was more thanhe seemed able to stand.
"Hello, Jameson," greeted a voice, as I opened the door. "Is Kennedyin--oh, he hasn't come back yet?"
It was Lockwood, at first eager to see Craig, then naturallycrestfallen because he saw that he was not there.
"Yes," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "He must be at the laboratory. Ifyou'll wait a minute while I slip on my clothes, I'll walk over therewith you."
While I completed my hasty toilet, Lockwood sat in our living room,gazing about with fascination at the collection of trophies of thechase of criminals.
"This is positively a terrifying array of material, Jameson," hedeclared, as at last I emerged. "Between what Kennedy has here and whathe has stowed away in that laboratory of his, I wonder that any onedares be a crook."
I could not help eying him keenly. Could he have spoken so heartily ifhe had known what it was, damning to himself, that Kennedy had tuckedaway in the laboratory? If he knew, he must have been a splendid actor,one of those whom only the minute blood-pressure test of thesphygmograph could induce to give up a secret, and then only in spiteof himself.
"It is wonderful," I agreed. "Are you ready?"
We left the apartment and walked along in the bracing morning airtoward the campus and the Chemistry Building. Sure enough, as I hadexpected, Kennedy was in his laboratory.
As we entered he was verifying his experiments and checking over hisresults, carefully endeavouring to isolate any of the other closelyrelated mydriatic alkaloids that might be contained in the noxiousfumes of the poisoned tobacco.
Though Craig was already convinced of what was going on, I knew that healways considered it a matter of considerable medico-legal importanceto be exact, for if the affair ever came to the stage of securing anindictment the charge could be sustained only by specific proof.
As we appeared in the door, however, he laid aside his work, andgreeted us.
"I suppose Jameson has already told you that I called you up lastnight--and what I said?" began Lockwood.
Kennedy nodded. "It was something about Norton, wasn't it?"
Lockwood leaned over impressively and almost whispered: "Of course, youare in no position to know, but there are ugly rumours current down inLima among the natives regarding that dagger."
Kennedy did not appear to be particularly impressed. "Is that so?" hesaid merely. "What are they?"
"Well," resumed Lockwood, "I wasn't in Lima at the time. I was up here.But they tell me that there was something crooked about the way thatthat dagger was got away from an Indian--a brother of Senora de Moche.""Yes," replied Kennedy, "I know something about it. He committedsuicide. But what has that to do with Norton?"
Lockwood hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders. "I should think theinference was plain," he insinuated. Then, looking at Craig fixedly, asthough to take his measure, he added, "We are not out of touch withwhat is going on down there, even if we are several thousand milesaway."
I wondered whether he had any information more than we had alreadyobtained by X-raying the letter to Whitney signed "Haggerty." If hehad, it was not his purpose, evidently, yet to disclose it. I felt fromhis manner that he was not playing a trump-card, but was just feelingus out by this lead.
"There was some crooked business about that dagger down there as wellas here," he pursued. "There are many interests connected with it.Don't you think that it would be worth while watching Norton?" hepaused, then added: "We do--and we're going to do it."
"Thank you very much," returned Kennedy quietly. "Mr. Whitney hasalready told me he intended to do so."
Lockwood eyed us critically, as though not quite sure what to make ofthe cool manner in which Craig took it.
"I think if I were you," he said at length, "I'd keep a close watch onthe de Moches, both of them, too."
"Exactly," agreed Craig, without showing undue interest.
Lockwood had risen. "Well," he snapped, "you may not think much of whatI am telling you now. But just wait until OUR detectives begin to digup facts." No sooner had he left than I turned to Craig. "What wasthat?" I asked. "A plant?"
"Perhaps," he returned, clearing up the materials which he had beenusing.
The telephone rang.
"Hello, Norton," I heard Craig answer. "What's that? You are shadowedby some one--you think it is by Whitney?"
I had been expecting something of the sort, and listened attentively,but it was impossible to gather the drift of the one-sided conversation.
As Kennedy hung up the receiver I remarked, "So it was not a bluff,after all."
"I think my plan is working," he remarked thoughtfully. "You heard whathe said? He guesses right the first time, that it is Whitney. The lastthing he said was, 'I'll get even! I'll take some action!' and then herang off. I think we'll hear something soon."
Instead of going out, Kennedy pulled out the several unsigned letterswe had collected, and began the laborious process of studying theprinting, analyzing it, in the hope that he might discover some newclue.