The Treasure-Train

  VII

  THE LOVE METER

  "Since we brought him home, my brother just tosses and gasps for air.Oh, I think Eulalie and I shall both go mad!"

  The soft, pleading voice of Anitra Barrios and her big, appealing browneyes filled with tears were doubly affecting as, in spite of her ownfeelings, she placed her hand on that of a somewhat younger girl whohad accompanied her to the laboratory.

  "We were to have been married next month," sobbed Eulalie Sandoval."Can't you come and see Jose, Professor Kennedy? There must besomething you can do. We fear he is dying--yes, dying."

  "Poor little girl!" murmured Anitra, still patting her handaffectionately, then to us, "You know, Eulalie is the sister of ManuelSandoval, who manages the New York business of my brother." She paused."Oh, I can't believe it, myself. It's all so strange, so sudden."

  For the moment her own grief overwhelmed Anitra, and both sister andsweetheart of Jose Barrios clung to each other.

  "What is the trouble?" soothed Craig. "What has happened? How can Ihelp you?"

  "Everything was so happy with us," cried Anitra, "until Jose and I cameto New York--and--now--" She broke down again.

  "Please be calm," encouraged Kennedy. "Tell me everything--anything."

  With an effort Anitra began again. "It was last night--quite late--athis office at the foot of Wall Street--he was there alone," she stroveto connect her broken thoughts. "Some one--I think it must have beenthe janitor--called me up at home and said that my brother was veryill. Eulalie was there with me. We hurried down to him. When we gotthere Jose was on the floor by his desk, unconscious, struggling forbreath, just as he is now."

  "Did you observe anything peculiar?" queried Kennedy. "Was thereanything that might give you a hint of what had happened?"

  Anitra Barrios considered. "Nothing," she replied, slowly, "except thatthe windows were all closed. There was a peculiar odor in the room. Iwas so excited over Jose, though, that I couldn't tell you just what itwas like."

  "What did you do?" inquired Craig.

  "What could we do, just two girls, all alone? It was late. The streetswere deserted. You know how they are down-town at night. We took himhome, to the hotel, in a cab, and called the hotel physician, DoctorScott."

  Both girls were again weeping silently in each other's arms. If therewas anything that moved Kennedy to action it was distress of this sort.Without a word he rose from his desk, and I followed him. Anitra andEulalie seemed to understand. Though they said nothing, they lookedtheir gratitude as we four left the laboratory.

  On the way down to the hotel Anitra continued to pour out her story ina fragmentary way. Her brother and she, it seemed, had inherited fromtheir father a large sugar-plantation in Santa Clara, the middleprovince of Cuba.

  Jose had not been like many of the planters. He had actually taken holdof the plantation, after the revolution had wrecked it, and hadre-established it on modern, scientific lines. Now it was one of thelargest independent plantations on the island.

  To increase its efficiency, he had later established a New York officeto look after the sale of the raw sugar and had placed it in charge ofa friend, Manuel Sandoval. A month or so before he had come to New Yorkwith his sister to sell the plantation, to get the high price that theboom in sugar had made it worth. It was while he had been negotiatingfor the sale that he had fallen in love with Eulalie and they hadbecome engaged.

  Doctor Scott met us in the sitting-room of the suite which Anitra andher brother occupied, and, as she introduced us, with an anxious glancein the direction of the door of the sick-room, he shook his headgravely, though he did his best to seem encouraging.

  "It's a case of poisoning of some kind, I fear," he whispered aside tous, at the first opportunity. "But I can't quite make out just what itis."

  We followed the doctor into the room. Eulalie had preceded us and haddropped down on her knees by the bed, passing her little white handcaressingly over the pale and distorted face of Jose.

  He was still unconscious, gasping and fighting for breath, his featurespinched and skin cold and clammy. Kennedy examined the stricken mancarefully, first feeling his pulse. It was barely perceptible, rapid,thready, and irregular. Now and then there were muscular tremblings andconvulsive movements of the limbs. Craig moved over to the side of theroom away from the two girls, where Doctor Scott was standing.

  "Sometimes," I heard the doctor venture, "I think it is aconite, butthe symptoms are not quite the same. Besides, I don't see how it couldhave been administered. There's no mark on him that might have comefrom a hypodermic, no wound, not even a scratch. He couldn't haveswallowed it. Suicide is out of the question. But his nose and throatare terribly swollen and inflamed. It's beyond me."

  I tried to recall other cases I had seen. There was one case ofKennedy's in which several deaths had occurred due to aconite. Was thisanother of that sort? I felt unqualified to judge, where Doctor Scotthimself confessed his inability. Kennedy himself said nothing, and fromhis face I gathered that even he had no clue as yet.

  As we left the sick-room, we found that another visitor had arrived andwas standing in the sitting-room. It was Manuel Sandoval.

  Sandoval was a handsome fellow, tall, straight as an arrow, with bushydark hair and a mustache which gave him a distinguished appearance.Born in Cuba, he had been educated in the United States, had takenspecial work in the technology of sugar, knew the game from cane tocentrifugal and the ship to the sugar trust. He was quite as much ascientist as a business man.

  He and Eulalie talked for a moment in low tones in Cuban Spanish, butit needed only to watch his eyes to guess where his heart was. Heseemed to fairly devour every move that Anitra made about the apartment.

  A few minutes later the door opened again and a striking-looking manentered. He was a bit older than Sandoval, but still young. As heentered he bowed to Sandoval and Eulalie but greeted Anitra warmly.

  "Mr. Burton Page," introduced Anitra, turning to us quickly, with justthe trace of a flush on her face. "Mr. Page has been putting my brotherin touch with people in New York who are interested in Cubansugar-plantations." A call from Doctor Scott for some help took bothgirls into the sick-room for a moment.

  "Is Barrios any better?" asked Page, turning to Sandoval.

  Sandoval shook his head in the negative, but said nothing. One couldnot help observing that there seemed to be a sort of antipathy betweenthe two, and I saw that Craig was observing them both closely.

  Page was a typical, breezy Westerner, who had first drifted to New Yorkas a mining promoter. Prom that he had gone into selling ranches, and,by natural stages, into the promotion of almost anything in theuniverse.

  Sugar being at the time uppermost in the mind of the "Street," Page wasnaturally to be found crammed with facts about that staple. One couldnot help being interested in studying a man of his type, as long as onekept his grip on his pocket-book. For he was a veritable pied piperwhen it came to enticing dollars to follow him, and in his promotionshe had the reputation of having amassed an impressive pile of dollarshimself.

  No important change in the condition of Barrios had taken place, exceptthat he was a trifle more exhausted, and Doctor Scott administered astimulant. Kennedy, who was eager to take up the investigation of thecase on the outside in the hope of discovering something that might bedignified into being a clue, excused himself, with a nod to Anitra tofollow into the hall.

  "I may look over the office?" Craig ventured when we were alone withher.

  "Surely," she replied, frankly, opening her handbag which was lying ona table near the door. "I have an equal right in the business with mybrother. Here are the keys. The office has been closed to-day."

  Kennedy took the keys, promising to let her know the moment hediscovered anything important, and we hurried directly down-town.

  The office of the Barrios Company was at the foot of Wall Street, wherethe business of importing touched on the financial district. From thewindow one could see freighters unloading their
cargoes at the docks.In the other direction, capital to the billions was represented. But inall that interesting neighborhood nothing just at present could surpassthe mystery of what had taken place in the lonely little office latethe night before.

  Kennedy passed the rail that shut the outer office off from a sort ofreception space. He glanced about at the safe, the books, papers, andletter-files. It would take an accountant and an investigator days,perhaps weeks, to trace out anything in them, if indeed it were worthwhile at all.

  Two glass doors opened at one end to two smaller private offices, onebelonging evidently to Sandoval, the other to Barrios. What theoryCraig formed I could not guess, but as he tiptoed from the hall door,past the rail, to the door of Jose's office, I could see that first ofall he was trying to discover whether it was possible to enter theouter office and reach Jose's door unseen and unheard by any onesitting at the desk inside. Apparently it was easily possible, and hepaused a moment to consider what good that knowledge might do.

  As he did so his eye rested on the floor. A few feet away stood one ofthe modern "sanitary" desks. In this case the legs of the desk raisedthe desk high enough from the floor so that one could at least seewhere the cleaning-woman had left a small pile of unsanitary dust nearthe wall.

  Suddenly Kennedy bent down and poked something out of the pile of dust.There on the floor was an empty shell of a cartridge. Kennedy picked itup and looked at it curiously.

  What did it mean? I recalled that Doctor Scott had particularly saidthat Barrios had not been wounded.

  Still regarding the cartridge shell, Kennedy sat down at the desk ofBarrios.

  Looking for a piece of paper in which to wrap the shell, he pulled outthe middle drawer of the desk. In a back corner was a package ofletters, neatly tied. We glanced at them. The envelopes bore the nameof Jose Barrios and were in the handwriting of a woman. Some werepostmarked Cuba; others, later, New York. Kennedy opened one of them.

  I could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. I had expectedthat they were from Eulalie Sandoval. But they were signed by a namethat we had not heard--Teresa de Leon!

  Hastily Kennedy read through the open letter. Its tone seemed to bethat of a threat. One sentence I recall was, "I would follow youanywhere--I'll make you want me."

  One after another Kennedy ran through them. All were vague and veiled,as though the writer wished by some circumlocution to convey an ideathat would not be apparent to some third, inquisitive party.

  What was back of it all? Had Jose been making love to another woman atthe same time that he was engaged to Eulalie Sandoval? As far as thecontents of the letters went there was nothing to show that he had doneanything wrong. The mystery of the "other woman" only served to deepenthe mystery of what little we already knew.

  Craig dropped the letters into his pocket along with the shell, andwalked around into the office of Sandoval. I followed him. Quickly hemade a search, but it did not seem to net him anything.

  Meanwhile I had been regarding a queer-looking instrument that stood ona flat table against one wall. It seemed to consist of a standard oneach end of which was fastened a disk, besides several otherarrangements the purpose of which I had not the slightest idea. Betweenthe two ends rested a glass tube of some liquid. At one end was a lamp;the other was fitted with an eyepiece like a telescope. Beside theinstrument on the table lay some more glass-capped tubes and strewnabout were samples of raw sugar.

  "It is a saccharimeter," explained Kennedy, also looking at it, "aninstrument used to detect the amount of sugar held in solution, a formof the polariscope. We won't go into the science of it now. It's ratherabstruse."

  He was about to turn back into the outer office when an idea seemed tooccur to him. He took the cartridge from his pocket and carefullyscraped off what he could of the powder that still adhered to the outerrim. It was just a bit, but he dissolved it in some liquid from abottle on the table, filled one of the clean glass tubes, capped theopen end, and placed this tube in the saccharimeter where the first oneI noticed had been.

  Carefully he lighted the lamp, then squinted through the eyepiece atthe tube of liquid containing what he had derived from the cartridge.He made some adjustments, and as he did so his face indicated that atlast he began to see something dimly. The saccharimeter had opened thefirst rift in the haze that surrounded the case.

  "I think I know what we have here," he said, briefly, rising andplacing the tube and its contents in his pocket with the other thingshe had discovered. "Of course it is only a hint. This instrument won'ttell me finally. But it is worth following up."

  With a final glance about to make sure that we had overlooked nothing,Kennedy closed and locked the outside door.

  "I'm going directly up to the laboratory, Walter," decided Kennedy."Meanwhile you can help me very much if you will look up this Teresa deLeon. I noticed that the New York letters were written on thestationery of the Pan-America Hotel. Get what you can. I leave it toyou. And if you can find out anything about the others, so much thebetter. I'll see you as soon as you finish."

  It was rather a large contract. If the story had reached the newspaperstage, I should have known how to go about it. For there is nodetective agency in the world like the Star, and even on the slenderbasis that we had, with a flock of reporters deployed at every point inthe city, with telephones, wires, and cables busily engaged, I mighthave gathered priceless information in a few hours. But, as it was,whatever was to be got must be got by me alone.

  I found Teresa de Leon registered at the Pan-America, as Craig hadsurmised. Such inquiries as I was able to make about the hotel did notshow a trace of reason for believing that Jose Barrios had beennumbered among her visitors. While that proved nothing as to therelations of the two, it was at least reassuring as far as Anitra andEulalie were concerned, and, after all, as in such cases, this wastheir story.

  Not having been able to learn much about the lady, I decided finally tosend up my card, and to my satisfaction she sent back word that shewould receive me in the parlor of the hotel.

  Teresa de Leon proved to be a really striking type of Latin-Americanbeauty. She was no longer young, but there was an elusiveness about herpersonality that made a more fascinating study than youth. I felt thatwith such a woman directness might be more of a surprise than subtlety.

  "I suppose you know that Senor Barrios is very seriously ill?" Iventured, in answer to her inquiring gaze that played from my card tomy face.

  For a fleeting instant she looked startled. Yet she betrayed nothing asto whether it was fear or surprise.

  "I have called his office several times," she replied, "but no oneanswered. Even Senor Sandoval was not there."

  I felt that she was countering as cleverly as I might lead. "Then youknow Mr. Sandoval also?" I asked, adding, "and Mr. Page?"

  "I have known Senor Barrios a long time in Cuba," she answered, "andthe others, too--here."

  There was something evasive about her answers. She was trying to sayneither too much nor too little. She left one in doubt whether she wastrying to shield herself or to involve another. Though we chattedseveral minutes, I could gain nothing that would lead me to judge howintimately she knew Barrios. Except that she knew Sandoval and Page,her conversation might have been a replica of the letters we haddiscovered. Even when she hinted politely, but finally, that the talkwas over she left me in doubt even whether she was an adventuress. Thewoman was an enigma. Had revenge or jealousy brought her to New York,or was she merely a tool in the hands of another?

  I was not ready to return to Kennedy merely with another unansweredquestion, and I determined to stop again at the hotel where Barrios andhis sister lived, in the hope of picking up something there.

  The clerk at the desk told me that no one had called since we had beenthere, adding: "Except the tall gentleman, who came back. I thinkSenorita Barrios came down and met him in the tea-room."

  Wondering whether it was Page or Sandoval the clerk meant, I sauntereddown the corridor past the door
of the tea-room. It was Page with whomAnitra was talking. There was no way in which I could hear what wassaid, although Page was very earnest and Anitra showed plainly that shewas anxious to return to the sick-room up-stairs.

  As I watched, I took good care that I should not be seen. It was wellthat I did, for once when I looked about I saw that some one else inanother doorway was watching them, too, so intently that he did not seeme. It was Sandoval. Jealousy of Page was written in every line of hisface.

  Studying the three, while I could not escape the rivalry of the twomen, I was unable to see now or recollect anything that had happenedwhich would convey even an inkling of her feelings toward them. Yet Iwas convinced that that way lay a problem quite as important asrelations between the other triangle of Eulalie, Teresa, and Barrios. Iwas not psychologist enough to deal with either triangle. There wassomething that distinctly called for the higher mathematics of Kennedy.

  Determined not to return to him entirely empty-mouthed, I thought itwould be a good opportunity to see Eulalie alone, and hurried to theelevator, which whisked me up to the Barrios apartment.

  Doctor Scott had not left his patient, though he seemed to realize thatEulalie was a most efficient nurse.

  "No change," whispered the doctor, "except that he is reaching acrisis."

  Interested as I was in the patient, it had been for the purpose ofseeing Eulalie that I had come, and I was glad when Doctor Scott leftus a moment.

  "Has Mr. Kennedy found out anything yet?" she asked, in a tremulouswhisper.

  "I think he is on the right track now," I encouraged. "Has anythinghappened here? Remember--it is quite as important that you should tellhim all as it is for him to tell you."

  She looked at me a moment, then drew from a fold of her waist a yellowpaper. It was a telegram. I took it and read:

  Beware of Teresa de Leon, Hotel Pan-America.

  A FRIEND.

  "You know her?" I asked, folding the telegram, but not returning it.

  Eulalie looked at me frankly and shook her head. "I have no idea whoshe is."

  "Or of who sent the telegram?"

  "None at all."

  "When did you receive it?"

  "Only a few minutes ago."

  Here was another mystery. Who had sent the anonymous telegram toEulalie so soon after it had been evident that Kennedy had entered thecase? What was its purpose?

  "I may keep this?" I asked, indicating the telegram.

  "I was about to send it to Professor Kennedy," she replied. "Oh, I hopehe will find something Won't you go to him and tell him to hurry?"

  I needed no urging, not only for her sake, but also because I did notwish to be seen or to have the receipt of the telegram by Kennedy knownso soon.

  In the hotel I stopped only long enough to see that Anitra was nowhurrying toward the elevator, eager to get back to her brother andoblivious to every one around. What had become of Page and the sinisterwatcher whom he had not seen I did not know, nor did I have time tofind out.

  A few moments later I rejoined Kennedy at the laboratory. He was stillimmersed in work, and, scarcely stopping, nodded to me to tell what Ihad discovered. He listened with interest until I came to the receiptof the anonymous telegram.

  "Did you get it?" he asked, eagerly.

  He almost seized it from my hands as I pulled it out of my pocket andstudied it intently.

  "Strange," he muttered. "Any of them might have sent it."

  "Have you discovered anything?" I asked, for I had been watching him,consumed by curiosity, as I told my story. "Do you know yet how thething was done?"

  "I think I do," he replied, abstractedly.

  "How was it?" I prompted, for his mind was now on the telegram.

  "A poison-gas pistol," he resumed, coming back to the work he had justbeen doing. "Instead of bullets, this pistol used cartridges chargedwith some deadly powder. It might have been something like theanesthetic pistol devised by the police authorities in Paris some yearsago when the motor bandits were operating."

  "But who could have used it?" I asked.

  Kennedy did not answer directly. Either he was not quite sure yet ordid not feel that the time was ripe to hazard a theory. "In this case,"he continued, after a moment's thought, "I shouldn't be surprised ifeven the wielder of the pistol probably wore a mask, doubly effective,for disguise and to protect the wielder from the fumes that were toovercome the victim."

  "You have no idea who it was?" I reiterated.

  Before Kennedy could answer there came a violent ring at the laboratorybell, and I hurried to the door. It was one of the bell-boys from thehotel where the Barrioses had their apartment, with a message forKennedy.

  Craig tore it open and read it hurriedly. "From Doctor Scott," he said,briefly, in answer to my anxious query. "Barrios is dead."

  Even though I had been prepared for the news by my last visit, deathcame as a shock, as it always does. I had felt all along that Kennedyhad been called in too late to do anything to save Barrios, but I hadbeen hoping against hope. But I knew that it was not too late to catchthe criminal who had done the dastardly, heartless deed. A few hoursand perhaps all clues might have been covered up. But there is alwayssomething that goes wrong with crime, always some point where murdercannot be covered up. I think if people could only be got to realizeit, as my experience both on the Star and with Kennedy have impressedit on me, murder would become a lost art.

  Without another word Kennedy seized his hat and together we hurried tothe hotel.

  We found Anitra crying softly to herself, while near her sat Eulalie,tearless, stunned by the blow, broken-hearted. In the realization ofthe tragedy everything had been forgotten, even the mysteriousanonymous telegram signed, Judas-like, "A Friend."

  Sandoval, we learned, had been there when the end came, and had nowgone out to make what arrangements were necessary. I had nothingagainst the man, but I could not help feeling that, now that thebusiness was all Anitra's, might he not be the one to profit most bythe death? The fact was that Kennedy had expressed so little opinion onthe case so far that I might be pardoned for suspecting any one--evenTeresa de Leon, who must have seen Jose slipping away from her in spiteof her pursuit, whatever actuated it.

  It was while I was in the midst of these fruitless speculations thatDoctor Scott beckoned us outside, and we withdrew quietly.

  "I don't know that there is anything more that I can do," he remarked,"but I promised Senor Sandoval that I would stay here until he cameback. He begged me to, seems scarcely to know how to do enough tocomfort his sister and Senorita Barrios."

  I listened to the doctor keenly. Was it possible that Sandoval had oneof those Jekyll-Hyde natures which seem to be so common in some of us?Had his better nature yielded to his worse? To my mind that has oftenbeen an explanation of crime, never an adequate defense.

  Kennedy was about to say something when the elevator door down the hallopened. I expected that it was Sandoval returning, but it was BurtonPage.

  "They told me you were here," he said, greeting us. "I have beenlooking all over for you, down at your laboratory and at yourapartment. Would you mind stepping down around the bend in the hall?"

  We excused ourselves from Doctor Scott, wondering what Page had toreveal.

  "I knew Sandoval had not returned," he began as soon as we were out ofear-shot of the doctor, "and I don't want to see him--again--not afterwhat happened this afternoon. The man is crazy." We had reached analcove and sank down into a soft settee.

  "Why, what was that?" I asked, recalling the look of hate on the man'sface as he had watched Page talking to Anitra in the tea-room.

  "I'm giving you this for what it may be worth," began Page, turningfrom me to Kennedy. "Down in the lobby this afternoon, after you hadbeen gone some time, I happened to run into Sandoval. He almost seizedhold of me. 'You have been at the office,' he said. 'You've beenrummaging around there.' Well, I denied it flatly. 'Who took thoseletters?' he shot back at me. All I could do was to look at him
. 'Idon't know about any letters. What letters?' I asked. Oh, he's a queerfellow all right. I thought he was going to kill me by the black lookhe gave me. He cooled down a bit, but I didn't wait for any apology.The best thing to do with these hot-headed people is to cut out and letthem alone."

  "How do you account for his strange actions?" asked Kennedy. "Have youever heard anything more that he did?"

  Page shrugged his shoulders as if in doubt whether to say anything,then decided quickly. "The other day I heard Barrios and Sandoval inthe office. They were quite excited. Barrios was talking loudly. Ididn't know at first what it was all about. But I soon found out.Sandoval had gone to him, as the head of the family, following theircustom, I believe, to ask whether he might seek to win Anitra."

  "Have you ever heard of Teresa de Leon?" interrupted Kennedy suddenly.

  Page looked at him and hesitated. "There's some scandal, there, I'mafraid," he nodded, combining his answers. "I heard Sandoval saysomething about her to Barrios that day--warn him against something.That was when the argument was heated. It seemed to make Barrios angry.Sandoval said something about Barrios refusing to let him court Anitrawhile at the same time Barrios was engaged to Eulalie. Barrios retortedthat the cases were different. He said he had decided that Anitra wasgoing to marry an American millionaire."

  There could be no doubt about how Page himself interpreted the remark.It was evident that he took it to mean himself.

  "Sandoval had warned against this De Leon?" asked Kennedy, evidentlyhaving in mind the anonymous telegram.

  "Something--I don't know what it was all about," returned Page, thenadded, in a burst of confidence: "I never heard of the lady until shecame to New York and introduced herself to me. For a time she wasinteresting. But I'm too old for that sort of thing. Besides, shealways impressed me as though she had some ulterior motive, as thoughshe was trying to get at something through me. I cut it all out."

  Kennedy nodded, but for a moment said nothing.

  "I think I'll be getting out," remarked Page, with a half smile. "Idon't want a knife in the back. I thought you ought to know all this,though. And if I hear anything else I'll let you know."

  Kennedy thanked him and together we rode down in the next elevator,parting with Page at the hotel entrance.

  It was still early in the evening, and Kennedy had no intention now ofwasting a moment. He beckoned for a cab and directed the man to driveimmediately to the Pan-America.

  This time Teresa de Leon was plainly prepared for a visit, though I amnot sure that she was prepared to receive two visitors.

  "I believe you were acquainted with Senior Barrios, who died to-night?"opened Kennedy, after I had introduced him.

  "He was acquainted with me," she corrected, with a purr in her voicethat suggested claws.

  "You were not married to him," shot out Kennedy; then before she couldreply, "nor even engaged."

  "He had known me a long time. We were intimate--"

  "Friends," interrupted Kennedy, leaving no doubt as to the meaning ofhis emphasis.

  She colored. It was evident that, at least to her, it was more thanfriendship.

  "Senor Sandoval says," romanced Kennedy, in true detective style, "thatyou wrote--"

  It was her turn to interrupt. "If Senor Sandoval says anything againstme, he tells what is not--the truth."

  In spite of Kennedy's grilling she was still mistress of herself.

  "You introduced yourself to Burton Page, and--"

  "You had better remember your own proverb," she retorted. "Don'tbelieve anything you hear and only half you see."

  Kennedy snapped down the yellow telegram before her. It was a dramaticmoment. The woman did not flinch at the anonymous implication. Straightinto Kennedy's eyes she shot a penetrating glance.

  "Watch both of THEM," she replied, shortly, then turned anddeliberately swept out of the hotel parlor as though daring us to go asfar as we cared.

  "I think we have started forces working for us," remarked Kennedy,coolly consulting his watch. "For the present at least let us retire tothe laboratory. Some one will make a move. My game is to play oneagainst the other--until the real one breaks."

  We had scarcely switched on the lights and Kennedy was checking overthe results he had obtained during his afternoon's investigations, whenthe door was flung open and a man dashed in on us unexpectedly. It wasSandoval, and as he advanced furiously at Kennedy I more than fearedthat Page's idea was correct.

  "It was you, Kennedy," he hissed, "who took those letters from Jose'sdesk. It is you--or Page back of you--who are trying to connect me withthat woman, De Leon. But let me tell you--"

  A sharp click back of Sandoval caused him to cut short the remark andlook about apprehensively. Kennedy's finger, sliding along the edge ofthe laboratory table, had merely found an electric button by which hecould snap the lock on the door.

  "We are two to one," returned Kennedy, nonchalantly. "That was nothingbut the lock on the door closing. Mr. Jameson has a revolver in the topdrawer of his desk over there. You will pardon me if I do a littletelephoning--through the central office of the detective bureau? Someof our friends may not be overanxious to come here, and it may benecessary to compel their attendance."

  Sandoval subsided into a sullen silence as Kennedy made arrangements tohave Burton Page, Anitra, Eulalie, and Teresa de Leon hurried to us atonce.

  There was nothing for me to do but watch Sandoval as Kennedy prepared alittle instrument with a scale and dial upon which rested an indicatorresembling a watch hand, something like the new horizontal clocks whichhave only one hand to register seconds, minutes, and hours. In them,like a thermometer held sidewise, the hand moves along from zero totwenty-four. In this instrument a little needle did the same thing.Pairs of little wire-like strings ran to the instrument.

  Kennedy had finished adjusting another instrument which was much likethe saccharimeter, only more complicated, when the racing of an engineoutside announced the arrival of the party in one of the policedepartment cars.

  Between us, Craig and I lost no time in disposing the visitors so thateach was in possession of a pair of the wire-like strings, and thendisdaining to explain why he had gathered them together sounceremoniously, Kennedy turned and finished adjusting the otherapparatus.

  "Most people regard light, so abundant, so necessary, so free as amatter of course," he remarked, contemplatively. "Not one person in tenthousand ever thinks of its mysterious nature or ever attempts toinvestigate it. In fact, most of us are in utter darkness as to light."

  He paused, tapped the machine and went on, "This is a polarimeter--asimple polariscope--a step beyond the saccharimeter," he explained,with a nod at Sandoval. "It detects differences of structure insubstances not visible in ordinary light.

  "Light is polarized in several ways--by reflection, by transmission,but most commonly through what I have here, a prism of calcite, orIceland spar, commonly called a Nicol prism. Light fully polarizedconsists of vibrations transverse to the direction of the ray, all inone plane. Ordinary light has transverse vibrations in all planes.Certain substances, due to their molecular structure, are transparentto vibrations in one plane, but opaque to those at right angles.

  "Here we have," he explained, tapping the parts in order, "a source oflight, passing in through this aperture, here a Nicol polarizer, next aliquid to be examined in a glass-capped tube; here on this other sidean arrangement of quartz plates with rotary power which I will explainin a moment, next an analyzer, and finally the aperture for the eye ofan observer."

  Kennedy adjusted the glass tube containing the liquid which bore thesubstance scraped from the cartridge--he had picked up in the office ofJose. "Look through the eyepiece, Walter," he directed.

  The field appeared halved. He made an adjustment and at once the fieldof vision appeared wholly the same tint. When he removed the tube itwas dark.

  "If a liquid has not what we call rotary power both halves of thedouble disk appear of the same tint," he explained. "If it h
as rotarypower, the halves appear of different tints and the degree of rotationis measured by the alteration of thickness of this double quartz platenecessary to counteract it. It is, as I told Mr. Jameson early to-day,a rather abstruse subject, this of polarized light. I shall not boreyou with it, but I think you will see in a moment why it is necessary,perhaps why some one who knew thought it would never be used.

  "What I am getting at now is that some substances with the samechemical formula rotate polarized light to the right, aredextro-rotary, as, for instance, what is known as dextrose. Othersrotate it to the left, are levo-rotary, as the substance called levose.Both of them are glucose. So there are substances which give the samechemical reactions which can only be distinguished by their being leftor right rotary."

  Craig took a bit of crystalline powder and dissolved it in ether. Thenhe added some strong sulphuric acid. The liquid turned yellow, thenslowly a bright scarlet. Beside the first he repeated the operationwith another similar-looking powder, with the identical result.

  "Both of those," he remarked, holding up the vials, "were samples ofpure veratrine, but obtained from different sources. You see thebrilliant reaction--unmistakable. But it makes all the difference inthe world in this case what was the source of the veratrine. It maymean the guilt or innocence of one of you."

  He paused, to let the significance of his remark sink in. "Veratrine,"he resumed, "is a form of hellebore, known to gardeners for its fataleffect on insects. There are white and green hellebore, Veratrum albaand Veratrum viride. It is the pure alkaloid, or rather one of them,that we have to deal with here--veratrine.

  "There are various sources of veratrine. For instance, there is theveratrine that may be derived from the sabadilla seeds which grow inthe West Indies and Mexico. It is used, I am informed, by the Germansin their lachrymatory and asphyxiating bombs."

  The mention of the West Indies brought, like a flash, to my mindSandoval and Senorita de Leon.

  "Then, too," continued Kennedy, "there is a plant out in our ownWestern country, of which you may have heard, known as the death camas,very fatal to cattle when they eat it. The active principle in this isalso veratrine."

  I began to see what Kennedy was driving at. If it were veratrinederived from death camas it would point toward Page.

  "Abderhalden, the great German physiological chemist, has discoveredthat substances that once get into the blood produce specific ferments.Not long ago, in a case, I showed it by the use of dialyzing membranes.But Abderhalden has found that the polariscope can show it also. And inthis case only the polariscope can show what chemistry cannot show whenwe reach the point of testing Senor Barrios's blood--if that becomesnecessary."

  It was plain that Kennedy was confident. "There are other sources ofdrugs of the nature used in this case to asphyxiate and kill, but theactive principle of all is veratrine. The point is, veratrine from whatsource? The sabadilla is dextro-rotary; the death camas is levo-rotary.Which is it here?"

  As I tried to figure out the ramifications of the case, I could seethat it was a cruel situation for one or the other of the girls. Wasone of her lovers the murderer of Anitra's brother? Or was her ownbrother the murderer of Eulalie's lover? I looked at the faces beforeme, now tensely watching Kennedy, forgetful of the wire-like stringswhich they held in their hands. I studied Teresa de Leon intently for awhile. She was still the enigma which she had been the first time I sawher.

  Kennedy paused long enough to look through the eyepiece again as if toreassure himself finally that he was right. There was a tantalizingsuspense as we waited for the verdict of science on this intenselyhuman tragedy. Then he turned to the queer instrument over which theneedle-hand was moving.

  "Though some scientists would call this merely a sensitive form ofgalvanometer," he remarked, "it is, to me, more than that. It registersfeelings, emotions. It has been registering your own every moment thatI have been talking.

  "But most of all it registers the grand passion. I might even call it alove meter. Love might seem to be a subject which could not beinvestigated. But even love can be attributed to electrical forces, or,perhaps better, is expressed by the generation of an electric current,as though the attraction between men and women were the giving off ofelectrons or radiations of one to the other. I have seen thisgalvanometer stationary during the ordinary meeting of men and women,yet exhibit all sorts of strange vibrations when true lovers meet."

  Not used to Kennedy's peculiar methods, they were now on guard,ignorant of the fact that that alone was sufficient to corroborateunescapably any evidence they had already given of their feelingstoward each other.

  Kennedy passed lightly over the torn and bleeding heart of Eulalie.But, much as he disliked to do so, he could not so quickly pass Anitra.In spite of her grief, I could see that she was striving to controlherself. A quick blush suffused her face and her breath came and wentfaster.

  "This record," went on Kennedy, lowering his voice, "tells me that twomen are in love with Anitra Barrios. I will not say which exhibits thedeeper, truer passion. You shall see for yourself in a moment. But,more than that, it tells me which of the two she cares for most--asecret her heart would never permit her lips to disclose. Nor will Idisclose it.

  "One of them, with supreme egotism, was so sure that he would win herheart that he plotted this murder of her brother so that she would havethe whole estate to bring to him--a terrible price for a dowry. My lovemeter tells me, however, that Anitra has something to say about it yet.She does not love this man.

  "As for Teresa de Leon, it was jealousy that impelled her to followJose Barrios from Cuba to New York. The murderer, in his scheming, knewit, saw a chance to use her, to encourage her, perhaps throw suspicionon her, if necessary. When I came uncomfortably close to him he evensent an anonymous telegram that might point toward her. It was sent bythe same person who stole in Barrios's office and shot him with anasphyxiating pistol which discharged a fatal quantity of pure veratrinefull at him.

  "My love meter, in registering hidden emotions, supplements what thepolarimeter tells me. It was the levo-rotary veratrine of the fataldeath camas which you used, Page," concluded Craig, as again theelectric attachment clicked shut the lock on the laboratory door.