The Dream Doctor

  VIII

  THE MUMMY CASE

  The horrible thought occurred to me that perhaps he was not alone. Ihad seen Spencer's infatuation with his attractive librarian. Thejanitor of the studio-building was positive that a woman answering herdescription had been a visitor at the studio. Would she be used to getat the millionaire and his treasures? Was she herself part of the plotto victimise, perhaps kill, him? The woman had been much of an enigmato me at first. She was more so now. It was barely possible that she,too, was an absintheur, who had shaken off the curse for a time only torelapse into it again.

  If there were any thoughts like these passing through Kennedy's mind hedid not show it, at least not in the shape of hesitating in the coursehe had evidently mapped out to follow. He said little, but hurried offfrom the studio in a cab up-town again to the laboratory. A few minuteslater we were speeding down to the museum.

  There was not much time for Craig to work if he hoped to be ready foranything that might happen that night. He began by winding coil aftercoil of copper wire about the storeroom in the basement of the museum.It was not a very difficult matter to conceal it, so crowded was theroom, or to lead the ends out through a window at the opposite sidefrom that where the window had been broken open.

  Up-stairs in the art-gallery he next installed several boxes such asthose which I had seen him experimenting with during his tests ofselenium on the afternoon when Mr. Spencer had first called on us. Theywere camera-like boxes, about ten inches long, three inches or so wide,and four inches deep.

  One end was open, or at least looked as though the end had been shovedseveral inches into the interior of the box. I looked into one of theboxes and saw a slit in the wall that had been shoved in. Kennedy wasbusy adjusting the apparatus, and paused only to remark that the boxescontained two sensitive selenium surfaces balanced against two carbonresistances. There was also in the box a clockwork mechanism whichCraig wound up and set ticking ever so softly. Then he moved a rod thatseemed to cover the slit, until the apparatus was adjusted to hissatisfaction, a delicate operation, judging by the care he took.Several of these boxes were installed, and by that time it was quitelate.

  Wires from the apparatus in the art-gallery also led outside, and theseas well as the wires from the coils down in the basement he led acrossthe bit of garden back of the Spencer house and up to a room on the topfloor. In the upper room he attached the wires from the storeroom towhat looked like a piece of crystal and a telephone receiver. Thosefrom the art-gallery terminated in something very much like theapparatus which a wireless operator wears over his head.

  Among other things which Craig had brought down from the laboratory wasa package which he had not yet unwrapped. He placed it near the window,still wrapped. It was quite large, and must have weighed fifteen ortwenty pounds. That done, he produced a tape-measure and began, as ifhe were a surveyor, to measure various distances and apparently tocalculate the angles and distances from the window-sill of the Spencerhouse to the skylight, which was the exact centre of the museum. Thestraight distance, if I recall correctly, was in the neighborhood offour hundred feet.

  These preparations completed, there was nothing left to do but to waitfor something to happen. Spencer had declined to get alarmed about ourfears for his own safety, and only with difficulty had we been able todissuade him from moving heaven and earth to find Miss White, aproceeding which must certainly have disarranged Kennedy's carefullylaid plans. So interested was he that he postponed one of the mostimportant business conferences of the year, growing out of theanti-trust suits, in order to be present with Dr. Lith and ourselves inthe little upper back room.

  It was quite late when Kennedy completed his hasty arrangements, yet asthe night advanced we grew more and more impatient for something tohappen. Craig was apparently even more anxious than he had been thenight before, when we watched in the art-gallery itself. Spencer wasnervously smoking, lighting one cigar furiously from another until theair was almost blue.

  Scarcely a word was spoken as hour after hour Craig sat with thereceiver to his ear, connected with the coils down in the storeroom."You might call this an electric detective," he had explained toSpencer. "For example, if you suspected that anything out of the waywas going on in a room anywhere this would report much to you even ifyou were miles away. It is the discovery of a student of Thorne Baker,the English electrical expert. He was experimenting with high-frequencyelectric currents, investigating the nature of the discharges used forelectrifying certain things. Quite by accident he found that when theroom on which he was experimenting was occupied by some person hismeasuring-instruments indicated that fact. He tested the degree ofvariation by passing the current first through the room and thenthrough a sensitive crystal to a delicate telephone receiver. There wasa distinct change in the buzzing sound heard through the telephone whenthe room was occupied or unoccupied. What I have done is to wind singleloops of plain wire on each side of that room down there, as well as towind around the room a few turns of concealed copper wire. Thesecollectors are fitted to a crystal of carborundum and a telephonereceiver."

  We had each tried the thing and could hear a distinct buzzing in thereceiver.

  "The presence of a man or woman in that room would be evident to aperson listening miles away," he went on. "A high-frequency current isconstantly passing through that storeroom. That is what causes thatnormal buzzing."

  It was verging on midnight when Kennedy suddenly cried: "Here, Walter,take this receiver. You remember how the buzzing sounded. Listen. Tellme if you, too, can detect the change."

  I clapped the receiver quickly to my ear. Indeed I could tell thedifference. In place of the load buzzing there was only a mild sound.It was slower and lower.

  "That means," he said excitedly, "that some one has entered thatpitch-dark storeroom by the broken window. Let me take the receiverback again. Ah, the buzzing is coming back. He is leaving the room. Isuppose he has found the electric light cane and the pistol where heleft them. Now, Walter, since you have become accustomed to this thingtake it and tell me what you hear."

  Craig had already seized the other apparatus connected with theart-gallery and had the wireless receiver over his head. He waslistening with rapt attention, talking while he waited.

  "This is an apparatus," he was saying, "that was devised by Dr.Fournier d'Albe, lecturer on physics at Birmingham University, to aidthe blind. It is known as the optophone. What I am literally doing nowis to HEAR light. The optophone translates light into sound by means ofthat wonderful little element, selenium, which in darkness is a poorconductor of electricity, but in light is a good conductor. Thisproperty is used in the optophone in transmitting an electric currentwhich is interrupted by a special clockwork interrupter. It makes lightand darkness audible in the telephone. This thing over my head is likea wireless telephone receiver, capable of detecting a current of even aquarter of a microampere."

  We were all waiting expectantly for Craig to speak. Evidently theintruder was now mounting the stairs to the art-gallery.

  "Actually I can hear the light of the stars shining in through thatwonderful plate glass skylight of yours, Mr. Spencer," he went on. "Afew moments ago when the moon shone through I could hear it, like therumble of a passing cart. I knew it was the moon both because I couldsee that it must be shining in and because I recognised the sound. Thesun would thunder like a passing express-train if it were daytime now.I can distinguish a shadow passing between the optophone and the light.A hand moved across in front of it would give a purring sound, and aglimpse out of a window in daylight would sound like a cinematographreeling off a film.

  "Ah, there he is." Craig was listening with intense excitement now."Our intruder has entered the art-gallery. He is flashing his electriclight cane about at various objects, reconnoitring. No doubt if I wereexpert enough and had had time to study it, I could tell you by thesound just what he is looking at."

  "Craig," I interrupted, this time very excited myself, "the buzzingfrom the high-freque
ncy current is getting lower and lower."

  "By George, then, there is another of them," he replied. "I'm notsurprised. Keep a sharp watch. Tell me the moment the buzzing increasesagain."

  Spencer could scarcely control his impatience. It had been a long timesince he had been a mere spectator, and he did not seem to relish beingheld in check by anybody.

  "Now that you are sure the vandal is there," he cut in, his cigar outin his excitement, "can't we make a dash over there and get him beforehe has a chance to do any more damage? He might be destroying thousandsof dollars' worth of stuff while we are waiting here."

  "And he could destroy the whole collection, building and all, includingourselves into the bargain, if he heard so much as a whisper from us,"added Kennedy firmly.

  "That second person has left the storeroom, Craig," I put in. "Thebuzzing has returned again full force."

  Kennedy tore the wireless receiver from his ear. "Here, Walter, nevermind about that electric detective any more, then. Take the optophone.Describe minutely to me just exactly what you hear."

  He had taken from his pocket a small metal ball. I seized the receiverfrom him and fitted it to my ear. It took me several instants toaccustom my ears to the new sounds, but they were plain enough, and Ishouted my impressions of their variations. Kennedy was busy at thewindow over the heavy package, from which he had torn the wrapping. Hisback was toward us, and we could not see what he was doing.

  A terrific din sounded in my ears, almost splitting my ear-drums. Itwas as though I had been suddenly hurled into a magnified cave of thewinds and a cataract mightier than Niagara was thundering at me. It wasso painful that I cried out in surprise and involuntarily dropped thereceiver to the floor.

  "It was the switching on of the full glare of the electric lights inthe art-gallery," Craig shouted. "The other person must have got up tothe room quicker than I expected. Here goes."

  A loud explosion took place, apparently on the very window-sill of ourroom. Almost at the same instant there was a crash of glass from themuseum.

  We sprang to the window, I expecting to see Kennedy injured, Spencerexpecting to see his costly museum a mass of smoking ruins. Instead wesaw nothing of the sort. On the window-ledge was a peculiar littleinstrument that looked like a miniature field-gun with an elaboratesystem of springs and levers to break the recoil.

  Craig had turned from it so suddenly that he actually ran full tiltinto us. "Come on," he cried breathlessly, bolting from the room, andseizing Dr. Lith by the arm as he did so. "Dr. Lith, the keys to themuseum, quick! We must get there before the fumes clear away."

  He was taking the stairs two at a time, dragging the dignified curatorwith him.

  In fewer seconds than I can tell it we were in the museum and mountingthe broad staircase to the art-gallery. An overpowering gas seemed topermeate everything.

  "Stand back a moment," cautioned Kennedy as we neared the door. "I havejust shot in here one of those asphyxiating bombs which the Parispolice invented to war against the Apaches and the motor-car bandits.Open all the windows back here and let the air clear. Walter, breatheas little of it as you can--but--come here--do you see?--over there,near the other door--a figure lying on the floor? Make a dash in afterme and carry it out. There is just one thing more. If I am not back ina minute come in and try to get me."

  He had already preceded me into the stifling fumes. With a last longbreath of fresh air I plunged in after him, scarcely knowing what wouldhappen to me. I saw the figure on the floor, seized it, and backed outof the room as fast as I could.

  Dizzy and giddy from the fumes I had been forced to inhale, I managedto drag the form to the nearest window. It was Lucille White.

  An instant later I felt myself unceremoniously pushed aside. Spencerhad forgotten all about the millions of dollars' worth of curios, allabout the suspicions that had been entertained against her, and hadtaken the half-conscious burden from me.

  "This is the second time I have found you here, Edouard," she wasmuttering in her half-delirium, still struggling. "The first time--thatnight I hid in the mummy-case, you fled when I called for help. I havefollowed you every moment since last night to prevent this. Edouard,don't, DON'T! Remember I was--I am your wife. Listen to me. Oh, it isthe absinthe that has spoiled your art and made it worthless, not thecritics. It is not Mr. Spencer who has enticed me away, but you whodrove me away, first from Paris, and now from New York. He has beenonly--No! No!--" she was shrieking now, her eyes wide open as sherealised it was Spencer himself she saw leaning over her. With a greateffort she seemed to rouse herself. "Don't stay. Run--run. Leave me. Hehas a bomb that may go off at any moment. Oh--oh--it is the curse ofabsinthe that pursues me. Will you not go? Vite! Vite!"

  She had almost fainted and was lapsing into French, laughing and cryingalternately, telling him to go, yet clinging to him.

  Spencer paid no attention to what she had said of the bomb. But I did.The minute was up, and Kennedy was in there yet. I turned to rush inagain to warn him at any peril.

  Just then a half-conscious form staggered against me. It was Craighimself. He was holding the infernal machine of the five glass tubesthat might at any instant blow us into eternity.

  Overcome himself, he stumbled. The sinking sensation in my heart I cannever describe. It was just a second that I waited for the terrificexplosion that was to end it all for us, one long interminable second.

  But it did not come.

  Limp as I was with the shock, I dropped down beside him and bent over.

  "A glass of water, Walter," he murmured, "and fan me a bit. I didn'tdare trust myself to carry the thing complete, so I emptied the acidinto the sarcophagus. I guess I must have stayed in there too long. Butwe are safe. See if you can drag out Delaverde. He is in there by themummy-case."

  Spencer was still holding Lucille, although she was much better in thefresh air of the hall. "I understand," he was muttering. "You have beenfollowing this fiend of a husband of yours to protect the museum andmyself from him. Lucille, Lucille--look at me. You are mine, not his,whether he is dead or alive. I will free you from him, from the curseof the absinthe that has pursued you."

  The fumes had cleared a great deal by this time. In the centre of theart-gallery we found a man, a tall, black-bearded Frenchman, crazyindeed from the curse of the green absinthe that had ruined him. He wasscarcely breathing from a deadly wound in his chest. The hair-springring of the Apache pistol had exploded the cartridge as he fell.

  Spencer did not even look at him, as he carried his own burden down tothe little office of Dr. Lith.

  "When a rich man marries a girl who has been earning her own living,the newspapers always distort it," he whispered aside to me a fewminutes later. "Jameson, you're a newspaperman--I depend on you to getthe facts straight this time."

  Outside, Kennedy grasped my arm.

  "You'll do that, Walter?" he asked persuasively. "Spencer is a clientthat one doesn't get every day. Just drop into the Star office and givethem the straight story, I'll promise you I'll not take another caseuntil you are free again to go on with me in it."

  There was no denying him. As briefly as I could I rehearsed the mainfacts to the managing editor late that night. I was too tired to writeit at length, yet I could not help a feeling of satisfaction as heexclaimed, "Great stuff, Jameson,--great."

  "I know," I replied, "but this six-cylindered existence for a weekwears you out."

  "My dear boy," he persisted, "if I had turned some one else loose onthat story, he'd have been dead. Go to it--it's fine."

  It was a bit of blarney, I knew. But somehow or other I liked it. Itwas just what I needed to encourage me, and I hurried uptown promisingmyself a sound sleep at any rate.

  "Very good," remarked Kennedy the next morning, poking his head in atmy door and holding up a copy of the Star into which a very accuratebrief account of the affair had been dropped at the last moment. "I'mgoing over to the laboratory. See you there as soon as you can getover."

  "Craig,"
I remarked an hour or so later as I sauntered in on him, hardat work, "I don't see how you stand this feverish activity."

  "Stand it?" he repeated, holding up a beaker to the light to watch areaction. "It's my very life. Stand it? Why, man, if you want me topass away--stop it. As long as it lasts, I shall be all right. Let itquit and I'll--I'll go back to research work," he laughed.

  Evidently he had been waiting for me, for as he talked, he laid asidethe materials with which he had been working and was preparing to goout.

  "Then, too," he went on, "I like to be with people like Spencer andBrixton. For example, while I was waiting here for you, there came acall from Emery Pitts."

  "Emery Pitts?" I echoed. "What does he want?"

  "The best way to find out is--to find out," he answered simply. "It'sgetting late and I promised to be there directly. I think we'd bettertake a taxi."

  A few minutes later we were ushered into a large Fifth Avenue mansionand were listening to a story which interested even Kennedy.

  "Not even a blood spot has been disturbed in the kitchen. Nothing hasbeen altered since the discovery of the murdered chef, except that hisbody has been moved into the next room."

  Emery Pitts, one of the "thousand millionaires of steel," overwroughtas he was by a murder in his own household, sank back in hiseasy-chair, exhausted.

  Pitts was not an old man; indeed, in years he was in the prime of life.Yet by his looks he might almost have been double his age, the more soin contrast with Minna Pitts, his young and very pretty wife, who stoodnear him in the quaint breakfast-room and solicitously moved a pillowback of his head.

  Kennedy and I looked on in amazement. We knew that he had recentlyretired from active business, giving as a reason his failing health.But neither of us had thought, when the hasty summons came early thatmorning to visit him immediately at his house, that his condition wasas serious as it now appeared.

  "In the kitchen?" repeated Kennedy, evidently not prepared for anytrouble in that part of the house.

  Pitts, who had closed his eyes, now reopened them slowly and I noticedhow contracted were the pupils.

  "Yes," he answered somewhat wearily, "my private kitchen which I havehad fitted up. You know, I am on a diet, have been ever since I offeredthe one hundred thousand dollars for the sure restoration of youth. Ishall have you taken out there presently."

  He lapsed again into a half dreamy state, his head bowed on one handresting on the arm of his chair. The morning's mail still lay on thetable, some letters open, as they had been when the discovery had beenannounced. Mrs. Pitts was apparently much excited and unnerved by thegruesome discovery in the house.

  "You have no idea who the murderer might be?" asked Kennedy, addressingPitts, but glancing keenly at his wife.

  "No," replied Pitts, "if I had I should have called the regular police.I wanted you to take it up before they spoiled any of the clues. In thefirst place we do not think it could have been done by any of the otherservants. At least, Minna says that there was no quarrel."

  "How could any one have got in from the outside?" asked Craig.

  "There is a back way, a servants' entrance, but it is usually locked.Of course some one might have obtained a key to it."

  Mrs. Pitts had remained silent throughout the dialogue. I could nothelp thinking that she suspected something, perhaps was concealingsomething. Yet each of them seemed equally anxious to have the marauderapprehended, whoever he might be.

  "My dear," he said to her at length, "will you call some one and havethem taken to the kitchen?"