Page 11 of The Poisoned Pen

  XI

  THE INVISIBLE RAY

  "I won't deny that I had some expectations from the old man myself."

  Kennedy's client was speaking in a low, full-chested, vibrating voice,with some emotion, so low that I had entered the room without beingaware that any one was there until it was too late to retreat.

  "As his physician for over twelve years," the man pursued, "I certainlyhad been led to hope to be remembered in his will. But, ProfessorKennedy, I can't put it too strongly when I say that there is noselfish motive in my coming to you about the case. There is somethingwrong--depend on that."

  Craig had glanced up at me and, as I hesitated, I could see in aninstant that the speaker was a practitioner of a type that is rapidlypassing away, the old-fashioned family doctor.

  "Dr. Burnham, I should like to have you know Mr. Jameson," introducedCraig. "You can talk as freely before him as you have to me alone. Wealways work together."

  I shook hands with the visitor.

  "The doctor has succeeded in interesting me greatly in a case which hassome unique features," Kennedy explained. "It has to do with StephenHaswell, the eccentric old millionaire of Brooklyn. Have you ever heardof him?"

  "Yes, indeed," I replied, recalling an occasional article which hadappeared in the newspapers regarding a dusty and dirty old house inthat part of the Heights in Brooklyn whence all that is fashionable hadnot yet taken flight, a house of mystery, yet not more mysterious thanits owner in his secretive comings and goings in the affairs of men ofa generation beyond his time. Further than the facts that he wasreputed to be very wealthy and led, in the heart of a great city, whatwas as nearly like the life of a hermit as possible, I knew little ornothing. "What has he been doing now?" I asked.

  "About a week ago," repeated the doctor, in answer to a nod ofencouragement from Kennedy, "I was summoned in the middle of the nightto attend Mr. Haswell, who, as I have been telling Professor Kennedy,had been a patient of mine for over twelve years. He had been suddenlystricken with total blindness. Since then he appears to be failingfast, that is, he appeared so the last time I saw him, a few days ago,after I had been superseded by a younger man. It is a curious case andI have thought about it a great deal. But I didn't like to speak to theauthorities; there wasn't enough to warrant that, and I should havebeen laughed out of court for my pains. The more I have thought aboutit, however, the more I have felt it my duty to say something tosomebody, and so, having heard of Professor Kennedy, I decided toconsult him. The fact of the matter is, I very much fear that there arecircumstances which will bear sharp looking into, perhaps a scheme toget control of the old man's fortune."

  The doctor paused, and Craig inclined his head, as much as to signifyhis appreciation of the delicate position in which Burnham stood in thecase. Before the doctor could proceed further, Kennedy handed me aletter which had been lying before him on the table. It had evidentlybeen torn into small pieces and then carefully pasted together.

  The superscription gave a small town in Ohio and a date about afortnight previous.

  Dear Father [it read]: I hope you will pardon me for writing, but Icannot let the occasion of your seventy-fifth birthday pass without aword of affection and congratulation. I am alive and well--Time hasdealt leniently with me in that respect, if not in money matters. I donot say this in the hope of reconciling you to me. I know that isimpossible after all these cruel years. But I do wish that I could seeyou again. Remember, I am your only child and even if you still think Ihave been a foolish one, please let me come to see you once before itis too late. We are constantly travelling from place to place, butshall be here for a few days.

  Your loving daughter,

  GRACE HASWELL MARTIN.

  "Some fourteen or fifteen years ago," explained the doctor as I lookedup from reading the note, "Mr. Haswell's only daughter eloped with anartist named Martin. He had been engaged to paint a portrait of thelate Mrs. Haswell from a photograph. It was the first time that GraceHaswell had ever been able to find expression for the artistic yearningwhich had always been repressed by the cold, practical sense of herfather. She remembered her mother perfectly since the sad bereavementof her girlhood and naturally she watched and helped the artisteagerly. The result was a portrait which might well have been paintedfrom the subject herself rather than from a cold photograph.

  "Haswell saw the growing intimacy of his daughter and the artist. Hisbent of mind was solely toward money and material things, and he atonce conceived a bitter and unreasoning hatred for Martin, who, hebelieved, had 'schemed' to capture his daughter and an easy living. Artwas as foreign to his nature as possible. Nevertheless they went aheadand married, and, well, it resulted in the old man disinheriting thegirl. The young couple disappeared bravely to make their way by theirchosen profession and, as far as I know, have never been heard fromsince until now. Haswell made a new will and I have always understoodthat practically all of his fortune is to be devoted to founding thetechnology department in a projected university of Brooklyn."

  "You have never seen this Mrs. Martin or her husband?" asked Kennedy.

  "No, never. But in some way she must have learned that I had someinfluence with her father, for she wrote to me not long ago, enclosinga note for him and asking me to intercede for her. I did so. I took theletter to him as diplomatically as I could. The old man flew into atowering rage, refused even to look at the letter, tore it up intobits, and ordered me never to mention the subject to him again. That isher note, which I saved. However, it is the sequel about which I wishyour help."

  The physician folded up the patched letter carefully before hecontinued. "Mr. Haswell, as you perhaps know, has for many years been aprominent figure in various curious speculations, or rather in loaningmoney to many curious speculators. It is not necessary to go into thedifferent schemes which he has helped to finance. Even though most ofthem have been unknown to the public they have certainly given him sucha reputation that he is much sought after by inventors.

  "Not long ago Haswell became interested in the work of an obscurechemist over in Brooklyn, Morgan Prescott. Prescott claims, as Iunderstand, to be able to transmute copper into gold. Whatever youthink of it offhand, you should visit his laboratory yourselves,gentlemen. I am told it is wonderful, though I have never seen it andcan't explain it. I have met Prescott several times while he was tryingto persuade Mr. Haswell to back him in his scheme, but he was neverdisposed to talk to me, for I had no money to invest. So far as I knowabout it the thing sounds scientific and plausible enough. I leave youto judge of that. It is only an incident in my story and I will passover it quickly. Prescott, then, believes that the elements are merelyprogressive variations of an original substance or base called'protyle,' from which everything is derived. But this fellow Prescottgoes much further than any of the former theorists. He does not stopwith matter. He believes that he has the secret of life also, that hecan make the transition from the inorganic to the organic, from inertmatter to living protoplasm, and thence from living protoplasm to mindand what we call soul, whatever that may be."

  "And here is where the weird and uncanny part of it comes in,"commented Craig, turning from the doctor to me to call my attentionparticularly to what was about to follow.

  "Having arrived at the point where he asserts that he can create anddestroy matter, life, and mind," continued the doctor, as if himselffascinated by the idea, "Prescott very naturally does not have to gofar before he also claims a control over telepathy and even acommunication with the dead. He even calls the messages which hereceives by a word which he has coined himself, 'telepagrams.' Thus hesays he has unified the physical, the physiological, and thepsychical--a system of absolute scientific monism."

  The doctor paused again, then resumed. "One afternoon, about a weekago, apparently, as far as I am able to piece together the story,Prescott was demonstrating his marvellous discovery of the unity ofnature. Suddenly he faced Mr. Haswell.

  "'Shall I tell you a fact, sir, about yourself?' he asked quickl
y. 'Thetruth as I see it by means of my wonderful invention? If it is thetruth, will you believe in me? Will you put money into my invention?Will you share in becoming fabulously rich?'

  "Haswell made some noncommittal answer. But Prescott seemed to lookinto the machine through a very thick plate-glass window, with Haswellplaced directly before it. He gave a cry. 'Mr. Haswell,' he exclaimed,'I regret to tell you what I see. You have disinherited your daughter;she has passed out of your life and at the present moment you do notknow where she is.'

  "'That's true,' replied the old man bitterly, 'and more than that Idon't care. Is that all you see? That's nothing new.'

  "'No, unfortunately, that is not all I see. Can you bear somethingfurther? I think you ought to know it. I have here a most mysterioustelepagram.'

  "'Yes. What is it? Is she dead?'

  "'No, it is not about her. It is about yourself. To-night at midnightor perhaps a little later,' repeated Prescott solemnly, 'you will loseyour sight as a punishment for your action.'

  "'Pouf!' exclaimed the old man in a dudgeon, 'if that is all yourinvention can tell me, good-bye. You told me you were able to makegold. Instead, you make foolish prophecies. I'll put no money into suchtomfoolery. I'm a practical man,' and with that he stamped out of thelaboratory.

  "Well, that night, about one o'clock, in the silence of the lonely oldhouse, the aged caretaker, Jane, whom he had hired after he banishedhis daughter from his life, heard a wild shout of 'Help! Help!'Haswell, alone in his room on the second floor, was groping about inthe dark.

  "'Jane,' he ordered, 'a light--a light.'

  "'I have lighted the gas, Mr. Haswell,' she cried.

  "A groan followed. He had himself found a match, had struck it, hadeven burnt his fingers with it, yet he saw nothing.

  "The blow had fallen. At almost the very hour which Prescott, by meansof his weird telepagram had predicted, old Haswell was stricken.

  "'I'm blind,' he gasped. 'Send for Dr. Burnham.'

  "I went to him immediately when the maid roused me, but there wasnothing I could do except prescribe perfect rest for his eyes andkeeping in a dark room in the hope that his sight might be restored assuddenly and miraculously as it had been taken away.

  "The next morning, with his own hand, trembling and scrawling in hisblindness, he wrote the following on a piece of paper:

  "'MRS. GRACE MARTIN.--Information wanted about the present whereaboutsof Mrs. Grace Martin, formerly Grace Haswell of Brooklyn."

  STEPHEN HASWELL,----Pierrepont St., Brooklyn.

  "This advertisement he caused to be placed in all the New York papersand to be wired to the leading Western papers. Haswell himself was achanged man after his experience. He spoke bitterly of Prescott, yethis attitude toward his daughter was completely reversed. Whether headmitted to himself a belief in the prediction of the inventor, I donot know. Certainly he scouted such an idea in telling me about it.

  "A day or two after the advertisements appeared a telegram came to theold man from a little town in Indiana. It read simply: 'Dear Father: Amstarting for Brooklyn to-day. Grace.'

  "The upshot was that Grace Haswell, or rather Grace Martin, appearedthe next day, forgave and was forgiven with much weeping, although theold man still refused resolutely to be reconciled with and receive herhusband. Mrs. Martin started in to clean up the old house. A vacuumcleaner sucked a ton or two of dust from it. Everything was changed.Jane grumbled a great deal, but there was no doubt a great improvement.Meals were served regularly. The old man was taken care of as neverbefore. Nothing was too good for him. Everywhere the touch of a womanwas evident in the house. The change was complete. It even extended tome. Some friend had told her of an eye and ear specialist, a Dr. Scott,who was engaged. Since then, I understand, a new will has been made,much to the chagrin of the trustees of the projected school. Of courseI am cut out of the new will, and that with the knowledge at least ofthe woman who once appealed to me, but it does not influence me incoming to you."

  "But what has happened since to arouse suspicion?" asked Kennedy,watching the doctor furtively.

  "Why, the fact is that, in spite of all this added care, the old man isfailing more rapidly than ever. He never goes out except attended andnot much even then. The other day I happened to meet Jane on thestreet. The faithful old soul poured forth a long story about hisgrowing dependence on others and ended by mentioning a curious reddiscoloration that seems to have broken out over his face and hands.More from the way she said it than from what she said I gained theimpression that something was going on which should be looked into."

  "Then you perhaps think that Prescott and Mrs. Martin are in some wayconnected in this case?" I hazarded.

  I had scarcely framed the question before he replied in an emphaticnegative. "On the contrary, it seems to me that if they know each otherat all it is with hostility. With the exception of the first stroke ofblindness"--here he lowered his voice earnestly--"practically everymisfortune that has overtaken Mr. Haswell has been since the advent ofthis new Dr. Scott. Mind, I do not wish even to breathe that Mrs.Martin has done anything except what a daughter should do. I think shehas shown herself a model of forgiveness and devotion. Nevertheless theturn of events under the new treatment has been so strange that almostit makes one believe that there might be something occult about it--orwrong with the new doctor."

  "Would it be possible, do you think, for us to see Mr. Haswell?" askedKennedy, when Dr. Burnham had come to a full stop after pouring forthhis suspicions. "I should like to see this Dr. Scott. But first Ishould like to get into the old house without exciting hostility."

  The doctor was thoughtful. "You'll have to arrange that yourself," heanswered. "Can't you think up a scheme? For instance, go to him with aproposal like the old schemes he used to finance. He is very muchinterested in electrical inventions. He made his money by speculationin telegraphs and telephones in the early days when they were more orless dreams. I should think a wireless system of television might atleast interest him and furnish an excuse for getting in, although I amtold his daughter discourages all tangible investment in the schemesthat used to interest his active mind."

  "An excellent idea," exclaimed Kennedy. "It is worth trying anyway. Itis still early. Suppose we ride over to Brooklyn with you. You candirect us to the house and we'll try to see him."

  It was still light when we mounted the high steps of the house ofmystery across the bridge. Mrs. Martin, who met us in the parlour,proved to be a stunning looking woman with brown hair and beautifuldark eyes. As far as we could see the old house plainly showed thechange. The furniture and ornaments were of a period long past, buteverything was scrupulously neat. Hanging over the old marble mantelwas a painting which quite evidently was that of the long sincedeceased Mrs. Haswell, the mother of Grace. In spite of the hideousstyle of dress of the period after the war, she had evidently been avery beautiful woman with large masses of light chestnut hair and blueeyes which the painter had succeeded in catching with almostlife-likeness for a portrait.

  It took only a few minutes for Kennedy, in his most engaging andplausible manner, to state the hypothetical reason of our call. Thoughit was perfectly self-evident from the start that Mrs. Martin wouldthrow cold water on anything requiring an outlay of money Craigaccomplished his full purpose of securing an interview with Mr.Haswell. The invalid lay propped up in bed, and as we entered he heardus and turned his sightless eyes in our direction almost as if he saw.

  Kennedy had hardly begun to repeat and elaborate the story which he hadalready told regarding his mythical friend who had at last a commercialwireless "televue," as he called it on the spur of the moment, whenJane, the aged caretaker, announced Dr. Scott. The new doctor was ayouthfully dressed man, clean-shaven, but with an undefinable air ofbeing much older than his smooth face led one to suppose. As he had alarge practice, he said, he would beg our pardon for interrupting butwould not take long.

  It needed no great powers of observation to see that the old man placedgreat reliance
on his new doctor and that the visit partook of a socialas well as a professional nature. Although they talked low we couldcatch now and then a word or phrase. Dr. Scott bent down and examinedthe eyes of his patient casually. It was difficult to believe that theysaw nothing, so bright was the blue of the iris.

  "Perfect rest for the present," the doctor directed, talking more toMrs. Martin than to the old man. "Perfect rest, and then when hishealth is good, we shall see what can be done with that cataract."

  He was about to leave, when the old man reached up and restrained him,taking hold of the doctor's wrist tightly, as if to pull him nearer inorder to whisper to him without being overheard. Kennedy was sitting ina chair near the head of the bed, some feet away, as the doctor leaneddown. Haswell, still holding his wrist, pulled him closer. I could nothear what was said, though somehow I had an impression that they weretalking about Prescott, for it would not have been at all strange ifthe old man had been greatly impressed by the alchemist.

  Kennedy, I noticed, had pulled an old envelope from his pocket and wasapparently engaged in jotting down some notes, glancing now and thenfrom his writing to the doctor and then to Mr. Haswell.

  The doctor stood erect in a few moments and rubbed his wristthoughtfully with the other hand, as if it hurt. At the same time hesmiled on Mrs. Martin. "Your father has a good deal of strength yet,Mrs. Martin," he remarked. "He has a wonderful constitution. I feelsure that we can pull him out of this and that he has many, many yearsto live."

  Mr. Haswell, who caught the words eagerly, brightened visibly, and thedoctor passed out. Kennedy resumed his description of the supposedwireless picture apparatus which was to revolutionise the newspaper,the theatre, and daily life in general. The old man did not seementhusiastic and turned to his daughter with some remark.

  "Just at present," commented the daughter, with an air of finality,"the only thing my father is much interested in is a way in which torecover his sight without an operation. He has just had a ratherunpleasant experience with one inventor. I think it will be some timebefore he cares to embark in any other such schemes."

  Kennedy and I excused ourselves with appropriate remarks ofdisappointment. From his preoccupied manner it was impossible for me toguess whether Craig had accomplished his purpose or not.

  "Let us drop in on Dr. Burnham since we are over here," he said when wehad reached the street. "I have some questions to ask him."

  The former physician of Mr. Haswell lived not very far from the housewe had just left. He appeared a little surprised to see us so soon, butvery interested in what had taken place.

  "Who is this Dr. Scott?" asked Craig when we were seated in thecomfortable leather chairs of the old-fashioned consulting-room.

  "Really, I know no more about him than you do," replied Burnham. Ithought I detected a little of professional jealousy in his tone,though he went on frankly enough, "I have made inquiries and I can findout nothing except that he is supposed to be a graduate of some Westernmedical school and came to this city only a short time ago. He hashired a small office in a new building devoted entirely to doctors andthey tell me that he is an eye and ear specialist, though I cannot seethat he has any practice. Beyond that I know nothing about him."

  "Your friend Prescott interests me, too," remarked Kennedy, changingthe subject quickly.

  "Oh, he is no friend of mine," returned the doctor, fumbling in adrawer of his desk. "But I think I have one of his cards here which hegave me when we were introduced some time ago at Mr. Haswell's. Ishould think it would be worth while to see him. Although he has no usefor me because I have neither money nor influence, still you might takethis card. Tell him you are from the university, that I have interestedyou in him, that you know a trustee with money to invest--anything youlike that is plausible. When are you going to see him?"

  "The first thing in the morning," replied Kennedy. "After I have seenhim I shall drop in for another chat with you. Will you be here?"

  The doctor promised, and we took our departure.

  Prescott's laboratory, which we found the next day from the address onthe card, proved to be situated in one of the streets near thewaterfront under the bridge approach, where the factories andwarehouses clustered thickly. It was with a great deal of anticipationof seeing something happen that we threaded our way through the maze ofstreets with the cobweb structure of the bridge carrying its endlesssuccession of cars arching high over our heads. We had nearly reachedthe place when Kennedy paused and pulled out two pairs of glasses,those huge round tortoiseshell affairs.

  "You needn't mind these, Walter," he explained. "They are only plainglass, that is, not ground. You can see through them as well as throughair. We must be careful not to excite suspicion. Perhaps a disguisemight have been better, but I think this will do. There--they add atleast a decade to your age. If you could see yourself you wouldn'tspeak to your reflection. You look as scholarly as a Chinese mandarin.Remember, let me do the talking and do just as I do."

  We had now entered the shop, stumbled up the dark stairs, and presentedDr. Burnham's card with a word of explanation along the lines which hehad suggested. Prescott, surrounded by his retorts, crucibles,burettes, and condensers, received us much more graciously than I hadhad any reason to anticipate. He was a man in the late forties, hisface covered with a thick beard, and his eyes, which seemed a littleweak, were helped out with glasses almost as scholarly as ours.

  I could not help thinking that we three bespectacled figures lackedonly the flowing robes to be taken for a group of mediaeval alchemistsset down a few centuries out of our time in the murky light ofPrescott's sanctum. Yet, though he accepted us at our face value, andbegan to talk of his strange discoveries there was none of the oldfamiliar prating about matrix and flux, elixir, magisterium, magnumopus, the mastery and the quintessence, those alternate names for thephilosopher's stone which Paracelsus, Simon Forman, Jerome Cardan, andthe other mediaeval worthies indulged in. This experience at least wasas up-to-date as the Curies, Becquerel, Ramsay, and the rest.

  "Transmutation," remarked Prescott, "was, as you know, finally declaredto be a scientific absurdity in the eighteenth century. But I may saythat it is no longer so regarded. I do not ask you to believe anythinguntil you have seen; all I ask is that you maintain the same open mindwhich the most progressive scientists of to-day exhibit in regard tothe subject."

  Kennedy had seated himself some distance from a curious piece or rathercollection of apparatus over which Prescott was working. It consistedof numerous coils and tubes.

  "It may seem strange to you, gentlemen," Prescott proceeded, "that aman who is able to produce gold from, say, copper should be seekingcapital from other people. My best answer to that old objection is thatI am not seeking capital, as such. The situation with me is simplythis. Twice I have applied to the patent office for a patent on myinvention. They not only refuse to grant it, but they refuse toconsider the application or even to give me a chance to demonstrate myprocess to them. On the other hand, suppose I try this thing secretly.How can I prevent any one from learning my trade secret, leaving me,and making gold on his own account? Men will desert as fast as Ieducate them. Think of the economic result of that; it would turn theworld topsy-turvy. I am looking for some one who can be trusted to thelast limit to join with me, furnish the influence and standing while Ifurnish the brains and the invention. Either we must get the governmentinterested and sell the invention to it, or we must get governmentprotection and special legislation. I am not seeking capital; I amseeking protection. First let me show you something."

  He turned a switch, and a part of the collection of apparatus began tovibrate.

  "You are undoubtedly acquainted with the modern theories of matter," hebegan, plunging into the explanation of his process. "Starting with theatom, we believe no longer that it is indivisible. Atoms are composedof thousands of ions, as they are called,--really little electriccharges. Again, you know that we have found that all the elements fallinto groups. Each group has certain relat
ed atomic weights andproperties which can be and have been predicted in advance of thediscovery of missing elements in the group. I started with thereasonable assumption that the atom of one element in a group could bemodified so as to become the atom of another element in the group, thatone group could perhaps be transformed into another, and so on, if onlyI knew the force that would change the number or modify the vibrationsof these ions composing the various atoms.

  "Now for years I have been seeking that force or combination of forcesthat would enable me to produce this change in the elements--raising orlowering them in the scale, so to speak. I have found it. I am notgoing to tell you or any other man whom you may interest the secret ofhow it is done until I find some one I can trust as I trust myself. ButI am none the less willing that you should see the results. If they arenot convincing, then nothing can be."

  He appeared to be debating whether to explain further, and finallyresumed: "Matter thus being in reality a manifestation of force orether in motion, it is necessary to change and control that force andmotion. This assemblage of machines here is for that purpose. Now a fewwords as to my theory."

  He took a pencil and struck a sharp blow on the table. "There you havea single blow," he said, "just one isolated noise. Now if I strike thistuning fork you have a vibrating note. In other words, a succession ofblows or wave vibrations of a certain kind affects the ear and we callit sound, just as a succession of other wave vibrations affects theretina and we have sight. If a moving picture moves slower than acertain number of pictures a minute you see the separate pictures;faster it is one moving picture.

  "Now as we increase the rapidity of wave vibration and decrease thewave length we pass from sound waves to heat waves or what are known asthe infra-red waves, those which lie below the red in the spectrum oflight. Next we come to light, which is composed of the seven colours asyou know from seeing them resolved in a prism. After that are what areknown as the ultra-violet rays, which lie beyond the violet of whitelight. We also have electric waves, the waves of the alternatingcurrent, and shorter still we find the Hertzian waves, which are usedin wireless. We have only begun to know of X-rays and the alpha, beta,and gamma rays from them, of radium, radioactivity, and finally of thisnew force which I have discovered and call 'protodyne,' the originalforce.

  "In short, we find in the universe Matter, Force, and Ether. Matter issimply ether in motion, is composed of corpuscles, electrically chargedions, or electrons, moving units of negative electricity about oneone-thousandth part of the hydrogen atom. Matter is made up ofelectricity and nothing but electricity. Let us see what that leads to.You are acquainted with Mendeleeff's periodic table?"

  He drew forth a huge chart on which all the eighty or so elements werearranged in eight groups or octaves and twelve series. Selecting one,he placed his finger on the letters "Au," under which was written thenumber, 197.2. I wondered what the mystic letters and figures meant.

  "That," he explained, "is the scientific name for the element gold andthe figure is its atomic weight. You will see," he added, pointing downthe second vertical column on the chart, "that gold belongs to thehydrogen group--hydrogen, lithium, sodium, potassium, copper, rubidium,silver, caesium, then two blank spaces for elements yet to bediscovered to science, then gold, and finally another unknown element."

  Running his finger along the eleventh, horizontal series, he,continued: "The gold series--not the group--reads gold, mercury,thallium, lead, bismuth, and other elements known only to myself. Forthe known elements, however, these groups and series are now perfectlyrecognised by all scientists; they are determined by the fixed weightof the atom, and there is a close approximation to regularity.

  "This twelfth series is interesting. So far only radium, thorium, anduranium are generally known. We know that the radioactive elements areconstantly breaking down, and one often hears uranium, for instance,called the 'parent' of radium. Radium also gives off an emanation, andamong its products is helium, quite another element. Thus thetransmutation of matter is well known within certain bounds to allscientists to-day like yourself, Professor Kennedy. It has even beenrumoured but never proved that copper has been transformed intolithium--both members of the hydrogen-gold group, you will observe.Copper to lithium is going backward, so to speak. It has remained forme to devise this protodyne apparatus by which I can reverse thatprocess of decay and go forward in the table, so to put it--can changelithium into copper and copper into gold. I can create and destroymatter by protodyne."

  He had been fingering a switch as he spoke. Now he turned it ontriumphantly. A curious snapping and crackling noise followed, becomingmore rapid, and as it mounted in intensity I could smell a pungentodour of ozone which told of an electric discharge. On went the machineuntil we could feel heat radiating from it. Then came a piercing burstof greenish-blue light from a long tube which looked like a curiousmercury vapour lamp.

  After a few minutes of this Prescott took a small crucible of blacklead. "Now we are ready to try it," he cried in great excitement. "HereI have a crucible containing some copper. Any substance in the groupwould do, even hydrogen if there was any way I could handle the gas. Iplace it in the machine--so. Now if you could watch inside you wouldsee it change; it is now rubidium, now silver, now caesium. Now it is ahitherto unknown element which I have named after myself, presium, nowa second unknown element, cottium--ah!--there we have gold."

  He drew forth the crucible, and there glowed in it a little bead orglobule of molten gold.

  "I could have taken lead or mercury and by varying the process done thesame thing with the gold series as well as the gold group," he said,regarding the globule with obvious pride. "And I can put this gold backand bring it out copper or hydrogen, or better yet, can advance itinstead of cause it to decay, and can get a radioactive element which Ihave named morganium--after my first name, Morgan Prescott. Morganiumis a radioactive element next in the series to radium and much moreactive. Come closer and examine the gold."

  Kennedy shook his head as if perfectly satisfied to accept the result.As for me I knew not what to think. It was all so plausible and therewas the bead of gold, too, that I turned to Craig for enlightenment.Was he convinced? His face was inscrutable.

  But as I looked I could see that Kennedy had been holding concealed inthe palm of his hand a bit of what might be a mineral. From my positionI could see the bit of mineral glowing, but Prescott could not.

  "Might I ask," interrupted Kennedy, "what that curious greenish orbluish light from the tube is composed of?"

  Prescott eyed him keenly for an instant through his thick glasses.Craig had shifted his gaze from the bit of mineral in his own hand, butwas not looking at the light. He seemed to be indifferentlycontemplating Prescott's hand as it rested on the switch.

  "That, sir," replied Prescott slowly, "is an emanation due to this newforce, protodyne, which I use. It is a manifestation of energy, sir,that may run changes not only through the whole gamut of the elements,but is capable of transforming the ether itself into matter, matterinto life, and life into mind. It is the outward sign of the unity ofnature, the--"

  "The means by which you secure the curious telepagrams I have heardof?" inquired Kennedy eagerly.

  Prescott looked at him sharply, and for a moment I thought his faceseemed to change from a livid white to an apoplectic red, although itmay have been only the play of the weird light. When he spoke it waswith no show of even suppressed surprise.

  "Yes," he answered calmly. "I see that you have heard something ofthem. I had a curious case a few days ago. I had hoped to interest acertain capitalist of high standing in this city. I had showed him justwhat I have showed you, and I think he was impressed by it. Then Ithought to clinch the matter by a telepagram, but for some reason orother I failed to consult the forces I control as to the wisdom ofdoing so. Had I, I should have known better. But I went ahead inself-confidence and enthusiasm. I told him of a long banished daughterwith whom, in his heart, he was really wishing to become reconciled butw
as too proud to say the word. He resented it. He started to stamp outof this room, but not before I had another telepagram which told of amisfortune that was soon to overtake the old man himself. If he hadgiven me a chance I might have saved him, at least have flashed atelepagram to that daughter myself, but he gave me no chance. He wasgone.

  "I do not know precisely what happened after that, but in some way thisman found his daughter, and to-day she is living with him. As for myhopes of getting assistance from him, I lost them from the moment whenI made my initial mistake of telling him something distasteful. Thedaughter hates me and I hate her. I have learned that she never ceasesadvising the old man against all schemes for investment except thosebearing moderate interest and readily realised on. Dr. Burnham--I seeyou know him--has been superseded by another doctor, I believe. Well,well, I am through with that incident. I must get assistance from othersources. The old man, I think, would have tricked me out of the fruitsof my discovery anyhow. Perhaps I am fortunate. Who knows?"

  A knock at the door cut him short. Prescott opened it, and a messengerboy stood there. "Is Professor Kennedy here?" he inquired.

  Craig motioned to the boy, signed for the message, and tore it open."It is from Dr. Burnham," he exclaimed, handing the message to me.

  "Mr. Haswell is dead," I read. "Looks to me like asphyxiation by gas orsome other poison. Come immediately to his house. Burnham."

  "You will pardon me," broke in Craig to Prescott, who was regarding uswithout the slightest trace of emotion, "but Mr. Haswell, the old manto whom I know you referred, is dead, and Dr. Burnham wishes to see meimmediately. It was only yesterday that I saw Mr. Haswell and he seemedin pretty good health and spirits. Prescott, though there was no lovelost between you and the old man, I would esteem it a great favour ifyou would accompany me to the house. You need not take anyresponsibility unless you desire."

  His words were courteous enough, but Craig spoke in a tone of quietauthority which Prescott found it impossible to deny. Kennedy hadalready started to telephone to his own laboratory, describing acertain suitcase to one of his students and giving his directions. Itwas only a moment later that we were panting up the sloping street thatled from the river front. In the excitement I scarcely noticed where wewere going until we hurried up the steps to the Haswell house.

  The aged caretaker met us at the door. She was in tears. Upstairs inthe front room where we had first met the old man we found Dr. Burnhamworking frantically over him. It took only a minute to learn what hadhappened. The faithful Jane had noticed an odour of gas in the hall,had traced it to Mr. Haswell's room, had found him unconscious, andinstinctively, forgetting the new Dr. Scott, had rushed forth for Dr.Burnham. Near the bed stood Grace Martin, pale but anxiously watchingthe efforts of the doctor to resuscitate the blue-faced man who wasstretched cold and motionless on the bed.

  Dr. Burnham paused in his efforts as we entered. "He is dead, allright," he whispered, aside. "I have tried everything I know to bringhim back, but he is beyond help."

  There was still a sickening odour of illuminating gas in the room,although the windows were now all open.

  Kennedy, with provoking calmness in the excitement, turned from andignored Dr. Burnham. "Have you summoned Dr. Scott?" he asked Mrs.Martin.

  "No," she replied, surprised. "Should I have done so?"

  "Yes. Send Jame immediately. Mr. Prescott, will you kindly be seatedfor a few moments."

  Taking off his coat, Kennedy advanced to the bed where the emaciatedfigure lay, cold and motionless. Craig knelt down at Mr. Haswell's headand took the inert arms, raising them up until they were extendedstraight. Then he brought them down, folded upward at the elbow at theside. Again and again he tried this Sylvester method of inducingrespiration, but with no more result than Dr. Burnham had secured. Heturned the body over on its face and tried the new Schaefer method.There seemed to be not a spark of life left.

  "Dr. Scott is out," reported the maid breathlessly, "but they aretrying to locate him from his office, and if they do they will send himaround immediately."

  A ring at the doorbell caused us to think that he had been found, butit proved to be the student to whom Kennedy had telephoned at his ownlaboratory. He was carrying a heavy suitcase and a small tank.

  Kennedy opened the suitcase hastily and disclosed a little motor, somelong tubes of rubber fitting into a small rubber cap, forceps, andother paraphernalia. The student quickly attached one tube to thelittle tank, while Kennedy grasped the tongue of the dead man with theforceps, pulled it up off the soft palate, and fitted the rubber capsnugly over his mouth and nose.

  "This is the Draeger pulmotor," he explained as he worked, "devised toresuscitate persons who have died of electric shock, but actually foundto be of more value in cases of asphyxiation. Start the motor."

  The pulmotor began to pump. One could see the dead man's chest rise asit was inflated with oxygen forced by the accordion bellows from thetank through one of the tubes into the lungs. Then it fell as theoxygen and the poisonous gas were slowly sucked out through the othertube. Again and again the process was repeated, about ten times aminute.

  Dr. Burnham looked on in undisguised amazement. He had long since givenup all hope. The man was dead, medically dead, as dead as ever was anygas victim at this stage on whom all the usual methods of resuscitationhad been tried and had failed.

  Still, minute after minute, Kennedy worked faithfully on, trying todiscover some spark of life and to fan it into flame. At last, afterwhat seemed to be a half-hour of unremitting effort, when the oxygenhad long since been exhausted and only fresh air was being pumped intothe lungs and out of them, there was a first faint glimmer of life inthe heart and a touch of colour in the cheeks. Haswell was coming to.Another half-hour found him muttering and rambling weakly.

  "The letter--the letter," he moaned, rolling his glazed eyes about."Where is the letter? Send for Grace."

  The moan was so audible that it was startling. It was like a voice fromthe grave. What did it all mean? Mrs. Martin was at his side in amoment.

  "Father, father,--here I am--Grace. What do you want?"

  The old man moved restlessly, feverishly, and pressed his tremblinghand to his forehead as if trying to collect his thoughts. He was weak,but it was evident that he had been saved.

  The pulmotor had been stopped. Craig threw the cap to his student to bepacked up, and as he did so he remarked quietly, "I could wish that Dr.Scott had been found. There are some matters here that might interesthim."

  He paused and looked slowly from the rescued man lying dazed on the bedtoward Mrs. Martin. It was quite apparent even to me that she did notshare the desire to see Dr. Scott, at least not just then. She wasflushed and trembling with emotion. Crossing the room hurriedly sheflung open the door into the hall.

  "I am sure," she cried, controlling herself with difficulty andcatching at a straw, as it were, "that you gentlemen, even if you havesaved my father, are no friends of either his or mine. You have merelycome here in response to Dr. Burnham, and he came because Jane lost herhead in the excitement and forgot that Dr. Scott is now our physician."

  "But Dr. Scott could not have been found in time, madame," interposedDr. Burnham with evident triumph.

  She ignored the remark and continued to hold the door open.

  "Now leave us," she implored, "you, Dr. Burnham, you, Mr. Prescott,you, Professor Kennedy, and your friend Mr. Jameson, whoever you maybe."

  She was now cold and calm. In the bewildering change of events we hadforgotten the wan figure on the bed still gasping for the breath oflife. I could not help wondering at the woman's apparent lack ofgratitude, and a thought flashed over my mind. Had the affair come to acontest between various parties fighting by fair means or foul for theold man's money--Scott and Mrs. Martin perhaps against Prescott and Dr.Burnham? No one moved. We seemed to be waiting on Kennedy. Prescott andMrs. Martin were now glaring at each other implacably.

  The old man moved restlessly on the bed, and over my shoulder I
couldhear him gasp faintly, "Where's Grace? Send for Grace."

  Mrs. Martin paid no attention, seemed not to hear, but stood facing usimperiously as if waiting for us to obey her orders and leave thehouse. Burnham moved toward the door, but Prescott stood his groundwith a peculiar air of defiance. Then he took my arm and started ratherprecipitately, I thought, to leave.

  "Come, come," said somebody behind us, "enough of the dramatics."

  It was Kennedy, who had been bending down, listening to the mutteringof the old man.

  "Look at those eyes of Mr. Haswell," he said. "What colour are they?"

  We looked. They were blue.

  "Down in the parlour," continued Kennedy leisurely, "you will find aportrait of the long deceased Mrs. Haswell. If you will examine thatpainting you will see that her eyes are also a peculiarly limpid blue.No couple with blue eyes ever had a black-eyed child. At least, if thisis such a case, the Carnegie Institution investigators would be glad tohear of it, for it is contrary to all that they have discovered on thesubject after years of study of eugenics. Dark-eyed couples may havelight-eyed children, but the reverse, never. What do you say to that,madame?"

  "You lie," screamed the woman, rushing frantically past us. "I AM hisdaughter. No interlopers shall separate us. Father!"

  The old man moved feebly away from her.

  "Send for Dr. Scott again," she demanded. "See if he cannot be found.He must be found. You are all enemies, villains."

  She addressed Kennedy, but included the whole room in her denunciation.

  "Not all," broke in Kennedy remorselessly. "Yes, madame, send for Dr.Scott. Why is he not here?"

  Prescott, with one hand on my arm and the other on Dr. Burnham's, wasmoving toward the door.

  "One moment, Prescott," interrupted Kennedy, detaining him with a look."There was something I was about to say when Dr. Burnham's urgentmessage prevented it. I did not take the trouble even to find out howyou obtained that little globule of molten gold from the crucible ofalleged copper. There are so many tricks by which the gold could havebeen 'salted' and brought forth at the right moment that it was hardlyworth while. Besides, I had satisfied myself that my first suspicionswere correct. See that?"

  He held out the little piece of mineral I had already seen in his handin the alchemist's laboratory.

  "That is a piece of willemite. It has the property of glowing orfluorescing under a certain kind of rays which are themselves invisibleto the human eye. Prescott, your story of the transmutation of elementsis very clever, but not more clever than your real story. Let us pieceit together. I had already heard from Dr. Burnham how Mr. Haswell wasinduced by his desire for gain to visit you and how you had mostmysteriously predicted his blindness. Now, there is no such thing astelepathy, at least in this case. How then was I to explain it? Whatcould cause such a catastrophe naturally? Why, only those raysinvisible to the human eye, but which make this piece of willemiteglow--the ultraviolet rays."

  Kennedy was speaking rapidly and was careful not to pause long enoughto give Prescott an opportunity to interrupt him.

  "These ultra-violet rays," he continued, "are always present in anelectric arc light though not to a great degree unless the carbons havemetal cores. They extend for two octaves above the violet of thespectrum and are too short to affect the eye as light, although theyaffect photographic plates. They are the friend of man when he usesthem in moderation as Finsen did in the famous blue light treatment.But they tolerate no familiarity. To let them--particularly the shorterof the rays--enter the eye is to invite trouble. There is no warningsense of discomfort, but from six to eighteen hours after exposure tothem the victim experiences violent pains in the eyes and headache.Sight may be seriously impaired, and it may take years to recover.Often prolonged exposure results in blindness, though a moderateexposure acts like a tonic. The rays may be compared in this doubleeffect to drugs, such as strychnine. Too much of them may bedestructive even to life itself."

  Prescott had now paused and was regarding Kennedy contemptuously.Kennedy paid no attention, but continued: "Perhaps these mysteriousrays may shed some light on our minds, however. Now, for one thing,ultra-violet light passes readily through quartz, but is cut off byordinary glass, especially if it is coated with chromium. Old Mr.Haswell did not wear glasses. Therefore he was subject to the rays--themore so as he is a blond, and I think it has been demonstrated byinvestigators that blonds are more affected by them than are brunettes.

  "You have, as a part of your machine, a peculiarly shaped quartzmercury vapour lamp, and the mercury vapour lamp of a design such asthat I saw has been invented for the especial purpose of producingultra-violet rays in large quantity. There are also in your machineinduction coils for the purpose of making an impressive noise, and asmall electric furnace to heat the salted gold. I don't know what otheringenious fakes you have added. The visible bluish light from the tubeis designed, I suppose, to hoodwink the credulous, but the dangerousthing about it is the invisible ray that accompanies that light. Mr.Haswell sat under those invisible rays, Prescott, never knowing howdeadly they might be to him, an old man.

  "You knew that they would not take effect for hours, and hence youventured the prediction that he would be stricken at about midnight.Even if it was partial or temporary, still you would be safe in yourprophecy. You succeeded better than you hoped in that part of yourscheme. You had already prepared the way by means of a letter sent toMr. Haswell through Dr. Burnham. But Mr. Haswell's credulity and fearworked the wrong way. Instead of appealing to you he hated you. In hispredicament he thought only of his banished daughter and turnedinstinctively to her for help. That made necessary a quick change ofplans."

  Prescott, far from losing his nerve, turned on us bitterly. "I knew youtwo were spies the moment I saw you," he shouted. "It seemed as if insome way I knew you for what you were, as if I knew you had seen Mr.Haswell before you came to me. You, too, would have robbed an inventoras I am sure he would. But have a care, both of you. You may bepunished also by blindness for your duplicity. Who knows?"

  A shudder passed over me at the horrible thought contained in hismocking laugh. Were we doomed to blindness, too? I looked at thesightless man on the bed in alarm.

  "I knew that you would know us," retorted Kennedy calmly. "Therefore wecame provided with spectacles of Euphos glass, precisely like those youwear. No, Prescott, we are safe, though perhaps we may have some burnslike those red blotches on Mr. Haswell, light burns."

  Prescott had fallen back a step and Mrs. Martin was making an effort toappear stately and end the interview. "No," continued Craig, suddenlywheeling, and startling us by the abruptness of his next exposure, "itis you and your wife here--Mrs. Prescott, not Mrs. Martin--who musthave a care. Stop glaring at each other. It is no use playing atenemies longer and trying to get rid of us. You overdo it. The game isup."

  Prescott made a rush at Kennedy, who seized him by the wrist and heldhim tightly in a grasp of steel that caused the veins on the back ofhis hands to stand out like whipcords.

  "This is a deep-laid plot," he went on calmly, still holding Prescott,while I backed up against the door and cut off his wife; "but it is notso difficult to see it after all. Your part was to destroy the eyesightof the old man, to make it necessary for him to call on his daughter.Your wife's part was to play the role of Mrs. Martin, whom he had notseen for years and could not see now. She was to persuade him, with herfilial affection, to make her the beneficiary of his will, to see thathis money was kept readily convertible into cash.

  "Then, when the old man was at last out of the way, you two coulddecamp with what you could realise before the real daughter, cut offsomewhere across the continent, could hear of the death of her father.It was an excellent scheme. But Haswell's plain, material newspaperadvertisement was not so effective for your purposes, Prescott, as themore artistic 'telepagram,' as you call it. Although you two got infirst in answering the advertisement, it finally reached the rightperson after all. You didn't get away quickly enough.
/>
  "You were not expecting that the real daughter would see it and turn upso soon. But she has. She lives in California. Mr. Haswell in hisdelirium has just told of receiving a telegram which I suppose you,Mrs. Prescott, read, destroyed, and acted upon. It hurried your plans,but you were equal to the emergency. Besides, possession is nine pointsin the law. You tried the gas, making it look like a suicide. Jane, inher excitement, spoiled that, and Dr. Burnham, knowing where I was, asit happened, was able to summon me immediately. Circumstances have beenagainst you from the first, Prescott."

  Craig was slowly twisting up the hand of the inventor, which he stillheld. With his other hand he pulled a paper from his pocket. It was theold envelope on which he had written upon the occasion of our firstvisit to Mr. Haswell when we had been so unceremoniously interrupted bythe visit of Dr. Scott.

  "I sat here yesterday by this bed," continued Craig, motioning towardthe chair he had occupied, as I remembered. "Mr. Haswell was tellingDr. Scott something in an undertone. I could not hear it. But the oldman grasped the doctor by the wrist to pull him closer to whisper tohim. The doctor's hand was toward me and I noticed the peculiarmarkings of the veins.

  "You perhaps are not acquainted with the fact, but the markings of theveins in the back of the hand are peculiar to each individual--asinfallible, indestructible, and ineffaceable as finger prints or theshape of the ear. It is a system invented and developed by ProfessorTamassia of the University of Padua, Italy. A superficial observerwould say that all vein patterns were essentially similar, and manyhave said so, but Tamassia has found each to be characteristic and allsubject to almost incredible diversities. There are six generalclasses--in this case before us, two large veins crossed by a fewsecondary veins forming a V with its base near the wrist.

  "Already my suspicions had been aroused. I sketched the arrangement ofthe veins standing out on that hand. I noted the same thing just now onthe hand that manipulated the fake apparatus in the laboratory. Despitethe difference in make-up Scott and Prescott are the same.

  "The invisible rays of the ultra-violet light may have blinded Mr.Haswell, even to the recognition of his own daughter, but you can restassured, Prescott, that the very cleverness of your scheme willpenetrate the eyes of the blindfolded goddess of justice. Burnham, ifyou will have the kindness to summon the police, I will take all theresponsibility for the arrest of these people."

  XII

  THE CAMPAIGN GRAFTER

  "What a relief it will be when this election is over and the newspapersprint news again," I growled as I turned the first page of the Starwith a mere glance at the headlines.

  "Yes," observed Kennedy, who was puzzling over a note which he hadreceived in the morning mail. "This is the bitterest campaign in years.Now, do you suppose that they are after me in a professional way or arethey trying to round me up as an independent voter?"

  The letter which had called forth this remark was headed, "The TravisCampaign Committee of the Reform League," and, as Kennedy evidentlyintended me to pass an opinion on it, I picked it up. It was only a fewlines, requesting him to call during the morning, if convenient, onWesley Travis, the candidate for governor and the treasurer of hiscampaign committee, Dean Bennett. It had evidently been written ingreat haste in longhand the night before.

  "Professional," I hazarded. "There must be some scandal in the campaignfor which they require your services."

  "I suppose so," agreed Craig. "Well, if it is business instead ofpolitics it has at least this merit--it is current business. I supposeyou have no objection to going with me?"

  Thus it came about that not very much later in the morning we foundourselves at the campaign headquarters, in the presence of two nervousand high-keyed gentlemen in frock coats and silk hats. It would havetaken no great astuteness, even without seeing the surroundings, todeduce instantly that they were engaged in the annual struggle ofseeking the votes of their fellow-citizens for something or other, andwere nearly worn out by the arduous nature of that process.

  Their headquarters were in a tower of a skyscraper, whence poured fortha torrent of appeal to the moral sense of the electorate, both inprinted and oral form. Yet there was a different tone to the place fromthat which I had ordinarily associated with political headquarters inprevious campaigns. There was an absence of the old-fashionedpoliticians and of the air of intrigue laden with tobacco. Rather,there was an air of earnestness and efficiency which was decidedlyprepossessing. Maps of the state were hanging on the walls, some stuckfull of various coloured pins denoting the condition of the canvass. Amap of the city in colours, divided into all sorts of districts, toldhow fared the battle in the stronghold of the boss, Billy McLoughlin.Huge systems of card indexes, loose leaf devices, labour-savingappliances for getting out a vast mass of campaign "literature" in ahurry, in short a perfect system, such as a great, well-managedbusiness might have been proud of, were in evidence everywhere.

  Wesley Travis was a comparatively young man, a lawyer who had earlymade a mark in politics and had been astute enough to shake off thethraldom of the bosses before the popular uprising against them. Now hewas the candidate of the Reform League for governor and a good stiffcampaign he was putting up.

  His campaign manager, Dean Bennett, was a business man whose financialinterests were opposed to those usually understood to be behind BillyMcLoughlin, of the regular party to which both Travis and Bennett mightnaturally have been supposed to belong in the old days. Indeed theReform League owed its existence to a fortunate conjunction of bothmoral and economic conditions demanding progress.

  "Things have been going our way up to the present," began Travisconfidentially, when we were seated democratically with our campaigncigars lighted. "Of course we haven't such a big 'barrel' as ouropponents, for we are not frying the fat out of the corporations. Butthe people have supported us nobly, and I think the opposition of thevested interests has been a great help. We seem to be winning, and Isay 'seem' only because one can never be certain how anything is goingin this political game nowadays.

  "You recall, Mr. Kennedy, reading in the papers that my country houseout on Long Island was robbed the other day? Some of the reporters mademuch of it. To tell the truth, I think they had become so satiated withsensations that they were sure that the thing was put up by somemuckrakers and that there would be an expose of some kind. For thethief, whoever he was, seems to have taken nothing from my library buta sort of scrap-book or album of photographs. It was a peculiarrobbery, but as I had nothing to conceal it didn't worry me. Well, Ihad all but forgotten it when a fellow came into Bennett's office hereyesterday and demanded--tell us what it was, Bennett. You saw him."

  Bennett cleared his throat. "You see, it was this way. He gave his nameas Harris Hanford and described himself as a photographer. I think hehas done work for Billy McLoughlin. At any rate, his offer was to sellus several photographs, and his story about them was verycircumstantial. He hinted that they had been evidently among thosestolen from Mr. Travis and that in a roundabout way they had come intothe possession of a friend of his without his knowing who the thiefwas. He said that he had not made the photographs himself, but had anidea by whom they were made, that the original plates had beendestroyed, but that the person who made them was ready to swear thatthe pictures were taken after the nominating convention this fall whichhad named Travis. At any rate the photographs were out and the pricefor them was $25,000."

  "What are they that he should set such a price on them?" asked Kennedy,keenly looking from Bennett quickly to Travis.

  Travis met his look without flinching. "They are supposed to bephotographs of myself," he replied slowly. "One purports to representme in a group on McLoughlin's porch at his farm on the south shore ofthe island, about twenty miles from my place. As Hanford described it,I am standing between McLoughlin and J. Cadwalader Brown, the trustpromoter who is backing McLoughlin to save his investments. Brown'shand is on my shoulder and we are talking familiarly. Another is apicture of Brown, McLoughlin, and myself riding
in Brown's car, and init Brown and I are evidently on the best of terms. Oh, there areseveral of them, all in the same vein. Now," he added, and his voicerose with emotion as if he were addressing a cart-tail meeting whichmust be convinced that there was nothing criminal in riding in amotor-car, "I don't hesitate to admit that a year or so ago I was noton terms of intimacy with these men, but at least acquainted with them.At various times, even as late as last spring, I was present atconferences over the presidential outlook in this state, and once Ithink I did ride back to the city with them. But I know that there wereno pictures taken, and even if there had been I would not care if theytold the truth about them. I have frankly admitted in my speeches thatI knew these men, that my knowledge of them and breaking from them ismy chief qualification for waging an effective war on them if I amelected. They hate me cordially. You know that. What I do care about isthe sworn allegation that now accompanies these--these fakes. They werenot, could not have been taken after the independent convention thatnominated me. If the photographs were true I would be a fine traitor.But I haven't even seen McLoughlin or Brown since last spring. Thewhole thing is a--"

  "Lie from start to finish," put in Bennett emphatically. "Yes, Travis,we all know that. I'd quit right now if I didn't believe in you. Butlet us face the facts. Here is this story, sworn to as Hanford says andapparently acquiesced in by Billy McLoughlin and Cad. Brown. What dothey care anyhow as long as it is against you? And there, too, are thepictures themselves--at least they will be in print or suppressed,according as we act. Now, you know that nothing could hurt the reformticket worse than to have an issue like this raised at this time. Wewere supposed at least to be on the level, with nothing to explainaway. There may be just enough people to believe that there is somebasis for this suspicion to turn the tide against us. If it wereearlier in the campaign I'd say accept the issue, fight it out to afinish, and in the turn of events we should really have the bestcampaign material. But it is too late now to expose such a knavishtrick of theirs on the Friday before election. Frankly, I believediscretion is the better part of valour in this case and withoutabating a jot of my faith in you, Travis, well, I'd pay first andexpose the fraud afterward, after the election, at leisure."

  "No, I won't," persisted Travis, shutting his square jaw doggedly. "Iwon't be held up."

  The door had opened and a young lady in a very stunning street dress,with a huge hat and a tantalising veil, stood in it for a moment,hesitated, and then was about to shut it with an apology for intrudingon a conference.

  "I'll fight it if it takes my last dollar," declared Travis, "but Iwon't be blackmailed out of a cent. Good-morning, Miss Ashton. I'll befree in a moment. I'll see you in your office directly."

  The girl, with a portfolio of papers in her hand, smiled, and Travisquickly crossed the room and held the door deferentially open as hewhispered a word or two. When she had disappeared he returned andremarked, "I suppose you have heard of Miss Margaret Ashton, thesuffragette leader, Mr. Kennedy? She is the head of our press bureau."Then a heightened look of determination set his fine face in hardlines, and he brought his fist down on the desk. "No, not a cent," hethundered.

  Bennett shrugged his shoulders hopelessly and looked at Kennedy in mockresignation as if to say, "What can you do with such a fellow?" Traviswas excitedly pacing the floor and waving his arms as if he wereaddressing a meeting in the enemy's country. "Hanford comes at us inthis way," he continued, growing more excited as he paced up and down."He says plainly that the pictures will of course be accepted as amongthose stolen from me, and in that, I suppose, he is right. The publicwill swallow it. When Bennett told him I would prosecute he laughed andsaid, 'Go ahead. I didn't steal the pictures. That would be a greatjoke for Travis to seek redress from the courts he is criticising. Iguess he'd want to recall the decision if it went against him--hey?'Hanford says that a hundred copies have been made of each of thephotographs and that this person, whom we do not know, has them readyto drop into the mail to the one hundred leading papers of the state intime for them to appear in the Monday editions just before ElectionDay. He says no amount of denying on our part can destroy theeffect--or at least he went further and said 'shake their validity.'

  "But I repeat. They are false. For all I know, it is a plot ofMcLoughlin's, the last fight of a boss for his life, driven into acorner. And it is meaner than if he had attempted to forge a letter.Pictures appeal to the eye and mind much more than letters. That's whatmakes the thing so dangerous. Billy McLoughlin knows how to make thebest use of such a roorback on the eve of an election, and even if Inot only deny but prove that they are a fake, I'm afraid the harm willbe done. I can't reach all the voters in time. Ten see such a charge toone who sees the denial."

  "Just so," persisted Bennett coolly. "You admit that we are practicallyhelpless. That's what I have been saying all along. Get control of theprints first, Travis, for God's sake. Then raise any kind of a howl youwant--before election or after. As I say, if we had a week or two itmight be all right to fight. But we can make no move without makingfools of ourselves until they are published Monday as the last bigthing of the campaign. The rest of Monday and the Tuesday morningpapers do NOT give us time to reply. Even if they were published to-daywe should hardly have time to expose the plot, hammer it in, and makethe issue an asset instead of a liability. No, you must admit ityourself. There isn't time. We must carry out the work we have socarefully planned to cap the campaign, and if we are diverted by thisit means a let-up in our final efforts, and that is as good asMcLoughlin wants anyhow. Now, Kennedy, don't you agree with me? Squelchthe pictures now at any cost, then follow the thing up and, if we can,prosecute after election?"

  Kennedy and I, who had been so far little more than interestedspectators, had not presumed to interrupt. Finally Craig asked, "Youhave copies of the pictures?"

  "No," replied Bennett. "This Hanford is a brazen fellow, but he was tooastute to leave them. I saw them for an instant. They look bad. And theaffidavits with them look worse."

  "H'm," considered Kennedy, turning the crisis over in his mind. "We'vehad alleged stolen and forged letters before, but alleged stolen andforged photographs are new. I'm not surprised that you are alarmed,Bennett,--nor that you want to fight, Travis."

  "Then you will take up the case?" urged the latter eagerly, forgettingboth his campaign manager and his campaign manners, and leaning forwardalmost like a prisoner in the dock to catch the words of the foreman ofthe jury. "You will trace down the forger of those pictures before itis too late?"

  "I haven't said I'll do that--yet," answered Craig measuredly. "Ihaven't even said I'd take up the case. Politics is a new game to me,Mr. Travis. If I go into this thing I want to go into it and stay init--well, you know how you lawyers put it, with clean hands. On onecondition I'll take the matter up, and on only one."

  "Name it," cried Travis anxiously,

  "Of course, having been retained by you," continued Craig withprovoking slowness, "it is not reasonable to suppose that if Ifind--how shall I put it--bluntly, yes?--if I find that the story ofHanford has some--er--foundation, it is not reasonable to suppose thatI should desert you and go over to the other side. Neither is it to besupposed that I will continue and carry such a thing through for youregardless of truth. What I ask is to have a free hand, to be able todrop the case the moment I cannot proceed further in justice to myself,drop it, and keep my mouth shut. You understand? These are myconditions and no less."

  "And you think you can make good?" questioned Bennett rathersceptically. "You are willing to risk it? You don't think it would bebetter to wait until after the election is won?"

  "You have heard my conditions," reiterated Craig.

  "Done," broke in Travis. "I'm going to fight it out, Bennett. If we getin wrong by dickering with them at the start it may be worse for us inthe end. Paying amounts to confession."

  Bennett shook his head dubiously. "I'm afraid this will suitMcLoughlin's purpose just as well. Photographs are like statistics.They don't lie
unless the people who make them do. But it's hard totell what a liar can accomplish with either in an election."

  "Say, Dean, you're not going to desert me?" reproached Travis. "You'renot offended at my kicking over the traces, are you?"

  Bennett rose, placed a hand on Travis's shoulder, and grasped hisother. "Wesley," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't desert you even if thepictures were true."

  "I knew it," responded Travis heartily. "Then let Mr. Kennedy have oneday to see what he can do. Then if we make no progress we'll take youradvice, Dean. We'll pay, I suppose, and ask Mr. Kennedy to continue thecase after next Tuesday."

  "With the proviso," put in Craig.

  "With the proviso, Kennedy," repeated Travis. "Your hand on that. Say,I think I've shaken hands with half the male population of this statesince I was nominated, but this means more to me than any of them. Callon us, either Bennett or myself, the moment you need aid. Spare noreasonable expense, and--and get the goods, no matter whom it hitshigher up, even if it is Cadwalader Brown himself. Good-bye and athousand thanks--oh, by the way, wait. Let me take you around andintroduce you to Miss Ashton. She may be able to help you."

  The office of Bennett and Travis was in the centre of the suite. On oneside were the cashier and clerical force as well as the speakers'bureau, where spellbinders of all degrees were getting instruction,tours were being laid out, and reports received from meetings alreadyheld.

  On the other side was the press bureau with a large and active force incharge of Miss Ashton, who was supporting Travis because he had mostemphatically declared for "Votes for Women" and had insisted that hisparty put this plank in its platform. Miss Ashton was a clever girl, agraduate of a famous woman's college, and had had several years ofnewspaper experience before she became a leader in the suffrage cause.I recalled having read and heard a great deal about her, though I hadnever met her. The Ashtons were well known in New York society, and itwas a sore trial to some of her conservative friends that she shouldreject what they considered the proper "sphere" for women. Among thosefriends, I understood, was Cadwalader Brown himself.

  Travis had scarcely more than introduced us, yet already I scented aromance behind the ordinarily prosaic conduct of a campaign pressbureau. It is far from my intention to minimise the work or the abilityof the head of the press bureau, but it struck me, both then and later,that the candidate had an extraordinary interest in the newspapercampaign, much more than in the speakers' bureau, and I am sure that itwas not solely accounted for by the fact that publicity is playing amore and more important part in political campaigning.

  Nevertheless such innovations as her card index system by electiondistricts all over the state, showing the attitude of the variousnewspaper editors, of local political leaders, and changes ofsentiment, were very full and valuable. Kennedy, who had a regularpigeon-hole mind for facts, was visibly impressed by this hugemechanical memory built up by Miss Ashton. Though he said nothing to meI knew he had also observed the state of affairs between the reformcandidate and the suffrage leader.

  It was at a moment when Travis had been called back to his office thatKennedy, who had been eyeing Miss Ashton with marked approval, leanedover and said in a low voice. "Miss Ashton, I think I can trust you. Doyou want to do a great favour for Mr. Travis?"

  She did not betray even by a fleeting look on her face what the truestate of her feelings was, although I fancied that the readiness of herassent had perhaps more meaning than she would have placed in a simple"Yes" otherwise.

  "I suppose you know that an attempt is being made to blackmail Mr.Travis?" added Kennedy quickly.

  "I know something about it," she replied in a tone which left it forgranted that Travis had told her before even we were called in. I feltthat not unlikely Travis's set determination to fight might betraceable to her advice or at least to her opinion of him.

  "I suppose in a large force like this it is not impossible that yourpolitical enemies may have a spy or two," observed Kennedy, glancingabout at the score or more clerks busily engaged in getting out"literature."

  "I have sometimes thought that myself," she agreed. "But of course Idon't know. Still, I have to be pretty careful. Some one is always overhere by my desk or looking over here. There isn't much secrecy in a bigroom like this. I never leave important stuff lying about where any ofthem could see it."

  "Yes," mused Kennedy. "What time does the office close?"

  "We shall finish to-night about nine, I think. To-morrow it may belater."

  "Well, then, if I should call here to-night at, say, half-past nine,Could you be here? I need hardly say that your doing so may be ofinestimable value to--to the campaign."

  "I shall be here," she promised, giving her hand with a peculiarstraight arm shake and looking him frankly in the face with those eyeswhich even the old guard in the legislature admitted were vote-winners.

  Kennedy was not quite ready to leave yet, but sought out Travis andobtained permission to glance over the financial end of the campaign.There were few large contributors to Travis's fund, but a host of smallsums ranging from ten and twenty-five dollars down to dimes andnickels. Truly it showed the depth of the popular uprising. Kennedyalso glanced hastily over the items of expense--rent, salaries,stenographer and office force, advertising, printing and stationery,postage, telephone, telegraph, automobile and travelling expenses, andmiscellaneous matters.

  As Kennedy expressed it afterwards, as against the small driblets ofmoney coming in, large sums were going out for expenses in lumps.Campaigning in these days costs money even when done honestly. Themiscellaneous account showed some large indefinite items, and after ahasty calculation Kennedy made out that if all the obligations had tobe met immediately the committee would be in the hole for severalthousand dollars.

  "In short," I argued as we were leaving, "this will either break Travisprivately or put his fund in hopeless shape. Or does it mean that heforesees defeat and is taking this way to recoup himself under cover ofbeing held up?"

  Kennedy said nothing in response to my suspicions, though I could seethat in his mind he was leaving no possible clue unnoted.

  It was only a few blocks to the studio of Harris Hanford, whom Kennedywas now bent on seeing. We found him in an old building on one of theside streets in the thirties which business had captured. His was alittle place on the top floor, up three flights of stairs, and Inoticed as we climbed up that the room next to his was vacant.

  Our interview with Hanford was short and unsatisfactory. He either wasor at least posed as representing a third party in the affair, andabsolutely refused to permit us to have even a glance at thephotographs.

  "My dealings," he asserted airily, "must all be with Mr. Bennett, orwith Mr. Travis, direct, not with emissaries. I don't make any secretabout it. The prints are not here. They are safe and ready to beproduced at the right time, either to be handed over for the money orto be published in the newspapers. We have found out all about them; weare satisfied, although the negatives have been destroyed. As for theirhaving been stolen from Travis, you can put two and two together. Theyare out and copies have been made of them, good copies. If Mr. Traviswishes to repudiate them, let him start proceedings. I told Bennett allabout that. To-morrow is the last day, and I must have Bennett's answerthen, without any interlopers coming into it. If it is yes, well andgood; if not, then they know what to expect. Good-bye."

  It was still early in the forenoon, and Kennedy's next move was to goout on Long Island to examine the library at Travis's from which thepictures were said to have been stolen. At the laboratory Kennedy and Iloaded ourselves with a large oblong black case containing a camera anda tripod.

  His examination of the looted library was minute, taking in the windowthrough which the thief had apparently entered, the cabinet he hadforced, and the situation in general. Finally Craig set up his camerawith most particular care and took several photographs of the window,the cabinet, the doors, including the room from every angle. Outside hesnapped the two sides of the corn
er of the house in which the librarywas situated. Partly by trolley and partly by carriage we crossed theisland to the south shore, and finally found McLoughlin's farm where wehad no trouble in getting half a dozen photographs of the porch andhouse. Altogether the proceedings seemed tame to me, yet I knew fromprevious experience that Kennedy had a deep laid purpose.

  We parted in the city, to meet just before it was time to visit MissAshton. Kennedy had evidently employed the interval in developing hisplates, for he now had ten or a dozen prints, all of exactly the samesize, mounted on stiff cardboard in a space with scales and figures onall four sides. He saw me puzzling over them.

  "Those are metric photographs such as Bertillon of Paris takes," heexplained. "By means of the scales and tables and other methods thathave been worked out we can determine from those pictures distances andmany other things almost as well as if we were on the spot itself.Bertillon has cleared up many crimes with this help, such as themystery of the shooting in the Hotel Quai d'Orsay and other cases. Themetric photograph, I believe, will in time rank with the portraitparle, finger prints, and the rest.

  "For instance, in order to solve the riddle of a crime the detective'sfirst task is to study the scene topographically. Plans and elevationsof a room or house are made. The position of each object ispainstakingly noted. In addition, the all-seeing eye of the camera iscalled into requisition. The plundered room is photographed, as in thiscase. I might have done it by placing a foot rule on a table and takingthat in the picture, but a more scientific and accurate method has beendevised by Bertillon. His camera lens is always used at a fixed heightfrom the ground and forms its image on the plate at an exact focus. Theprint made from the negative is mounted on a card in a space ofdefinite size, along the edges of which a metric scale is printed. Inthe way he has worked it out the distance between any two points in thepicture can be determined. With a topographical plan and a metricphotograph one can study a crime as a general studies the map of astrange country. There were several peculiar things that I observedto-day, and I have here an indelible record of the scene of the crime.Preserved in this way it cannot be questioned.

  "Now the photographs were in this cabinet. There are other cabinets,but none of them has been disturbed. Therefore the thief must haveknown just what he was after. The marks made in breaking the lock werenot those of a jimmy but of a screwdriver. No amazing command of theresources of science is needed so far. All that is necessary is alittle scientific common sense, Walter.

  "Now, how did the robber get in? All the windows and doors weresupposedly locked. It is alleged that a pane was cut from this windowat the side. It was, and the pieces were there to show it. But take aglance at this outside photograph. To reach that window even a tall manmust have stood on a ladder or something. There are no marks of aladder or of any person in the soft soil under the window. What ismore, that window was cut from the inside. The marks of the diamondwhich cut it plainly show that. Scientific common sense again."

  "Then it must have been some one in the house or at least some onefamiliar with it?" I exclaimed.

  Kennedy nodded. "One thing we have which the police greatly neglect,"he pursued, "a record. We have made some progress in reconstructing thecrime, as Bertillon calls it. If we only had those Hanford pictures weshould be all right."

  We were now on our way to see Miss Ashton at headquarters, and as werode downtown I tried to reason out the case. Had it really been aput-up job? Was Travis himself faking, and was the robbery a "plant" bywhich he might forestall exposure of what had become public property inthe hands of another, no longer disposed to conceal it? Or was it afterall the last desperate blow of the Boss?

  The whole thing began to assume a suspicious look in my mind. AlthoughKennedy seemed to have made little real progress, I felt that, far fromaiding Travis, it made things darker. There was nothing but hisunsupported word that he had not visited the Boss subsequent to thenominating convention. He admitted having done so before the ReformLeague came into existence. Besides it seemed tacitly understood thatboth the Boss and Cadwalader Brown acquiesced in the sworn statement ofthe man who said he had made the pictures. Added to that the mereexistence of the actual pictures themselves was a graphic clincher tothe story. Personally, if I had been in Kennedy's place I think Ishould have taken advantage of the proviso in the compact with Travisto back out gracefully. Kennedy, however, now started on the case, hungto it tenaciously.

  Miss Ashton was waiting for us at the press bureau. Her desk was at themiddle of one end of the room in which, if she could keep an eye on heroffice force, the office force also could keep an eye on her.

  Kennedy had apparently taken in the arrangement during our morningvisit, for he set to work immediately. The side of the room toward theoffice of Travis and Bennett presented an expanse of blank wall. With amallet he quickly knocked a hole in the rough plaster, just above thebaseboard about the room. The hole did not penetrate quite through tothe other side. In it he placed a round disc of vulcanised rubber, withinsulated wires leading down back of the baseboard, then out underneathit, and under the carpet. Some plaster quickly closed up the cavity inthe wall, and he left it to dry.

  Next he led the wires under the carpet to Miss Ashton's desk. Therethey ended, under the carpet and a rug, eighteen or twenty huge coilsseveral feet in diameter disposed in such a way as to attract noattention by a curious foot on the carpet which covered them.

  "That is all, Miss Ashton," he said as we watched for his next move. "Ishall want to see you early to-morrow, and,--might I ask you to be sureto wear that hat which you have on?"

  It was a very becoming hat, but Kennedy's tone clearly indicated thatit was not his taste in inverted basket millinery that prompted therequest. She promised, smiling, for even a suffragette may like prettyhats.

  Craig had still to see Travis and report on his work. The candidate waswaiting anxiously at his hotel after a big political mass meeting onthe East Side, at which capitalism and the bosses had been hissed tothe echo, if that is possible.

  "What success?" inquired Travis eagerly.

  "I'm afraid," replied Kennedy, and the candidate's face fell at thetone, "I'm afraid you will have to meet them, for the present. The timelimit will expire to-morrow, and I understand Hanford is coming up fora final answer. We must have copies of those photographs, even if wehave to pay for them. There seems to be no other way."

  Travis sank back in his chair and regarded Kennedy hopelessly. He wasactually pale. "You--you don't mean to say that there is no other way,that I'll have to admit even before Bennett--and others that I'm inbad?"

  "I wouldn't put it that way," said Kennedy mercilessly, I thought.

  "It is that way," Travis asserted almost fiercely. "Why, we could havedone that anyhow. No, no,--I don't mean that. Pardon me. I'm upset bythis. Go ahead," he sighed.

  "You will direct Bennett to make the best terms he can with Hanfordwhen he comes up to-morrow. Have him arrange the details of payment andthen rush the best copies of the photographs to me."

  Travis seemed crushed.

  We met Miss Ashton the following morning entering her office. Kennedyhanded her a package, and in a few words, which I did not hear,explained what he wanted, promising to call again later.

  When we called, the girls and other clerks had arrived, and the officewas a hive of industry in the rush of winding up the campaign.Typewriters were clicking, clippings were being snipped out of a hugestack of newspapers and pasted into large scrap-books, circulars werebeing folded and made ready to mail for the final appeal. The room wasindeed crowded, and I felt that there was no doubt, as Kennedy hadsaid, that nothing much could go on there unobserved by any one towhose interest it was to see it.

  Miss Ashton was sitting at her desk with her hat on directing the work."It works," she remarked enigmatically to Kennedy.

  "Good," he replied. "I merely dropped in to be sure. Now if anything ofinterest happens, Miss Ashton, I wish you would let me knowimmediately. I must not be seen up here,
but I shall be waitingdownstairs in the corridor of the building. My next move dependsentirely on what you have to report."

  Downstairs Craig waited with growing impatience. We stood in an anglein which we could see without being readily seen, and our impatiencewas not diminished by seeing Hanford enter the elevator.

  I think that Miss Ashton would have made an excellent woman detective,that is, on a case in which her personal feelings were not involved asthey were here. She was pale and agitated as she appeared in thecorridor, and Kennedy hurried toward her.

  "I can't believe it. I won't believe it," she managed to say.

  "Tell me, what happened?" urged Kennedy soothingly.

  "Oh, Mr. Kennedy, why did you ask me to do this?" she reproached. "Iwould almost rather not have known it at all."

  "Believe me, Miss Ashton," said Kennedy, "you ought to know. It is onyou that I depend most. We saw Hanford go up. What occurred?"

  She was still pale, and replied nervously, "Mr. Bennett came in aboutquarter to ten. He stopped to talk to me and looked about the roomcuriously. Do you know, I felt very uncomfortable for a time. Then helocked the door leading from the press bureau to his office, and leftword that he was not to be disturbed. A few minutes later a man called."

  "Yes, yes," prompted Kennedy. "Hanford, no doubt."

  She was racing on breathlessly, scarcely giving one a chance to inquirehow she had learned so much.

  "Why," she cried with a sort of defiant ring in her tone, "Mr. Travisis going to buy those pictures after all. And the worst of it is that Imet him in the hall coming in as I was coming down here, and he triedto act toward me in the same old way--and that after all I know nowabout him. They have fixed it all up, Mr. Bennett acting for Mr.Travis, and this Mr. Hanford. They are even going to ask me to carrythe money in a sealed envelope to the studio of this fellow Hanford, tobe given to a third person who will be there at two o'clock thisafternoon."

  "You, Miss Ashton?" inquired Kennedy, a light breaking on his face asif at last he saw something.

  "Yes, I," she repeated. "Hanford insisted that it was part of thecompact. They--they haven't asked me openly yet to be the means ofcarrying out their dirty deals, but when they do, I--I won't----"

  "Miss Ashton," remonstrated Kennedy, "I beg you to be calm. I had noidea you would take it like this, no idea. Please, please. Walter, youwill excuse us if we take a turn down the corridor and out in the air.This is most extraordinary."

  For five or ten minutes Kennedy and Miss Ashton appeared to bediscussing the new turn of events earnestly, while I waitedimpatiently. As they approached again she seemed calmer, but I heardher say, "I hope you're right. I'm all broken up by it. I'm ready toresign. My faith in human nature is shaken. No, I won't expose WesleyTravis for his sake. It cuts me to have to admit it, but Cadwaladerused always to say that every man has his price. I am afraid this willdo great harm to the cause of reform and through it to the womansuffrage cause which cast its lot with this party. I--I can hardlybelieve----"

  Kennedy was still looking earnestly at her. "Miss Ashton," he implored,"believe nothing. Remember one of the first rules of politics isloyalty. Wait until----"

  "Wait?" she echoed. "How can I? I hate Wesley Travis for givingin--more than I hate Cadwalader Brown for his cynical disregard ofhonesty in others."

  She bit her lip at thus betraying her feelings, but what she had heardhad evidently affected her deeply. It was as though the feet of heridol had turned to clay. Nevertheless it was evident that she wascoming to look on it more as she would if she were an outsider.

  "Just think it over," urged Kennedy. "They won't ask you right away.Don't do anything rash. Suspend judgment. You won't regret it."

  Craig's next problem seemed to be to transfer the scene of hisoperations to Hanford's studio. He was apparently doing some rapidthinking as we walked uptown after leaving Miss Ashton, and I did notventure to question him on what had occurred when it was so evidentthat everything depended on being prepared for what was still to occur.

  Hanford was out. That seemed to please Kennedy, for with a brighteningface, which told more surely than words that he saw his way more andmore clearly, he asked me to visit the agent and hire the vacant officenext to the studio while he went uptown to complete his arrangementsfor the final step.

  I had completed my part and was waiting in the empty room when hereturned. He lost no time in getting to work, and it seemed to me as Iwatched him curiously in silence that he was repeating what he hadalready done at the Travis headquarters. He was boring into the wall,only this time he did it much more carefully, and it was evident thatif he intended putting anything into this cavity it must be prettylarge. The hole was square, and as I bent over I could see that he hadcut through the plaster and laths all the way to the wallpaper on theother side, though he was careful to leave that intact. Then he set upa square black box in the cavity, carefully poising it and makingmeasurements that told of the exact location of its centre withreference to the partitions and walls.

  A skeleton key took us into Hanford's well-lighted but now emptystudio. For Miss Ashton's sake I wished that the photographs had beenthere. I am sure Kennedy would have found slight compunction in alarceny of them, if they had been. It was something entirely differentthat he had in mind now, however, and he was working quickly for fearof discovery. By his measurements I guessed that he was calculating asnearly as possible the centre of the box which he had placed in thehole in the wall on the other side of the dark wallpaper. When he hadquite satisfied himself he took a fine pencil from his pocket and madea light cross on the paper to indicate it. The dot fell to the left ofa large calendar hanging on the wall.

  Kennedy's appeal to Margaret Ashton had evidently had its effect, forwhen we saw her a few moments after these mysterious preparations shehad overcome her emotion.

  "They have asked me to carry a note to Mr. Hanford's studio," she saidquietly, "and without letting them know that I know anything about it Ihave agreed to do so."

  "Miss Ashton," said Kennedy, greatly relieved, "you're a trump."

  "No," she replied, smiling faintly, "I'm just feminine enough to becurious."

  Craig shook his head, but did not dispute the point. "After you havehanded the envelope to the person, whoever it may be, in Hanford'sstudio, wait until he does something--er,--suspicious. Meanwhile lookat the wall on the side toward the next vacant office. To the left ofthe big calendar you will see a light pencil mark, a cross. Somehow youmust contrive to get near it, but don't stand in front of it. Then ifanything happens stick this little number 10 needle in the wall rightat the intersection of the cross. Withdraw it quickly, count fifteen,then put this little sticker over the cross, and get out as best youcan, though we shan't be far away if you should need us. That's all."

  We did not accompany her to the studio for fear of being observed, butwaited impatiently in the next office. We could hear nothing of whatwas said, but when a door shut and it was evident that she had gone,Kennedy quickly removed something from the box in the wall covered witha black cloth.

  As soon as it was safe Kennedy had sent me posting after her to securecopies of the incriminating photographs which were to be carried by herfrom the studio, while he remained to see who came out. I thought achange had come over her as she handed me the package with the requestthat I carry it to Mr. Bennett and get them from him.

  The first inkling I had that Kennedy had at last been able to traceback something in the mysterious doings of the past two days came thefollowing evening, when Craig remarked casually that he would like tohave me call on Billy McLoughlin if I had no engagement. I replied thatI had none--and managed to squirm out of the one I really had.

  The Boss's office was full of politicians, for it was the eve of "doughday," when the purse strings were loosed and a flood of potent argumentpoured forth to turn the tide of election. Hanford was there with theother ward heelers.

  "Mr. McLoughlin," began Kennedy quietly, when we were seated alone withHanford in t
he little sanctum of the Boss, "you will pardon me if Iseem a little slow in coming to the business that has brought me hereto-night. First of all, I may say, and you, Hanford, being aphotographer will appreciate it, that ever since the days of Daguerrephotography has been regarded as the one infallible means of portrayingfaithfully any object, scene, or action. Indeed a photograph isadmitted in court as irrefutable evidence. For when everything elsefails, a picture made through the photographic lens almost invariablyturns the tide. However, such a picture upon which the fate of animportant case may rest should be subjected to critical examination forit is an established fact that a photograph may be made as untruthfulas it may be reliable. Combination photographs change entirely thecharacter of the initial negative and have been made for the past fiftyyears. The earliest, simplest, and most harmless photographic deceptionis the printing of clouds into a bare sky. But the retoucher with hispencil and etching tool to-day is very skilful. A workman of ordinaryskill can introduce a person taken in a studio into an open-air scenewell blended and in complete harmony without a visible trace of falsity.

  "I need say nothing of how one head can be put on another body in apicture, nor need I say what a double exposure will do. There is almostno limit to the changes that may be wrought in form and feature. It ispossible to represent a person crossing Broadway or walking onRiverside Drive, places he may never have visited. Thus a personcharged with an offence may be able to prove an alibi by the aid of askilfully prepared combination photograph.

  "Where, then, can photography be considered as irrefutable evidence?The realism may convince all, will convince all, except the expert andthe initiated after careful study. A shrewd judge will insist that inevery case the negative be submitted and examined for possiblealterations by a clever manipulator."

  Kennedy bent his gaze on McLoughlin. "Now, I do not accuse you, sir, ofanything. But a photograph has come into the possession of Mr. Travisin which he is represented as standing on the steps of your house withyourself and Mr. Cadwalader Brown. He and Mr. Brown are in poses thatshow the utmost friendliness. I do not hesitate to say that that wasoriginally a photograph of yourself, Mr. Brown, and your own candidate.It is a pretty raw deal, a fake in which Travis has been substituted byvery excellent photographic forgery."

  McLoughlin motioned to Hanford to reply. "A fake?" repeated the lattercontemptuously. "How about the affidavits? There's no negative. You'vegot to prove that the original print stolen from Travis, we'll say, isa fake. You can't do it."

  "September 19th was the date alleged, I believe?" asked Kennedyquietly, laying down the bundle of metric photographs and the allegedphotographs of Travis. He was pointing to a shadow of a gable on thehouse as it showed in the metric photographs and the others.

  "You see that shadow of the gable? Perhaps you never heard of it,Hanford, but it is possible to tell the exact time at which aphotograph was taken from a study of the shadows. It is possible inprinciple and practice and can be trusted. Almost any scientist may becalled on to bear testimony in court nowadays, but you would say theastronomer is one of the least likely. Well, the shadow in this picturewill prove an alibi for some one.

  "Notice. It is seen very prominently to the right, and its exactlocation on the house is an easy matter. You could almost use themetric photograph for that. The identification of the gable casting theshadow is easy. To be exact it is 19.62 feet high. The shadow is 14.23feet down, 13.10 feet east, and 3.43 feet north. You see I am exact. Ihave to be. In one minute it moved 0.080 feet upward, 0.053 feet to theright and 0.096 feet in its apparent path. It passes the width of aweatherboard, 0.37 foot, in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds."

  Kennedy was talking rapidly of data which he had derived from hismetric photograph, from plumb line, level, compass, and tape,astronomical triangle, vertices, zenith, pole and sun, declination,azimuth, solar time, parallactic angles, refraction, and a dozenbewildering terms.

  "In spherical trigonometry," he concluded, "to solve the problem threeelements must be known. I knew four. Therefore I could take each of theknown, treat it as unknown, and have four ways to check my result. Ifind that the time might have been either three o'clock, twenty-oneminutes and twelve seconds, in the afternoon, or 3:21:31, or 3:21:29,or 3:21:33. The average is 3:21:26, and there can therefore be noappreciable error except for a few seconds. For that date must havebeen one of two days, either May 22 or July 22. Between these two dateswe must decide on evidence other than the shadow. It must have been inMay, as the immature condition of the foliage shows. But even if it hadbeen in July, that is far from being September. The matter of the yearI have also settled. Weather conditions, I find, were favourable on allthese dates except that in September. I can really answer, with anassurance and accuracy superior to that of the photographerhimself--even if he were honest--as to the real date. The real picture,aside from being doctored, was actually taken last May. Science is notfallible, but exact in this matter."

  Kennedy had scored a palpable hit. McLoughlin and Hanford werespeechless. Still Craig hurried on.

  "But, you may ask, how about the automobile picture? That also is anunblushing fake. Of course I must prove that. In the first place, youknow that the general public has come to recognise the distortion of aphotograph as denoting speed. A picture of a car in a race that doesn'tlean is rejected--people demand to see speed, speed, more speed even inpictures. Distortion does indeed show speed, but that, too, can befaked.

  "Hanford knows that the image is projected upside down by the lens onthe plate, and that the bottom of the picture is taken before the top.The camera mechanism admits light, which makes the picture, in themanner of a roller blind curtain. The slit travels from the top to thebottom and the image on the plate being projected upside down, thebottom of the object appears on the top of the plate. For instance, thewheels are taken before the head of the driver. If the car is movingquickly the image moves on the plate and each successive part is takena little in advance of the last. The whole leans forward. By wideningthe slit and slowing the speed of the shutter, there is more distortion.

  "Now, this is what happened. A picture was taken of Cadwalader Brown'sautomobile, probably at rest, with Brown in it. The matter of fakingTravis or any one else by his side is simple. If with an enlarginglantern the image of this faked picture is thrown on the paper like alantern slide, and if the right hand side is a little further away thanthe left, the top further away than the bottom, you can print afraudulent high speed ahead picture. True, everything else in, thepicture, even if motionless, is distorted, and the difference betweenthis faking and the distortion of the shutter can be seen by an expert.But it will pass. In this case, however, the faker was so sure of thatthat he was careless. Instead of getting the plate further from thepaper on the right he did so on the left. It was further away on thebottom than on the top. He got distortion all right, enough still tosatisfy the uninitiated. But it was distortion in the wrong way! Thetop of the wheel, which goes fastest and ought to be most indistinct,is, in the fake, as sharp as any other part. It is a small mistake, butfatal. That picture is really at high speed--backwards! It is too raw,too raw."

  "You don't think people are going to swallow all that stuff, do you?"asked Hanford coolly, in spite of the exposures.

  Kennedy paid no attention. He was looking at McLoughlin. The Boss wasregarding him surlily. "Well," he said at length, "what of all this? Ihad nothing to do with it. Why do you come to me? Take it to the properparties."

  "Shall I?" asked Kennedy quietly.

  He had uncovered another picture carefully. We could not see it, but ashe looked at it McLoughlin fairly staggered.

  "Wh--where did you get that?" he gasped.

  "I got it where I got it, and it is no fake," replied Kennedyenigmatically. Then he appeared to think better of it. "This," heexplained, "is what is known as a pinhole photograph. Three hundredyears ago della Porta knew the camera obscura, and but for the lack ofa sensitive plate would have made photographs. A box, thoroughlylight-tight,
slotted inside to receive plates, covered with black, andglued tight, a needle hole made by a number 10 needle in a thin sheetof paper--and you have the apparatus for lensless photography. It has acorrectness such as no image-forming means by lenses can have. It isliterally rectigraphic, rectilinear, it needs no focussing, and ittakes a wide angle with equal effect. Even pinhole snapshots arepossible where the light is abundant, with a ten to fifteen secondexposure.

  "That picture, McLoughlin, was taken yesterday at Hanford's. After MissAshton left I saw who came out, but this picture shows what happenedbefore. At a critical moment Miss Ashton stuck a needle in the wall ofthe studio, counted fifteen, closed the needle-hole, and there is therecord. Walter, Hanford,--leave us alone an instant."

  When Kennedy passed out of the Boss's office there was a look of quietsatisfaction on his face which I could not fathom. Not a word could Iextract from him either that night or on the following day, which wasthe last before the election.

  I must say that I was keenly disappointed by the lack of developments,however. The whole thing seemed to me to be a mess. Everybody wasinvolved. What had Miss Ashton overheard and what had Kennedy said toMcLoughlin? Above all, what was his game? Was he playing to spare thegirl's feelings by allowing the election to go on without a scandal forTravis?

  At last election night arrived. We were all at the Travis headquarters,Kennedy, Travis, Bennett, and myself. Miss Ashton was not present, butthe first returns had scarcely begun to trickle in when Craig whisperedto me to go out and find her, either at her home or club. I found herat home. She had apparently lost interest in the election, and it waswith difficulty that I persuaded her to accompany me. The excitement ofany other night in the year paled to insignificance before this.Distracted crowds everywhere were cheering and blowing horns. Now aseries of wild shouts broke forth from the dense mass of people beforea newspaper bulletin board. Now came sullen groans, hisses, andcatcalls, or all together with cheers as the returns swung in anotherdirection. Not even baseball could call out such a crowd as this.Lights blazed everywhere. Automobiles honked and ground their gears.The lobster palaces were thronged. Police were everywhere. People withhorns and bells and all manner of noise-making devices pushed up oneside of the thoroughfares and down the other. Hungrily, ravenously theywere feeding on the meagre bulletins of news.

  Yet back of all the noise and human energy I could only think of thesilent, systematic gathering and editing of the news. High up in theLeague headquarters, when we returned, a corps of clerks was tabulatingreturns, comparing official and semi-official reports. As first thestate swung one way, then another, our hopes rose and fell. Miss Ashtonseemed cold and ill at ease, while Travis looked more worried and paidless attention to the returns than would have seemed natural. Sheavoided him and he seemed to hesitate to seek her out.

  Would the up-state returns, I had wondered at first, be large enough toovercome the hostile city vote? I was amazed now to see how stronglythe city was turning to Travis.

  "McLoughlin has kept his word," ejaculated Kennedy as district afterdistrict showed that the Boss's pluralities were being seriously cutinto.

  "His word? What do you mean?" we asked almost together.

  "I mean that he has kept his word given to me at a conference which Mr.Jameson saw but did not hear. I told him I would publish the wholething, not caring whom or where or when it hit if he did not let up onTravis. I advised him to read his Revised Statutes again about money inelections, and I ended up with the threat, 'There will be no dough day,McLoughlin, or this will be prosecuted to the limit.' There was nodough day. You see the effect in the returns."

  "But how did you do it?" I asked, not comprehending. "The fakedphotographs did not move him, that I could see."

  The words, "faked photographs," caused Miss Ashton to glance upquickly. I saw that Kennedy had not told her or any one yet, until theBoss had made good. He had simply arranged one of his little dramas.

  "Shall I tell, Miss Ashton?" he asked, adding, "Before I complete mypart of the compact and blot out the whole affair?"

  "I have no right to say no," she answered tremulously, but with a lookof happiness that I had not seen since our first introduction.

  Kennedy laid down a print on a table. It was the pinhole photograph, alittle blurry, but quite convincing. On a desk in the picture was apile of bills. McLoughlin was shoving them away from him towardBennett. A man who was facing forward in the picture was talkingearnestly to some one who did not appear. I felt intuitively, evenbefore Kennedy said so, that the person was Miss Ashton herself as shestuck the needle into the wall. The man was Cadwalader Brown.

  "Travis," demanded Kennedy, "bring the account books of your campaign.I want the miscellaneous account particularly."

  The books were brought, and he continued, turning the leaves, "Itseemed to me to show a shortage of nearly twenty thousand dollars theother day. Why, it has been made up. How was that, Bennett?"

  Bennett was speechless. "I will tell you," Craig proceeded inexorably."Bennett, you embezzled that money for your business. Rather than befound out, you went to Billy McLoughlin and offered to sell out theReform campaign for money to replace it. With the aid of the crook,Hanford, McLoughlin's tool, you worked out the scheme to extort moneyfrom Travis by forged photographs. You knew enough about Travis's houseand library to frame up a robbery one night when you were staying therewith him. It was inside work, I found, at a glance. Travis, I am sorryto have to tell you that your confidence was misplaced. It was Bennettwho robbed you--and worse.

  "But Cadwalader Brown, always close to his creature, Billy McLoughlin,heard of it. To him it presented another idea. To him it offered achance to overthrow a political enemy and a hated rival for MissAshton's hand. Perhaps into the bargain it would disgust her withpolitics, disillusion her, and shake her faith in what he believed tobe some of her 'radical' notions. All could be gained at one blow. Theysay that a check-book knows no politics, but Bennett has learned some,I venture to say, and to save his reputation he will pay back what hehas tried to graft."

  Travis could scarcely believe it yet. "How did you get your firsthint?" he gasped.

  Kennedy was digging into the wall with a bill file at the place wherehe had buried the little vulcanised disc. I had already guessed that itwas a dictograph, though I could not tell how it was used or who usedit. There it was, set squarely in the plaster. There also were thewires running under the carpet. As he lifted the rug under MissAshton's desk there also lay the huge circles of wire. That was all.

  At this moment Miss Ashton stepped forward. "Last Friday," she said ina low tone, "I wore a belt which concealed a coil of wire about mywaist. From it a wire ran under my coat, connecting with a small drybattery in a pocket. Over my head I had an arrangement such as thetelephone girls wear with a receiver at one ear connected with thebattery. No one saw it, for I wore a large hat which completely hid it.If any one had known, and there were plenty of eyes watching, the wholething would have fallen through. I could walk around; no one couldsuspect anything; but when I stood or sat at my desk I could heareverything that was said in Mr. Bennett's office."

  "By induction," explained Kennedy. "The impulses set up in theconcealed dictograph set up currents in these coils of wire concealedunder the carpet. They were wirelessly duplicated by induction in thecoil about Miss Ashton's waist and so affected the receiver under hervery becoming hat. Tell the rest, Miss Ashton."

  "I heard the deal arranged with this Hanford," she added, almost as ifshe were confessing something, "but not understanding it as Mr. Kennedydid, I very hastily condemned Mr. Travis. I heard talk of putting backtwenty thousand into the campaign accounts, of five thousand given toHanford for his photographic work, and of the way Mr. Travis was to bedefeated whether he paid or not. I heard them say that one conditionwas that I should carry the purchase money. I heard much that must haveconfirmed Mr. Kennedy's suspicion in one way, and my own in an oppositeway, which I know now was wrong. And then Cadwalader Brown in thestudio taunte
d me cynically and-and it cut me, for he seemed right. Ihope that Mr. Travis will forgive me for thinking that Mr. Bennett'streachery was his----"

  A terrific cheer broke out among the clerks in the outer office. A boyrushed in with a still unblotted report. Kennedy seized it and read:"McLoughlin concedes the city by a small majority to Travis, fifteenelection districts estimated. This clinches the Reform League victoryin the state."

  I turned to Travis. He was paying no attention except to the prettyapology of Margaret Ashton.

  Kennedy drew me to the door. "We might as well concede Miss Ashton toTravis," he said, adding gaily, "by induction of an arm about thewaist. Let's go out and watch the crowd."

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