I. The Silent Bullet
"Detectives in fiction nearly always make a great mistake," said Kennedyone evening after our first conversation on crime and science. "Theyalmost invariably antagonize the regular detective force. Now in reallife that's impossible--it's fatal."
"Yes," I agreed, looking up from reading an account of the failure of alarge Wall Street brokerage house, Kerr Parker & Co., and the peculiarsuicide of Kerr Parker. "Yes, it's impossible, just as it is impossiblefor the regular detectives to antagonize the newspapers. Scotland Yardfound that out in the Crippen case."
"My idea of the thing, Jameson," continued Kennedy, "is that theprofessor of criminal science ought to work with, not against, theregular detectives. They're all right. They're indispensable, of course.Half the secret of success nowadays is organisation. The professor ofcriminal science should be merely what the professor in a technicalschool often is--a sort of consulting engineer. For instance, I believethat organisation plus science would go far toward clearing up that WallStreet case I see you are reading."
I expressed some doubt as to whether the regular police were enlightenedenough to take that view of it.
"Some of them are," he replied. "Yesterday the chief of police in aWestern city sent a man East to see me about the Price murder: you knowthe case?"
Indeed I did. A wealthy banker of the town had been murdered on theroad to the golf club, no one knew why or by whom. Every clue had provedfruitless, and the list of suspects was itself so long and so impossibleas to seem most discouraging.
"He sent me a piece of a torn handkerchief with a deep blood-stain onit," pursued Kennedy. "He said it clearly didn't belong to the murderedman, that it indicated that the murderer had himself been wounded in thetussle, but as yet it had proved utterly valueless as a clue. Would Isee what I could make of it?
"After his man had told me the story I had a feeling that the murder wascommitted by either a Sicilian labourer on the links or a negro waiterat the club. Well, to make a short story shorter, I decided to test theblood-stain. Probably you didn't know it, but the Carnegie Institutionhas just published a minute, careful, and dry study of the blood ofhuman beings and of animals.
"In fact, they have been able to reclassify the whole animal kingdomon this basis, and have made some most surprising additions to ourknowledge of evolution. Now I don't propose to bore you with the detailsof the tests, but one of the things they showed was that the blood of acertain branch of the human race gives a reaction much like the blood ofa certain group of monkeys, the chimpanzees, while the blood of anotherbranch gives a reaction like that of the gorilla. Of course there's lotsmore to it, but this is all that need concern us now.
"I tried the tests. The blood on the handkerchief conformed strictlyto the latter test. Now the gorilla was, of course, out of thequestion--this was no Rue Morgue murder. Therefore it was the negrowaiter."
"But," I interrupted, "the negro offered a perfect alibi at the start,and--"
"No buts, Walter. Here's a telegram I received at dinner:'Congratulations. Confronted Jackson your evidence as wired.Confessed.'"
"Well, Craig, I take off my hat to you," I exclaimed. "Next you'll besolving this Kerr Parker case for sure."
"I would take a hand in it if they'd let me," said he simply.
That night, without saying anything, I sauntered down to the imposingnew police building amid the squalor of Center Street. They were verybusy at headquarters, but, having once had that assignment for the Star,I had no trouble in getting in. Inspector Barney O'Connor of the CentralOffice carefully shifted a cigar from corner to corner of his mouth as Ipoured forth my suggestion to him.
"Well, Jameson," he said at length, "do you think this professor fellowis the goods?"
I didn't mince matters in my opinion of Kennedy. I told him of the Pricecase and showed him a copy of the telegram. That settled it.
"Can you bring him down here to-night?" he asked quickly.
I reached for the telephone, found Craig in his laboratory finally, andin less than an hour he was in the office.
"This is a most bating case, Professor Kennedy, this case of KerrParker," said the inspector, launching at once into his subject. "Hereis a broker heavily interested in Mexican rubber. It looks like a goodthing--plantations right in the same territory as those of the RubberTrust. Now in addition to that he is branching out into coastwisesteamship lines; another man associated with him is heavily engaged ina railway scheme from the United States down into Mexico. Altogether thesteamships and railroads are tapping rubber, oil, copper, and I don'tknow what other regions. Here in New York they have been pyramidingstocks, borrowing money from two trust companies which they control.It's a lovely scheme--you've read about it, I suppose. Also you've readthat it comes into competition with a certain group of capitalists whomwe will call 'the System.'
"Well, this depression in the market comes along. At once rumours arespread about the weakness of the trust companies; runs start on both ofthem. The System,--you know them--make a great show of supporting themarket. Yet the runs continue. God knows whether they will spread or thetrust companies stand up under it to-morrow after what happened to-day.It was a good thing the market was closed when it happened.
"Kerr Parker was surrounded by a group of people who were in his schemeswith him. They are holding a council of war in the directors' room.Suddenly Parker rises, staggers toward the window, falls, and is deadbefore a doctor can get to him. Every effort is made to keep the thingquiet. It is given out that he committed suicide. The papers don't seemto accept the suicide theory, however. Neither do we. The coroner, whois working with us, has kept his mouth shut so far, and will say nothingtill the inquest. For, Professor Kennedy, my first man on the spot foundthat--Kerr Parker--was--murdered.
"Now here comes the amazing part of the story. The doors to the officeson both sides were open at the time. There were lots of people in eachoffice. There was the usual click of typewriters, and the buzz of theticker, and the hum of conversation. We have any number of witnesses ofthe whole affair, but as far as any of them knows no shot was fired, nosmoke was seen, no noise was heard, nor was any weapon found. Yet hereon my desk is a thirty-two-calibre bullet. The coroner's physicianprobed it out of Parker's neck this afternoon and turned it over to us."
Kennedy reached for the bullet, and turned it thoughtfully in hisfingers for a moment. One side of it had apparently struck a bone in theneck of the murdered man, and was flattened. The other side was stillperfectly smooth. With his inevitable magnifying-glass he scrutinisedthe bullet on every side. I watched his face anxiously, and I could seethat he was very intent and very excited.
"Extraordinary, most extraordinary," he said to himself as he turned itover and over. "Where did you say this bullet struck?"
"In the fleshy part of the neck, quite a little back of and below hisear and just above his collar. There wasn't much bleeding. I think itmust have struck the base of his brain."
"It didn't strike his collar or hair?"
"No," replied the inspector.
"Inspector, I think we shall be able to put our hands on the murderer--Ithink we can get a conviction, sir, on the evidence that I shall getfrom this bullet in my laboratory."
"That's pretty much like a story-book," drawled the inspectorincredulously, shaking his head.
"Perhaps," smiled Kennedy. "But there will still be plenty of work forthe police to do, too. I've only got a clue to the murderer. It willtake the whole organisation to follow it up, believe me. Now, Inspector,can you spare the time to go down to Parker's office and take me overthe ground? No doubt we can develop something else there."
"Sure," answered O'Connor, and within five minutes we were hurrying downtown in one of the department automobiles.
We found the office under guard of one of the Central Office men, whilein the outside office Parker's confidential clerk and a few assistantswere still at work in a subdued and awed manner. Men were working inmany other Wall Street offices that nig
ht during the panic, but in nonewas there more reason for it than here. Later I learned that it was thequiet tenacity of this confidential clerk that saved even as much ofParker's estate as was saved for his widow--little enough it was, too.What he saved for the clients of the firm no one will ever know.Somehow or other I liked John Downey, the clerk, from the moment Iwas introduced to him. He seemed to me, at least, to be the typicalconfidential clerk who would carry a secret worth millions and keep it.
The officer in charge touched his hat to the inspector, and Downeyhastened to put himself at our service. It was plain that the murder hadcompletely mystified him, and that he was as anxious as we were to getat the bottom of it.
"Mr. Downey," began Kennedy, "I understand you were present when thissad event took place."
"Yes, sir, sitting right here at the directors' table," he replied,taking a chair, "like this."
"Now can you recollect just how Mr. Parker acted when he was shot? Couldyou-er--could you take his place and show us just how it happened?"
"Yes, sir," said Downey. "He was sitting here at the head of the table.Mr. Bruce, who is the 'CO.' of the firm, had been sitting here at hisright; I was at the left. The inspector has a list of all the otherspresent. That door to the right was open, and Mrs. Parker and some otherladies were in the room--"
"Mrs. Parker?" broke in Kennedy.
"Yes: Like a good many brokerage firms we have a ladies' room. Manyladies are among our clients. We make a point of catering to them. Atthat time I recollect the door was open--all the doors were open. Itwas not a secret meeting. Mr. Bruce had just gone into the ladies'department; I think to ask some of them to stand by the firm--he wasan artist at smoothing over the fears of customers, particularly women.Just before he went in I had seen the ladies go in a group toward thefar end of the room--to look down at the line of depositors on thestreet, which reached around the corner from one of the trust companies,I thought. I was making a note of an order to send into the outsideoffice there on the left, and had just pushed this button here under thetable to call a boy to carry it. Mr. Parker had just received a letterby special delivery, and seemed considerably puzzled over it. No, Idon't know what it was about. Of a sudden I saw him start in his chair,rise up unsteadily, clap his hand on the back of his head, staggeracross the floor--like this--and fall here."
"Then what happened?"
"Why, I rushed to pick him up. Everything was confusion. I recallsomeone behind me saying, 'Here, boy, take all these papers offthe table and carry them into my office before they get lost in theexcitement.' I think it was Bruce's voice. The next moment I heardsomeone say, 'Stand back, Mrs. Parker has fainted.' But I didn't paymuch attention, for I was calling to someone not to get a doctor overthe telephone, but to go down to the fifth floor where one has anoffice. I made Mr. Parker as comfortable as I could. There wasn't muchI could do. He seemed to want to say something to me, but he couldn'ttalk. He was paralysed, at least his throat was. But I did manage tomake out finally what sounded to me like, 'Tell her I don't believe thescandal, I don't believe it.' But before he could say whom to tell hehad again become unconscious, and by the time the doctor arrived he wasdead. I guess you know everything else as well as I do."
"You didn't hear the shot fired from any particular direction?" askedKennedy.
"No, sir."
"Well, where do you think it came from?"
"That's what puzzles me, sir. The only thing I can figure out is that itwas fired from the outside office--perhaps by some customer who had lostmoney and sought revenge. But no one out there heard it either, any morethan they did in the directors' room or the ladies' department."
"About that message," asked Kennedy, ignoring what to me seemed tobe the most important feature of the case, the mystery of the silentbullet. "Didn't you see it after all was over?"
"No, sir; in fact I had forgotten about it till this moment when youasked me to reconstruct the circumstances exactly. No, sir, I don'tknow a thing about it. I can't say it impressed itself on my mind at thetime, either."
"What did Mrs. Parker do when she came to?"
"Oh, she cried as I have never seen a woman cry before. He was dead bythat time, of course."
"Bruce and I saw her down in the elevator to her car. In fact, thedoctor, who had arrived; said that the sooner she was taken home thebetter she would be. She was quite hysterical."
"Did she say anything that you remember?"
Downey hesitated.
"Out with it Downey," said the inspector. "What did she say as she wasgoing down in the elevator?"
"Nothing."
"Tell us. I'll arrest you if you don't."
"Nothing about the murder, on my honour," protested Downey.
Kennedy leaned over suddenly and shot a remark at him, "Then it wasabout the note."
Downey was surprised, but not quickly enough. Still he seemed to beconsidering something, and in a moment he said:
"I don't know what it was about, but I feel it is my duty, after all, totell you. I heard her say, 'I wonder if he knew.'"
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing else."
"What happened after you came back?"
"We entered the ladies' department. No one was there. A woman'sautomobile-coat was thrown over a chair in a heap. Mr. Bruce picked itup. 'It's Mrs. Parker's,' he said. He wrapped it up hastily, and rangfor a messenger."
"Where did he send it?"
"To Mrs. Parker, I suppose. I didn't hear the address."
We next went over the whole suite of offices, conducted by Mr. Downey. Inoted how carefully Kennedy looked into the directors' room through theopen door from the ladies' department. He stood at such an angle thathad he been the assassin he could scarcely have been seen except bythose sitting immediately next Mr. Parker at the directors' table. Thestreet windows were directly in front of him, and back of him was thechair on which the motorcoat had been found.
In Parker's own office we spent some time, as well as in Bruce's.Kennedy made a search for the note, but finding nothing in eitheroffice, turned out the contents of Bruce's scrap-basket. There didn'tseem to be anything in it to interest him, however, even after he hadpieced several torn bits of scraps together with much difficulty, andhe was about to turn the papers back again, when he noticed somethingsticking to the side of the basket. It looked like a mass of wet paper,and that was precisely what it was.
"That's queer," said Kennedy, picking it loose. Then he wrapped it upcarefully and put it in his pocket. "Inspector, can you lend me one ofyour men for a couple of days?" he asked, as we were preparing to leave."I shall want to send him out of town to-night, and shall probably needhis services when he gets back."
"Very well. Riley will be just the fellow. We'll go back toheadquarters, and I'll put him under your orders."
It was not until late in the following day that I saw Kennedy again.It had been a busy day at the Star. We had gone to work that morningexpecting to see the very financial heavens fall. But just about fiveminutes to ten, before the Stock Exchange opened, the news came inover the wire from our financial man on Broad Street: "'The System' hasforced James Bruce, partner of Kerr Parker, the dead banker; to sellhis railroad, steamship, and rubber holdings to it. On this condition itpromises unlimited support to the market."
"Forced!" muttered the managing editor, as he waited on the office phoneto get the composing-room, so as to hurry up the few lines in red ink onthe first page and beat our rivals on the streets with the first extras."Why, he's been working to bring that about for the past two weeks. Whatthat System doesn't control isn't worth having--it edits the news beforeour men get it, and as for grist for the divorce courts, and tragedies,well--Hello, Jenkins, yes, a special extra. Change the big heads--copyis on the way up--rush it."
"So you think this Parker case is a mess?" I asked.
"I know it. That's a pretty swift bunch of females that havebeen speculating at Kerr Parker & Co.'s. I understand there's oneTitian-haired young lady--who, by the way, has at le
ast one husband whohasn't yet been divorced--who is a sort of ringleader, though she rarelygoes personally to her brokers' offices. She's one of those uptownplungers, and the story is that she has a whole string of scalps ofalleged Sunday-school superintendents at her belt. She can make Brucedo pretty nearly anything, they say. He's the latest conquest. I got thestory on pretty good authority, but until I verified the names, dates,and places, of course I wouldn't dare print a line of it. The storygoes that her husband is a hanger-on of the System, and that she's beenworking in their interest, too. That was why he was so complacent overthe whole affair. They put her up to capturing Bruce, and after she hadacquired an influence over him they worked it so that she made him makelove to Mrs. Parker. It's a long story, but that isn't all of it. Thepoint was, you see, that by this devious route they hoped to worm out ofMrs. Parker some inside information about Parker's rubber schemes, whichhe hadn't divulged even to his partners in business. It was a deep andcarefully planned plot, and some of the conspirators were pretty deeplyin the mire, I guess. I wish I'd had all the facts about who thisred-haired female Machiavelli was--what a piece of muckraking it wouldhave made! Oh, here comes the rest of the news story over the wire. ByJove, it is said on good authority that Bruce will be taken in as one ofthe board of directors. What do you think of that?"
So that was how the wind lay--Bruce making love to Mrs. Parker and shepresumably betraying her husband's secrets. I thought I saw it all:the note from somebody exposing the scheme, Parker's incredulity, Brucesitting by him and catching sight of the note, his hurrying out into theladies' department, and then the shot. But who fired it? After all, Ihad only picked up another clue.
Kennedy was not at the apartment at dinner, and an inquiry at thelaboratory was fruitless also. So I sat down to fidget for a while.Pretty soon the buzzer on the door sounded, and I opened it to find amessenger-boy with a large brown paper parcel.
"Is Mr. Bruce here?" he asked.
"Why, no, he doesn't--" then I checked myself and added "He will be herepresently. You can leave the bundle."
"Well, this is the parcel he telephoned for. His valet told me to tellhim that they had a hard time to find it, but he guesses it's all right.The charges are forty cents. Sign here."
I signed the book, feeling like a thief, and the boy departed. What itall meant I could not guess.
Just then I heard a key in the lock, and Kennedy came in.
"Is your name Bruce?" I asked.
"Why?" he replied eagerly. "Has anything come?"
I pointed to the package. Kennedy made a dive for it and unwrapped it.It was a woman's pongee automobile-coat. He held it up to the light. Thepocket on the right-hand side was scorched and burned, and a hole wastorn clean through it. I gasped when the full significance of it dawnedon me.
"How did you get it?" I exclaimed at last in surprise.
"That's where organisation comes in," said Kennedy. "The police atmy request went over every messenger call from Parker's office thatafternoon, and traced every one of them up. At last they found one thatled to Bruce's apartment. None of them led to Mrs. Parker's home.The rest were all business calls and satisfactorily accounted for. Ireasoned that this was the one that involved the disappearance of theautomobile-coat. It was a chance worth taking, so I got Downey to callup Bruce's valet. The valet of course recognised Downey's voice andsuspected nothing. Downey assumed to know all about the coat in thepackage received yesterday. He asked to have it sent up here. I see thescheme worked."
"But, Kennedy, do you think she--" I stopped, speechless, looking at thescorched coat.
"Nothing to say--yet," he replied laconically. "But if you could tell meanything about that note Parker received I'd thank you."
I related what our managing editor had said that morning. Kennedy onlyraised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.
"I had guessed something of that sort," he said merely. "I'm glad tofind it confirmed even by hearsay evidence. This red-haired young ladyinterests me. Not a very definite description, but better than nothingat all. I wonder who she is. Ah, well, what do you say to a stroll downthe White Way before I go to my laboratory? I'd like a breath of air torelax my mind."
We had got no further than the first theatre when Kennedy slapped me onthe back. "By George, Jameson, she's an actress, of course."
"Who is? What's the matter with you, Kennedy? Are you crazy?"
"The red-haired person--she must be an actress. Don't you remember theauburn-haired leading lady in the 'Follies'--the girl who sings thatsong about 'Mary, Mary, quite contrary'? Her stage name, you know, isPhoebe La Neige. Well, if it's she who is concerned in this case I don'tthink she'll be playing to-night. Let's inquire at the box-office."
She wasn't playing, but just what it had to do with anything inparticular I couldn't see, and I said as much.
"Why, Walter, you'd never do as a detective. You lack intuition.Sometimes I think I haven't quite enough of it, either. Why didn't Ithink of that sooner? Don't you know she is the wife of Adolphus Hesse,the most inveterate gambler in stocks in the System? Why, I had onlyto put two and two together and the whole thing flashed on me in aninstant. Isn't it a good hypothesis that she is the red-haired womanin the case, the tool of the System in which her husband is so heavilyinvolved? I'll have to add her to my list of suspects."
"Why, you don't think she did the shooting?" I asked, half hoping, Imust admit, for an assenting nod from him.
"Well," he answered dryly, "one shouldn't let any preconceivedhypothesis stand between him and the truth. I've made a guess at thewhole thing already. It may or it may not be right. Anyhow she will fitinto it. And if it's not right, I've got to be prepared to make a newguess, that's all."
When we reached the laboratory on our return, the inspector's man Rileywas there, waiting impatiently for Kennedy.
"What luck?" asked Kennedy.
"I've got a list of purchasers of that kind of revolver," he said."We have been to every sporting-goods and arms-store in the city whichbought them from the factory, and I could lay my hands on pretty nearlyevery one of those weapons in twenty-four hours--provided, of course,they haven't been secreted or destroyed."
"Pretty nearly all isn't good enough," said Kennedy. "It will have to beall, unless--"
"That name is in the list," whispered Riley hoarsely.
"Oh, then it's all right," answered Kennedy, brightening up. "Riley, Iwill say that you're a wonder at using the organisation in ferretingout such things. There's just one more thing I want you to do. I wanta sample of the notepaper in the private desks of every one of thesepeople." He handed the policeman a list of his 9 "suspects," as hecalled them. It included nearly every one mentioned in the case.
Riley studied it dubiously and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "That'sa hard one, Mr. Kennedy, sir. You see, it means getting into so manydifferent houses and apartments. Now you don't want to do it by means ofa warrant, do you, sir? Of course not. Well, then, how can we get in?"
"You're a pretty good-looking chap yourself, Riley," said Kennedy. "Ishould think you could jolly a housemaid, if necessary. Anyhow, you canget the fellow on the beat to do it--if he isn't already to be found inthe kitchen. Why, I see a dozen ways of getting the notepaper."
"Oh, it's me that's the lady-killer, sir," grinned Riley. "I'm a regularBlarney stone when I'm out on a job of that sort. Sure, I'll have someof them for you in the morning."
"Bring me what you get, the first thing in the morning, even ifyou've landed only a few samples," said Kennedy, as Riley departed,straightening his tie and brushing his hat on his sleeve.
"And now, Walter, you too must excuse me to-night," said Craig. "I'vegot a lot to do, and sha'n't be up to our apartment till very late--orearly. But I feel sure I've got a strangle-hold on this mystery. If Iget those papers from Riley in good time to-morrow I shall invite youand several others to a grand demonstration here to-morrow night. Don'tforget. Keep the whole evening free. It will be a big story."
Kennedy's laborator
y was brightly lighted when I arrived early the nextevening. One by one his "guests" dropped in. It was evident that theyhad little liking for the visit, but the coroner had sent out the"invitations," and they had nothing to do but accept. Each one waspolitely welcomed by the professor and assigned a seat, much as he wouldhave done with a group of students. The inspector and the coroner satback a little. Mrs. Parker, Mr. Downey, Mr. Bruce, myself, and MissLa Neige sat in that order in the very narrow and uncomfortable littlearmchairs used by the students during lectures.
At last Kennedy was ready to begin. He took his position behind thelong, flat-topped table which he used for his demonstrations before hisclasses. "I realise, ladies and gentlemen," he began formally, "that Iam about to do a very unusual thing; but, as you all know, the policeand the coroner have been completely baffled by this terrible mysteryand have requested me to attempt to clear up at least certain points init. I will begin what I have to say by remarking that the tracing outof a crime like this differs in nothing, except as regards thesubject-matter, from the search for a scientific truth. The forcing ofman's secrets is like the forcing of nature's secrets. Both are piecesof detective work. The methods employed in the detection of crimeare, or rather should be, like the methods employed in the process ofdiscovering scientific truth. In a crime of this sort, two kinds ofevidence need to be secured. Circumstantial evidence must first bemarshalled, and then a motive must be found. I have been gatheringfacts. But to omit motives and rest contented with mere facts would beinconclusive. It would never convince anybody or convict anybody. Inother words, circumstantial evidence must first lead to a suspect, andthen this suspect must prove equal to accounting for the facts. It is myhope that each of you may contribute something that will be of servicein arriving at the truth of this unfortunate incident."
The tension was not relieved even when Kennedy stopped speaking andbegan to fuss with a little upright target which he set up at one endof his table. We seemed to be seated over a powder magazine whichthreatened to explode at any moment. I, at least, felt the tension sogreatly that it was only after he had started speaking again, that Inoticed that the target was composed of a thick layer of some putty-likematerial.
Holding a thirty-two-calibre pistol in his right hand and aiming it atthe target, Kennedy picked up a large piece of coarse homespun from thetable and held it loosely over the muzzle of the gun. Then he fired. Thebullet tore through the cloth, sped through the air, and buried itselfin the target. With a knife he pried it out.
"I doubt if even the inspector himself could have told us that when anordinary leaden bullet is shot through a woven fabric the weave of thatfabric is in the majority of cases impressed on the bullet, sometimesclearly, sometimes faintly."
Here Kennedy took up a piece of fine batiste and fired another bulletthrough it.
"Every leaden bullet, as I have said, which has struck such a fabricbears an impression of the threads which is recognisable even whenthe bullet has penetrated deeply into the body. It is only obliteratedpartially or entirely when the bullet has been flattened by striking abone or other hard object. Even then, as in this case, if only a partof the bullet is flattened the remainder may still show the marks of thefabric. A heavy warp, say of cotton velvet or, as I have here,homespun, will be imprinted well on the bullet, but even a fine batiste,containing one hundred threads to the inch, will show marks. Even layersof goods such as a coat, shirt, and undershirt may each leave theirmarks, but that does not concern us in this case. Now I have here apiece of pongee silk, cut from a woman's automobile-coat. I dischargethe bullet through it--so. I compare the bullet now with the others andwith the one probed from the neck of Mr. Parker. I find that the markson that fatal bullet correspond precisely with those on the bullet firedthrough the pongee coat."
Startling as was this revelation, Kennedy paused only an instant beforethe next.
"Now I have another demonstration. A certain note figures in this case.Mr. Parker was reading it, or perhaps re-reading it, at the time he wasshot. I have not been able to obtain that note--at least not in a formsuch as I could use in discovering what were its contents. But in acertain wastebasket I found a mass of wet and pulp-like paper. It hadbeen cut up, macerated, perhaps chewed; perhaps it had been also soakedwith water. There was a washbasin with running water in this room. Theink had run, and of course was illegible. The thing was so unusual thatI at once assumed that this was the remains of the note in question.Under ordinary circumstances it would be utterly valueless as a clueto anything. But to-day science is not ready to let anything pass asvalueless.
"I found on microscopic examination that it was an uncommon linen bondpaper, and I have taken a large number of microphotographs of thefibres in it. They are all similar. I have here also about a hundredmicrophotographs of the fibres in other kinds of paper, many of thembonds. These I have accumulated from time to time in my study of thesubject. None of them, as you can see, shows fibres resembling this onein question, so we may conclude that it is of uncommon quality. Throughan agent of the police I have secured samples of the notepaper of everyone who could be concerned, as far as I could see, with this case. Hereare the photographs of the fibres of these various notepapers, and amongthem all is just one that corresponds to the fibres in the wet mass ofpaper I discovered in the scrap-basket. Now lest anyone should questionthe accuracy of this method I might cite a case where a man had beenarrested in Germany charged with stealing a government bond. He was notsearched till later. There was no evidence save that after the arrest alarge number of spitballs were found around the courtyard under his cellwindow. This method of comparing the fibres with those of the regulargovernment paper was used, and by it the man was convicted of stealingthe bond. I think it is almost unnecessary to add that in the presentcase we know precisely who--"
At this point the tension was so great that it snapped. Miss La Neige,who was sitting beside me, had been leaning forward involuntarily.Almost as if the words were wrung from her she whispered hoarsely: "Theyput me up to doing it; I didn't want to. But the affair had gone toofar. I couldn't see him lost before my very eyes. I didn't want her toget him. The quickest way out was to tell the whole story to Mr. Parkerand stop it. It was the only way I could think of to stop this thingbetween another man's wife and the man I loved better than my ownhusband. God knows, Professor Kennedy, that was all--"
"Calm yourself, madame," interrupted Kennedy soothingly. "Calm yourself.What's done is done. The truth must come out. Be calm. Now," hecontinued, after the first storm of remorse had spent itself and we wereall outwardly composed again, "we have said nothing whatever of the mostmysterious feature of the case, the firing of the shot. The murderercould have thrust the weapon into the pocket or the folds of thiscoat"--here he drew forth the automobile coat and held it aloft,displaying the bullet hole--"and he or she (I will not say which) couldhave discharged the pistol unseen. By removing and secreting the weaponafterward one very important piece of evidence would be suppressed.This person could have used such a cartridge as I have here, made withsmokeless powder, and the coat would have concealed the flash of theshot very effectively. There would have been no smoke. But neither thiscoat nor even a heavy blanket would have deadened the report of theshot.
"What are we to think of that? Only one thing. I have often wonderedwhy the thing wasn't done before. In fact I have been waiting for it tooccur. There is an invention that makes it almost possible to strikea man down with impunity in broad daylight in any place where there issufficient noise to cover up a click, a slight 'Pouf!' and the whir ofthe bullet in the air.
"I refer to this little device of a Hartford inventor. I place itover the muzzle of the thirty-two-calibre revolver I have so far beenusing--so. Now, Mr. Jameson, if you will sit at that typewriter overthere and write--anything so long as you keep the keys clicking. Theinspector will start that imitation stock-ticker in the corner. Now weare ready. I cover the pistol with a cloth. I defy anyone in this roomto tell me the exact moment when I discharged the pis
tol. I could haveshot any of you, and an outsider not in the secret would never havethought that I was the culprit. To a certain extent I have reproducedthe conditions under which this shooting occurred.
"At once on being sure of this feature of the case I despatched a man toHartford to see this inventor. The man obtained from him a complete listof all the dealers in New York to whom such devices had been sold. Theman also traced every sale of those dealers. He did not actually obtainthe weapon, but if he is working on schedule-time according to agreementhe is at this moment armed with a search-warrant and is ransackingevery possible place where the person suspected of this crime could haveconcealed his weapon. For, one of the persons intimately connected withthis case purchased not long ago a silencer for a thirty-two-calibrerevolver, and I presume that that person carried the gun and thesilencer at the time of the murder of Kerr Parker."
Kennedy concluded in triumph, his voice high pitched, his eyes flashing.Yet to all outward appearance not a heart-beat was quickened. Someonein that room had an amazing store of self-possession. The fear flittedacross my mind that even at the last Kennedy was baffled.
"I had anticipated some such anti-climax," he continued after a moment."I am prepared for it."
He touched a bell, and the door to the next room opened. One ofKennedy's graduate students stepped in.
"You have the records, Whiting" he asked.
"Yes, Professor."
"I may say," said Kennedy, "that each of your chairs is wired under thearm in such a way as to betray on an appropriate indicator in the nextroom every sudden and undue emotion. Though it may be concealed fromthe eye, even of one like me who stands facing you, such emotion isnevertheless expressed by physical pressure on the arms of the chair. Itis a test that is used frequently with students to demonstrate variouspoints of psychology. You needn't raise your arms from the chairs,ladies and gentlemen. The tests are all over now. What did they show,Whiting?"
The student read what he had been noting in the next room. At theproduction of the coat during the demonstration of the markings ofthe bullet, Mrs. Parker had betrayed great emotion, Mr. Bruce had donelikewise, and nothing more than ordinary emotion had been noted for therest of us. Miss La Neige's automatic record during the tracing out ofthe sending of the note to Parker had been especially unfavourable toher; Mr. Bruce showed almost as much excitement; Mrs. Parker verylittle and Downey very little. It was all set forth in curves drawn byself-recording pens on regular ruled paper. The student had merely notedwhat took place in the lecture-room as corresponding to these curves.
"At the mention of the noiseless gun," said Kennedy, bending over therecord, while the student pointed it out to him and we leaned forward tocatch his words, "I find that the curves of Miss La Neige, Mrs. Parker,and Mr. Downey are only so far from normal as would be natural. All ofthem were witnessing a thing for the first time with only curiosity andno fear. The curve made by Mr. Bruce shows great agitation and--"
I heard a metallic click at my side and turned hastily. It was InspectorBarney O'Connor, who had stepped out of the shadow with a pair ofhand-cuffs.
"James Bruce, you are under arrest," he said.
There flashed on my mind, and I think on the minds of some of theothers, a picture of another electrically wired chair.