CHAPTER XXVIII
THE CANCER HOUSE
"You've heard of such things as cancer houses, I suppose, ProfessorKennedy?"
It was early in the morning and Craig's client, Myra Moreton, as sheintroduced herself, had been waiting at the laboratory door in a stateof great agitation as we came up. Just because her beautiful face waspale and haggard with worry, she was a pathetic figure, as she stoodthere, dressed in deep mourning, the tears standing in her eyes merelybecause we were a little later than usual.
"Well," she hurried on as she dropped into a chair, "that is what theyare calling that big house of ours at Norwood--a cancer house, if thereis such a thing."
Clearly, Myra Moreton was a victim of nervous prostration. She had askedthe question with a hectic eagerness, yet had not waited for an answer.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "you do not, you cannot know what it means to havesomething like this constantly hanging over you. Think of it--five of ushave died in less than five years. It haunts me. Who next. That is all Ican think about. Who next?"
Her first agitation had been succeeded by a calmness of despair, almostof fatalism, which was worse for her than letting loose her pent-upemotions.
I had heard of cases of people in whom there was no record of hereditarypredisposition to cancer, people apparently in perfect health, who hadmoved into houses where cancer patients had lived and died and hadthemselves developed the disease. Though I had, of course, never evenremotely experienced such a feeling as she described, I could well fancywhat it must be to her.
Kennedy watched her sympathetically. "But why do you come to me?" heasked gently. "Don't you think a cancer specialist would be more likelyto help you?"
"A specialist?" she repeated with a peculiar hopelessness. "ProfessorKennedy, five years ago, when my Uncle Frank was attacked by cancer,father was so foolish as to persuade him to consult a specialist whoseadvertisement he saw in the papers, a Dr. Adam Loeb on Forty-secondStreet here in New York. Specialist! Oh, I'm worried sick every time Ihave a sore or anything like this on my neck or anywhere else."
She had worked herself from her unnatural calm almost into a state ofhysterics as she displayed a little sore on her delicate white throat.
"That?" reassured Kennedy. "Oh, that may be nothing but a little boil.But this Dr. Loeb--he must be a quack. No doctor who advertises--"
"Perhaps," she interrupted. "That is what Dr. Goode out at Norwood tellsme. But father has faith in him, even has him at the house sometimes. Icannot bear the sight of him. Since I first saw him my uncle, his wife,another aunt, my cousin have died, and then, last week, my--my mother."
Her voice broke, but with a great effort she managed to get herselftogether. "Now I--I fear that my father may go next. Perhaps it willstrike me--or my brother, Lionel--who can tell? Think of it--the wholefamily wiped out by this terrible thing. Can it be natural, I askmyself? Is there not something back of it?"
"Who is this Dr. Loeb?" asked Kennedy, more for the purpose of aidingher in giving vent to her feelings than anything else.
"He is a New York doctor," she reiterated. "I believe he claims to havea sure cure for cancer, by the use of radium and such means. My fatherhas absolute confidence in him--visits him at his office and, as I toldyou, even has him at Norwood. In fact they are quite friendly. So wasLionel until lately."
"What happened to shake your brother's faith?" asked Craig.
"Nothing, I imagine, except that Lionel began thinking it over aftersomeone told him about cancer houses. You must admit yourself that itis--at least strange. I wish you could see Lionel. He knows more aboutit than I do. Or Dr. Goode. I think he has made some kind of test. Hecould tell you much better than I can all the strange history. But theydon't agree--Lionel and Gail. Oh--it is more than I can stand. Whatshall I--"
She had fainted. In an instant I was at her side, helping Kennedy bringher around.
"There, there," soothed Kennedy several minutes later as her deep eyeslooked at him appealingly. "Perhaps, after all, there may be something Ican do. If I should go out to Norwood with you as soon as you feelbetter, wouldn't that be all right?"
"Oh--will you?" she cried, overjoyed. "If you would--how could I everthank you? I feel better. No--don't stop me. I've been living on nerve.I can do more. Please--let me telephone Lionel that we are coming."
Kennedy humored her, although I knew he had several importantinvestigations going on at the time. It was scarcely an hour before wewere on the train and in the early forenoon we were met by her brotherat the station in a light car.
Through the beautiful streets of the quaint old Connecticut town we rodeuntil at last we stopped before a great stone house which had been theMoreton mansion for several generations.
It was a double house, a gloomy sort of place, surrounded by fir trees,damp and suggestive of decay. I could not help feeling that if everthere were a house about which I could associate the story which Myrahad poured forth, this was it. Somehow, to me at least, it had all themystery of being haunted.
Darius Moreton, her father, happened to be at home to lunch when wearrived. He was a man past middle age. Like his father and grandfather,he was a manufacturer of optical goods and had increased the businessvery well. But, like many successful business men, he was one of thosewho are very positive, with whom one cannot argue.
Myra introduced Kennedy as interested in cause and treatment of cancer,and especially in the tracing down of a definite case of a "cancerhouse."
"No," he shook his head grimly, "I'm afraid it is heredity. My friend,Dr. Loeb, is the only one who understands it. I have the most absoluteconfidence in him."
He said it in a way that seemed to discourage all argument. Kennedy didnot antagonize him by disagreeing, but turned to Lionel, who was arather interesting type of young man. Son of Darius Moreton by his firstwife, Lionel had gone to the scientific school as had his father and,graduating, had taken up the business of the Moreton family as a matterof course.
Myra seemed overcome by the journey to the city to see Kennedy and,after a light luncheon, Lionel undertook to talk to us and show usthrough the house. It was depressing, almost ghastly, to think of theslow succession of tragedies which these walls had witnessed.
"This is a most unusual case," commented Craig thoughtfully as Lionelwent over briefly the family history. "If it can be authenticated thatthis is a cancer house, I am sure the medical profession will beinterested, for they seem to be divided into two camps on the question."
"Authenticated?" hastened Lionel. "Well, take the record. First therewas my Uncle Frank, who was father's partner in the factory. He diedjust about five years ago at the age of fifty-one. That same year hiswife, my Aunt Julia, died. She was just forty-eight. Then my other aunt,Fanny, father's sister, died of cancer of the throat. She was ratherolder, fifty-four. Not quite two years afterward my cousin, George, sonof Uncle Frank, died. He was several years younger than I, twenty-nine.Finally my step-mother died, last week. She was forty-nine. So, Isuppose we may be pardoned if, somehow, in spite of the fact, as yousay, that many believe that the disease is not contagious or infectiousor whatever you call it, we believe that it lurks in the house. Myra andI would get out tomorrow, only father insists that there is nothing init, says it is all heredity. I don't know but that that's worse. Thatmeans that there is no escape."
We had come down the wide staircase into the library, where we joinedMyra, who was resting on a chaise-longue.
"I should like very much to have a talk with Dr. Goode," suggestedCraig.
"By all means," agreed Myra eagerly. "I'll go over to his office withyou. It is only next door."
"Then I'll wait here," said Lionel, rather curtly, I thought.
I fancied that there was a coolness that amounted to a latent hostilitybetween Lionel and Dr. Goode, and I wondered about it.
Across the sparse lawn that struggled up under the deep shade of thetrees stood a smaller, less pretentious house of a much more moderntype. That was where Dr. Goode lived.
We crossed with Myra through a break in the hedge between the twohouses. As we were about to pass between the two grounds, Kennedy's footkicked something that seemed to have rolled down from some rubbish onthe boundary line of the two properties, piled up evidently waiting tobe carted away.
Craig stooped casually and picked the object up. It was a queer V-shapedlittle porcelain cone. He gave it a hasty look, then dropped it into hispocket.
Dr. Goode, into whose office Myra led us, was a youngish man,smooth-shaven, the type of the new generation of doctors. He had cometo Norwood several years before and had struggled up to a very fairpractice.
"Miss Moreton tells me," began Kennedy after we had been introduced,"that there is a theory that theirs is one of these so-called cancerhouses."
The doctor looked at us keenly. "Yes," he nodded, "I have heard thattheory expressed--and others, too. Of course, I haven't had a chance toverify it. But I may say that, privately, I am hardly prepared to acceptit, yet, as a case of cancer house."
He was very guarded in his choice of words, but did not succeed incovering up the fact that he had a theory of his own.
I was watching both the young doctor and Myra. She had entered hisoffice in a way that suggested that she was something more than apatient. As I watched them, it did not take one of very keen perceptionto discover that they were on very intimate terms indeed and thoughtvery highly of each other. A glance at the solitaire on Myra's fingerconvinced me. They were engaged.
"You don't believe it, then?" asked Craig quickly.
The young man hesitated and shrugged his shoulders.
"You have a theory of your own?" persisted Craig, determined to get ananswer.
"I don't know whether I have or not," he replied non-committally.
"Is it that you think it possible to produce cancer artificially andpurposely?" shot out Craig.
Dr. Goode considered. I wondered whether he had any suspicions of whichhe would not speak because of professional ethics. Kennedy had fixedhis eyes on him sharply and the doctor seemed uneasy under the scrutiny.
"I've heard of cases," he ventured finally, "where X-rays and radiumhave caused cancerous growths. You know several of the experimentershave lost their lives in that way--martyrs to science."
I could not help, somehow or other, thinking of Dr. Loeb. Did Dr. Gooderefer indirectly to him? Loeb certainly was no martyr to science. Hemight be a charlatan. But was he a scientific villain?
"That may all be true," pursued Craig relentlessly, evidently bound todraw the young man out. "But it is, after all, a question of fact, notof opinion."
Myra was looking at him eagerly now and the doctor saw that she expectedhim to speak. It was more pressure than he could resist.
"I have long suspected something of the sort," he remarked in a low,forced tone. "I've had samples of the blood of the Moretons examined. Infact I have found that their blood affects the photographic platethrough a layer of black paper. You know red blood cells and serum havea distinct power of reducing photo-silver on plates when exposed tocertain radiations. In other words, I have found that their blood is,apparently, radioactive!"
Myra looked at him aghast. It was evidently the first time he had saidanything about this new suspicion, even to her. The very idea wasshocking. Could it be that someone was using these new forces withdevilish ingenuity?
"If that's the case, who would be the most likely person to do such athing?" shot out Craig.
"I wouldn't like to say," he returned, dodging, though we were allthinking of Dr. Loeb.
"But the motive?" demanded Craig. "What motive would there be?"
"Darius Moreton is very intimate with a certain person," he returnedenigmatically. "It is even reported in town that he has left that persona large sum of money in his will in payment for his services, if youcall them so, to the family."
He had evidently not intended to say so much and, although Craig triedin every way, he could not get the doctor to amplify what he had hintedat.
We returned to the Moreton house, Kennedy apparently much impressed bywhat Dr. Goode had said.
"If you will permit me," he asked, "I should like to have a few drops ofblood from each of you."
"Goode tried that," remarked old Mr. Moreton. "I don't know thatanything came of it. Still, I am not going to refuse, if Myra and Lionelagree."
Craig had already taken from his pocket a small case containing ahypodermic and some little glass tubes. There seemed to be no validobjection and from each of them he drew off a small quantity of blood.As he worked, I thought I saw what he had in mind. Could there be, Iwondered, an X-ray outfit or perhaps radium concealed about the livingrooms of the house? First of all, it was necessary to verify Dr. Goode'sobservations.
We chatted a few moments, then took leave of Myra Moreton.
"Keep up your courage," whispered Craig with a look that told her thathe had seen the conflict between loyalty to her father and to herlover.
Lionel drove us back to the station in the car alone. Nothing ofimportance was said by any of us until we had almost reached thestation.
"I can see," he said finally, "that you don't feel sure that it is acancer house."
Kennedy said nothing.
"Well," he pursued, "I don't know anything about it, of course. But I doknow this much--those doctors are making a good thing out of father andthe rest of us."
The car had pulled up. "I've got no use for Loeb," the young man wenton. "Still, I'd rather not that we had trouble with him. I'll tell you,"he added in a burst of confidence, "he has a little girl who works forhim, his secretary, Miss Golder. She comes from Norwood. I should hateto have anything happen to queer her. People used to think Goode wasengaged to her before he took that office next to us and got ambitious.Father placed her with Dr. Loeb. If it's necessary to do anything withhim, I wish you'd think whether she couldn't be kept out of it in someway."
"I'll try to do it," agreed Craig, as we shook hands and climbed on theearly afternoon train back to the city.