CHAPTER XIX
THE GERM LETTER
Lynn Moulton made no fight and Kennedy did not pursue the case, for,with the rescue of Antoinette Moulton, his interest ceased.
Blackmail takes various forms, and the Moulton affair was only onephase of it. It was not long before we had to meet a much strangerattempt.
"Read the letter, Professor Kennedy. Then I will tell you the sequel."
Mrs. Hunter Blake lay back in the cushions of her invalid chair in thesun parlor of the great Blake mansion on Riverside Drive, facing theHudson with its continuous reel of maritime life framed against thegreen-hilled background of the Jersey shore.
Her nurse, Miss Dora Sears, gently smoothed out the pillows andadjusted them so that the invalid could more easily watch us. Mrs.Blake, wealthy, known as a philanthropist, was not an old woman, buthad been for years a great sufferer from rheumatism.
I watched Miss Sears eagerly. Full-bosomed, fine of face and figure,she was something more than a nurse; she was a companion. She hadbright, sparkling black eyes and an expression about her well-cut mouthwhich made one want to laugh with her. It seemed to say that the worldwas a huge joke and she invited you to enjoy the joke with her.
Kennedy took the letter which Miss Sears proffered him, and as he didso I could not help noticing her full, plump forearm on which gleamed ahandsome plain gold bracelet. He spread the letter out on a daintywicker table in such a way that we both could see it.
We had been summoned over the telephone to the Blake mansion byReginald Blake, Mrs. Blake's eldest son. Reginald had been veryreticent over the reason, but had seemed very anxious and insistentthat Kennedy should come immediately.
Craig read quickly and I followed him, fascinated by the letter fromits very opening paragraph.
"Dear Madam," it began. "Having received my diploma as doctor ofmedicine and bacteriology at Heidelberg in 1909, I came to the UnitedStates to study a most serious disease which is prevalent in several ofthe western mountain states."
So far, I reflected, it looked like an ordinary appeal for aid. Thenext words, however, were queer: "I have four hundred persons of wealthon my list. Your name was--"
Kennedy turned the page. On the next leaf of the letter sheet waspasted a strip of gelatine. The first page had adhered slightly to thegelatine.
"Chosen by fate," went on the sentence ominously.
"By opening this letter," I read, "you have liberated millions of thevirulent bacteria of this disease. Without a doubt you are infected bythis time, for no human body is impervious to them, and up to thepresent only one in one hundred has fully recovered after going throughall its stages."
I gasped. The gelatine had evidently been arranged so that when the twosheets were pulled apart, the germs would be thrown into the air aboutthe person opening the letter. It was a very ingenious device.
The letter continued, "I am happy to say, however, that I have aprophylactic which will destroy any number of these germs if used up tothe ninth day. It is necessary only that you should place five thousanddollars in an envelope and leave it for me to be called for at the deskof the Prince Henry Hotel. When the messenger delivers the money to me,the prophylactic will be sent immediately.
"First of all, take a match and burn this letter to avoid spreading thedisease. Then change your clothes and burn the old ones. Enclosed youwill find in a germ-proof envelope an exact copy of this letter. Theroom should then be thoroughly fumigated. Do not come into closecontact with anyone near and dear to you until you have used theprophylactic. Tell no one. In case you do, the prophylactic will not besent under any circumstances. Very truly yours, DR. HANS HOPF."
"Blackmail!" exclaimed Kennedy, looking intently again at the gelatineon the second page, as I involuntarily backed away and held my breath.
"Yes, I know," responded Mrs. Blake anxiously, "but is it true?"
There could be no doubt from the tone of her voice that she more thanhalf believed that it was true.
"I cannot say--yet," replied Craig, still cautiously scanning theapparently innocent piece of gelatine on the original letter which Mrs.Blake had not destroyed. "I shall have to keep it and examine it."
On the gelatine I could see a dark mass which evidently was supposed tocontain the germs.
"I opened the letter here in this room," she went on. "At first Ithought nothing of it. But this morning, when Buster, my prizePekinese, who had been with me, sitting on my lap at the time, andcloser to the letter even than I was, when Buster was taken suddenlyill, I--well, I began to worry."
She finished with a little nervous laugh, as people will to hide theirreal feelings.
"I should like to see the dog," remarked Kennedy simply.
"Miss Sears," asked her mistress, "will you get Buster, please?"
The nurse left the room. No longer was there the laughing look on herface. This was serious business.
A few minutes later she reappeared, carrying gingerly a small dogbasket. Mrs. Blake lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful little"Peke," and it was easy to see that Buster was indeed ill.
"Who is your doctor?" asked Craig, considering.
"Dr. Rae Wilson, a very well-known woman physician."
Kennedy nodded recognition of the name. "What does she say?" he asked,observing the dog narrowly.
"We haven't told anyone, outside, of it yet," replied Mrs. Blake. "Infact until Buster fell sick, I thought it was a hoax."
"You haven't told anyone?"
"Only Reginald and my daughter Betty. Betty is frantic--not with fearfor herself, but with fear for me. No one can reassure her. In fact itwas as much for her sake as anyone's that I sent for you. Reginald hastried to trace the thing down himself, but has not succeeded."
She paused. The door opened and Reginald Blake entered. He was a youngfellow, self confident and no doubt very efficient at the new dances,though scarcely fitted to rub elbows with a cold world which, outsideof his own immediate circle, knew not the name of Blake. He stood for amoment regarding us through the smoke of his cigarette.
"Tell me just what you have done," asked Kennedy of him as his motherintroduced him, although he had done the talking for her over thetelephone.
"Done?" he drawled. "Why, as soon as mother told me of the letter, Ileft an envelope up at the Prince Henry, as it directed."
"With the money?" put in Craig quickly.
"Oh, no--just as a decoy."
"Yes. What happened?"
"Well, I waited around a long time. It was far along in the day when awoman appeared at the desk. I had instructed the clerk to be on thewatch for anyone who asked for mail addressed to a Dr. Hopf. The clerkslammed the register. That was the signal. I moved up closer."
"What did she look like?" asked Kennedy keenly.
"I couldn't see her face. But she was beautifully dressed, with a longlight flowing linen duster, a veil that hid her features and on herhands and arms a long pair of motoring doeskin gloves. By George, shewas a winner--in general looks, though. Well, something about theclerk, I suppose, must have aroused her suspicions. For, a momentlater, she was gone in the crowd. Evidently she had thought of thedanger and had picked out a time when the lobby would be full andeverybody busy. But she did not leave by the front entrance throughwhich she entered. I concluded that she must have left by one of theside street carriage doors."
"And she got away?"
"Yes. I found that she asked one of the boys at the door to crank up acar standing at the curb. She slid into the seat, and was off in aminute."
Kennedy said nothing. But I knew that he was making a mighty effort torestrain comment on the bungling amateur detective work of the son ofour client.
Reginald saw the look on his face. "Still," he hastened, "I got thenumber of the car. It was 200859 New York."
"You have looked it up?" queried Kennedy quickly.
"I didn't need to do it. A few minutes later Dr. Rae Wilson herselfcame out--storming like mad. Her car had been stolen at the very doorof the hotel
by this woman with the innocent aid of the hotelemployees."
Kennedy was evidently keenly interested. The mention of the stolen carhad apparently at once suggested an idea to him.
"Mrs. Blake," he said, as he rose to go, "I shall take this letter withme. Will you see that Buster is sent up to my laboratory immediately?"
She nodded. It was evident that Buster was a great pet with her andthat it was with difficulty she kept from smoothing his silky coat.
"You--you won't hurt Buster?" she pleaded.
"No. Trust me. More than that, if there is any possible way ofuntangling this mystery, I shall do it."
Mrs. Blake looked rather than spoke her thanks. As we went downstairs,accompanied by Miss Sears, we could see in the music room a veryinteresting couple, chatting earnestly over the piano.
Betty Blake, a slip of a girl in her first season, was dividing herattention between her visitor and the door by which we were passing.
She rose as she heard us, leaving the young man standing alone at thepiano. He was of an age perhaps a year or two older than ReginaldBlake. It was evident that, whatever Miss Betty might think, he hadeyes for no one else but the pretty debutante. He even seemed to beregarding Kennedy sullenly, as if he were a possible rival.
"You--you don't think it is serious?" whispered Betty in an undertone,scarcely waiting to be introduced. She had evidently known of ourvisit, but had been unable to get away to be present upstairs.
"Really, Miss Blake," reassured Kennedy, "I can't say. All I can do isto repeat what I have already said to your mother. Keep up a good heartand trust me to work it out."
"Thank you," she murmured, and then, impulsively extending her smallhand to Craig, she added, "Mr. Kennedy, if there is anything I can doto help you, I beg that you will call on me."
"I shall not forget," he answered, relinquishing the hand reluctantly.Then, as she thanked him, and turned again to her guest, he added in alow tone to me, "A remarkable girl, Walter, a girl that can be dependedon."
We followed Miss Sears down the hall.
"Who was that young man in the music room?" asked Kennedy, when we wereout of earshot.
"Duncan Baldwin," she answered. "A friend and bosom companion ofReginald."
"He seems to think more of Betty than of her brother," Craig remarkeddryly.
Miss Sears smiled. "Sometimes, we think they are secretly engaged," shereturned. We had almost reached the door. "By the way," she askedanxiously, "do you think there are any precautions that I should takefor Mrs. Blake--and the rest?"
"Hardly," answered Kennedy, after a moment's consideration, "as long asyou have taken none in particular already. Still, I suppose it will dono harm to be as antiseptic as possible."
"I shall try," she promised, her face showing that she considered theaffair now in a much more serious light than she had before our visit.
"And keep me informed of anything that turns up," added Kennedy handingher a card with the telephone number of the laboratory.
As we left the Blake mansion, Kennedy remarked, "We must trace that carsomehow--at least we must get someone working on that."
Half an hour later we were in a towering office building on LibertyStreet, the home of various kinds of insurance. Kennedy stopped beforea door which bore the name, "Douglas Garwood: Insurance Adjuster."
Briefly, Craig told the story of the stolen car, omitting the accountof the dastardly method taken to blackmail Mrs. Blake. As he proceededa light seemed to break on the face of Garwood, a heavyset man, whosevery gaze was inquisitorial.
"Yes, the theft has been reported to us already by Dr. Wilson herself,"he interrupted. "The car was insured in a company I represent."
"I had hoped so," remarked Kennedy, "Do you know the woman?" he added,watching the insurance adjuster who had been listening intently as hetold about the fair motor car thief.
"Know her?" repeated Garwood emphatically. "Why, man, we have been soclose to that woman that I feel almost intimate with her. Thedescriptions are those of a lady, well-dressed, and with a voice andmanner that would carry her through any of the fashionable hotels,perhaps into society itself."
"One of a gang of blackmailers, then," I hazarded.
Garwood shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," he acquiesced. "It isautomobile thieving that interests me, though. Why," he went on, risingexcitedly, "the gangs of these thieves are getting away with half amillion dollars' worth of high-priced cars every year. The police seemto be powerless to stop it. We appeal to them, but with no result. So,now we have taken things into our own hands."
"What are you doing in this case?" asked Kennedy.
"What the insurance companies have to do to recover stolenautomobiles," Garwood replied. "For, with all deference to your friend,Deputy O'Connor, it is the insurance companies rather than the policewho get stolen cars back."
He had pulled out a postal card from a pigeon hole in his desk,selecting it from several apparently similar. We read:
$250.00 REWARD
We will pay $100.00 for car, $150.00 additional for information whichwill convict the thief. When last seen, driven by a woman, name notknown, who is described as dark-haired, well-dressed, slight,apparently thirty years old. The car is a Dixon, 1912, seven-passenger,touring, No. 193,222, license No. 200,859, New York; dark red body,mohair top, brass lamps, has no wind shield; rear axle brake banddevice has extra nut on turnbuckle not painted. Car last seen nearPrince Henry Hotel, New York City, Friday, the 10th.
Communicate by telegraph or telephone, after notifying nearest policedepartment, with Douglas Garwood, New York City. "The secret of it is,"explained Garwood, as we finished reading, "that there are innumerablepeople who keep their eyes open and like to earn money easily. Thus wehave several hundreds of amateur and enthusiastic detectives watchingall over the city and country for any car that looks suspicious."
Kennedy thanked him for his courtesy, and we rose to go. "I shall beglad to keep you informed of anything that turns up," he promised.