"Nevertheless--why worry her with your troubles, Ted, until necessary?"

"Then you know about--us?" I asked navely.

"I'm not a d.a.m.ned fool in everything, Ted."

"All right--I shan't tell her unless I have to."

With this I went into the laboratory. During my absence, Prospero or his companion, or both together, had searched the place from top to bottom.

Every bottle with a paper label had been carefully washed and the labels removed. Galvanometers, ammeters, voltmeters, all our delicate instruments, including the chemical balanced, had been rendered inaccurate, hence useless until re-calibrated. They had worked with skill, for nothing had been taken. My notes had been burned one by one in a Bunsen flame, and the ashes powdered. A careful inventory revealed a situation difficult to explain to a court of law and still more difficult to prove. It was true the doc.u.ments weren't there and their ashes were. It was another matter to establish these facts on a witness stand.

I sent for Joe, the day watchman, who had been detained by Knowlton until my examination of the laboratory was complete.

"Who used the laboratory today, Joe?" I asked the burly Pole who looked after the plant on Sundays.

"Mr. Fougeer--an' Mrs. Fougeer--they worked here all day--mos' important job, he tells me--I let 'em in building--he have key to this room."

"What time did they leave?"

"'Bout tree 'clock. I fin' door unlock' near six--Mr. Fougeer, he forgot lock him--I lock door--everything he look O. K. inside."

"All right, Joe. You did your duty," Knowlton said, dismissing him.

Naturally we had given orders that Prospero was to have access to the laboratory at any time, not suspecting this form of danger.

"There are three hours unaccounted for with the door unlocked. I suppose that was done with some idea of using it as an alibi," I said.

"It does beat h.e.l.l, the cussed things that can happen in this world, Ted," Knowlton generalized. "Still, I want to go very easy on any legal proceedings, for two good reasons: it's possible I can talk to Prospero when he's sober, and second, any publicity will put the bank wise that we're in a double extra deep bottomless hole."

"You know we have to get all our chemicals from New York--so the first thing to do is to make out a list, for I can't risk using these unlabelled bottles, even those that are easily recognized. The contents may have been tampered with."

"Can you test that?" Knowlton asked.

"Yes." I took at random two or three bottles and poured some of their contents into test-tubes. I then tried a few simple reactions. In each case, the chemical purity of the materials proved to have been destroyed. Our hands were completely tied.

"That old devil would never have thought of that all by himself,"

Knowlton said, after a string of complicated introductory epithets. "The circus woman did that--I recognize the feminine touch."

"I can't help admiring the skill with which it was done. Not a bottle betrays by sight or smell, except for the missing label, that the contents aren't all right."

Knowlton grinned, in spite of himself.

"Good boy, Ted. I'm glad to see you aren't panic-stricken, any way.

Well, I might as well go home and get some sleep. You make out your list and telegraph tonight."

I began my list of needed materials, wondering the while what Helen would say if she knew how the day was ending for us both. The thought of her put a desperate eagerness into me--I was not going to be beaten, black as things looked. Then a new idea came to me. Prospero would probably appear in the morning to see the results; if he found me simply getting ready to begin again, he might try a new scheme to injure us. On the other hand, if he saw me working away with the damaged chemicals, as if ignorant of what had happened to them, he would conclude his devilish plan was succeeding and keep quiet. I left my desk, lit the Bunsen burners under the sand baths, and set out several dishes of compounds to stew and evaporate. I spent an hour or more in carefully setting my stage; under the safety hood there was a fuming beaker; there were filtrates in various stages of progress, in addition to the dishes over the flames. It was a normal-looking night's work--a continuation of Friday's experiments to all outward appearances. Then I returned to my real work.

About four in the morning I heard a familiar step, and my heart leaped to think I had so well prepared for just this contingency. Prospero entered, bleary, dishevelled, his flowing black tie loose and streaming, his bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned waistcoat b.u.t.toned awry, his yellow gloves dirty and stained. On his face was the leering, crafty expression of the drunkard or the insane.

"You're early," I remarked drily, barely glancing at him.

"Got a big idea, Teddy--biggest idea I ever had--you know that?"

"Glad to hear it," and I scratched away at my list.

"Makin' notes, Ted? That's right--always keep your notes," and he roared a drunken laugh. He walked over to one of the experiments and smelt the beaker cautiously. He was evidently satisfied his plan was working, for he laughed long and loudly again. "That's good stuff, Ted.

Bril-brilliant idea--if it works. You must keep careful notes on that ex--experiment."

I looked at him. "You are a great chemist, Mr. de Fougere, but even I know enough to know you can't always tell what's in a beaker by the smell." The sarcasm missed him.

"That's right, Ted--that's right. Best ex-experiments look all right--good theory, but won't work."

He lit a cigarette and hummed a wabbly tune, sitting astride a chair and watching me with his empty leer.

"Why did you wash all the labels off the bottles?" I asked quietly.

"Secrecy, Teddy--secrecy. Important work here--worth millions. Any one could walk in and find out all about it. We know all the bottles, now, Teddy--don't need labels, do we?"

The telephone stood on my desk in front of me, and I meditated calling up Knowlton. Finally I thought better of it, for my play was not to let Prospero know we had any inkling of the truth.

"That's a good idea," I said, "taking off the labels. I never thought of it just that way before."

"Of course you didn't, Ted. You don't know the world. It's a rough place, my boy--a rough place."

"It has delayed me some, because you didn't tell me first," I went on casually. "For instance, I want the bottle with the mixture made up according to the formula you worked out for the Texas contract. We have to start work on that job at seven." I paused and pretended to look through my papers.

"The Texas contract, eh? You know the formula--go ahead and make it." He hugged one knee and his eyes narrowed at me.

"No," I said, "that was your work."

"It's in your notes, Ted. Look it up."

"I took a copy of them away with me Sat.u.r.day morning--I'll have to go down after them, if you don't tell me."

He sprang to his feet: "You lie, Ted, G.o.d d.a.m.n you, you lie!" My hand reached for the telephone, then paused. I was puzzled about what my next move ought to be.

"Are you goin' to sit there and let me call you a liar?" he challenged.

I turned around in my chair and looked him over. Excitement was working him up to a frenzy; his lips drooled. He wasn't a pleasant sight, but, curiously, I felt no physical fear; it was the critical business situation that alarmed me.

"I haven't time for a personal quarrel, Fougere," I said. "At present our business is to make good on the Texas contract. It's true that I have no copy of the notes you destroyed."

"Ah!" he exulted.

"Cut out the melodrama," I said with a pretence of boredom, "and come back when you are sober. This is too important a matter to play with."

"You admit it!" he shouted. "I've beaten you at your own filthy game!"

He turned and crashed two of my stewing beakers to the floor and trampled on the mess. "Not one of your experiments will work--I've ruined them all! You tried to trick me, but by G.o.d, you couldn't do it!"

"I know that you are a drunkard and a thief--and one or two other things--that you break your word and have neither honour nor loyalty." I was getting as eloquent as Prospero himself. "Still, you'll tell me that formula or you'll land in gaol."

"You can't prove anything against me--but I can prove you tried to steal my great discovery--it was there, in your notes, and I have a witness."