"Then if this was just an ordinary case the report would be that the man died of...?"

"Heart failure, Madame."

Mme. Storey and the Inspector looked at each other. Rumsey was very glum.

"But there are poisons, doctor," my employer insisted, "that may kill without leaving any trace of themselves in the body?"

"There are such poisons," he answered cautiously, "but naturally they are not known outside the laboratory. We never meet them in practice."

"There is a possibility this crime may be the work of a chemist."

"I am aware of it."

"Would you be kind enough to prepare me a list of such poisons together with their properties and effects so far as known?" she asked.

"Certainly, Madame."

"What's the use?" said Rumsey. "Even though there are such poisons, how can we go beyond the body?"

"Every precedent has to be created in the first place," she answered smiling.

"I say we're stalled," he said with his hara.s.sed air. "Aren't we justified now in a.s.suming that it was only a coincidence?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, a practical joker calls up and tells you there is going to be a murder at Mrs. Julian's. You go there, and a man happens to die from natural causes."

Mme. Storey slowly shook her head. "That would be stretching the arm of coincidence too far. I don't believe he died a natural death, and you don't believe it. The public would never believe it, and if we tried to put it over it would only react to the damage of our own reputations."

"But what can we do?" he said helplessly. "There is no case!"

"We must build up a case."

"Have you a theory?" he asked eagerly.

"I have a theory," she answered dryly, "but the evidence is insufficient."

They agreed among themselves to withhold the result of the autopsy for a few hours, or at least until Dr. Chisholm had time to read up on the rare poisons that might have been administered to Ram Lal. However, as he was in the act of taking his leave, the telephone rang and a man's voice inquired for him.

I handed the instrument over to him. He presently clapped a hand over the transmitter and lifted a dismayed face.

"It's the city editor of the Morning Press," he said. "He tells me somebody has just called him up to say that the autopsy on the body of Ram Lal revealed no trace of poison. He wants me to confirm it. At my office they told him I was here."

Inspector Rumsey jumped up, swearing roundly. My employer used no expletives, but her face turned grim.

"This is the fine Italian hand of the murderer again," she said quietly. "He is vain of his crime."

"But the suspects are all locked up!" cried the perplexed Inspector. "How could they reach a telephone?"

She did not answer. "If the truth is out we would only make ourselves ridiculous by denying it," she said to Dr. Chisholm. "Tell the city editor his information is correct."

He did so, and hung up. Both men looked to my employer for inspiration. She arose and paced the long room, thinking hard. At last she said: "When you find yourself up against it, unexpected measures are called for. Jim Shryock dares you to produce the suspects for a hearing two days hence. Why wait until he is ready? Shryock is famous for his success in making away with evidence. I suggest you produce them before a magistrate this afternoon."

"They'll be set free!" cried Rumsey.

"It doesn't matter much," she said impatiently; "none of those three is the actual murderer.... Have them up this afternoon. Summon your witnesses to court. But do not let the suspects be arraigned until just before court adjourns. If the case goes over until the next day so much the better. I take it you can arrange that?"

"Sure!" said the puzzled Rumsey. "Anything you say. But what's the idea. Just give me a hint of what you're up to so I won't make any mistake."

"It's simply this," she answered. "I want to collect the whole dramatis personae in court this afternoon, and keep them there, so that I can do some intensive work on the case without interference."

"How about Liptrott?"

"I'll attend to him while I'm eating my lunch."

VI In order to save time I had a light lunch sent in for Mme. Storey. She was eating it when Liptrott was brought up from Headquarters carrying his precious box. His guards were invited to wait in the hall. Inspector Rumsey who had been away on some errand returned about the same time.

I have already described the old man with his decent black clothes and old-fashioned Yankee manner. There was no look of the potential murderer about him. On all subjects but one he seemed perfectly sane and shrewd, but when that blessed machine came up, his tongue went wild. Such borderline cases, of course, may be extremely dangerous.

"He's happy again," the Inspector whispered to Mme. Storey. "They gave him another needle."

And indeed the old man seemed as pleased as a child at a party. My employer had me order in some good cigars for him. He bit the end off one, and lighted it with gusto.

"The real Havana, mem. Once I smoked none but the best myself."

We grouped ourselves around the big writing-table.

"Mr. Liptrott," said Mme. Storey, "I didn't have them bring you up here to be worried with questions about that terrible affair yesterday. I am just curious about that wonderful machine of yours, and I'm hoping you'll give me a demonstration."

He sprang up with alacrity. "Happy to oblige, 'm."

I was sitting on Mme. Storey's right with my note-book on the table. The Inspector was opposite her with his chair turned half around so he could watch Liptrott. The old man carried his apparatus to the nearest outlet in the baseboard, and lifted out the smaller box with the cords dangling from it, and switches and dials on top. Plugging it in, he turned a switch and I heard the familiar buzzing and crackling. The sound brought back the whole horrible scene in Mrs. Julian's boudoir.

Satisfied that it was working all right, he switched it off and gave us a little lecture. I shall not try to repeat it all. A crazy mixture of electrical and physiological terms, it sounded like utter nonsense to me. For instance: "... And so, mem, just as a man-made generator gathers the vital principle out of the air and sends it to us in a current that we can use for light and power, so nature's generator which is the body, absorbs life through its organs. But as the body machine wears out it becomes less able to trans.m.u.te raw life to its own uses, and so our vitality fails.

"My machine replaces the organs and glands of the body. It takes raw electricity from the power station and digests it into a form that the body can use. I am no quack doctor. I make no claim that it can cure disease. I only say that it will furnish you with the vitality necessary to resist disease and to keep you young."

The obvious question was, why didn't he renew his own visibly failing vitality? However, n.o.body put it to him.

"How wonderful!" said Mme. Storey. "Can you give us all a sample now?"

"Not all of you at once," he said. "One at a time. I must first find out the measure of a person's vitality, and set the machine accordingly. No two persons are the same."

"I see," said Mme. Storey. "We are all like radio receiving sets that only pick up the wave lengths for which we are set."

"Same principle, mem."

You see there was a crazy plausibility about his spiel. I could understand how a woman like Mrs. Julian might be deceived by it for a while.

Liptrott held out a small zinc cylinder that was connected to the machine by a cord. "If you'll grasp this a minute the dial will register."

Mme. Storey obeyed, and he read off the dial: "Seven four seven, point two five. Your vitality is very high, mem. You would not need my machine for many a year to come."

"That's nice. I suppose it won't hurt me."

"Oh, no. n.o.body feels so good but what they couldn't feel better."

He took the cylinder from her. "What must I do now?" she asked.

"Nothing, mem. You may sit and eat. The best of my machine is, the user don't have to devote any time to it. You can go on about your business and it will still be doing its work as long as you're in the same room."

"How convenient!"

Seating herself, she took another sandwich. Meanwhile Liptrott turned a switch, and the crackling recommenced. He had set up a little vertical steel disc on top of the box, and turned it towards Mme. Storey. For a while nothing was said.

"Do you feel anything?" he asked at last.

"A sort of pleasant warmth stealing through my veins."

"That's it!" he cried exultantly. "Increased vitality ... I am only giving you a very little," he added. "Too much would be dangerous, very dangerous!"

It was impossible to tell from Mme. Storey's expression whether she was really impressed or not. Rumsey was watching her covertly.

Liptrott presently switched off the current. "That's enough," he said, "or you wouldn't get any sleep tonight."

"I am tingling all over," she said.

He carefully deposited the box in its case together with the various cords and handles, and locked it up. He then stood up with a manner that he intended to be very dramatic, but it was pathetic in one so old. His eyes were quite daft then.

"Now that I have convinced you of the worth of my invention," he said, "I have a statement to make."

Mme. Storey was calmly eating. "What is it?"

He folded his arms like an old-time actor. "It was me who killed Professor Ram Lal."

"Good G.o.d! how?" exclaimed Rumsey.

"With my machine. I gave him the full charge. It killed him. I told Mme. Storey over the 'phone I was going to do it."

"Yours was not the voice I heard over the 'phone," I said.

"I changed my voice to sound young."

"What did you do it for?" demanded the Inspector.

"He was a blackguard and a swindler! I killed him to save Mrs. Julian."

"Is there anything in this?" said the Inspector turning to Mme. Storey.

She glanced at the old man enigmatically. "I find it hard to believe," she said, "because I only experienced good from the machine." Clearly, this was to draw him out.

Mildly as the doubt was expressed, it roused Liptrott to a crazy fury. In order to justify his invention he was willing, it appeared, to send himself to the chair. "It's true! It's true," he cried stamping on the floor. "What can build up can also destroy! If I had an animal here, a dog, a cat, a bird, I could prove it to you. I would kill it before your eyes."

My employer pretended to raise objections. "I don't want anything killed."

"Then I won't kill it," said Liptrott. "I'll just drive it crazy for a while. That will show you.... Send out to an animal store," he begged; "get a guinea pig, a young dog, anything that has life!"

The upshot of this strange scene was that I was presently despatched to the bas.e.m.e.nt to borrow the house cat from the engineer.

He had his machine out of the box again, and was testing it when I entered. He had calmed down, but his glance was still perfectly insane. "It will be a little difficult to take her register," he said. "You had better hold her since she's accustomed to you."

I held the cat on her back in my lap, putting the zinc cylinder against her breast as Liptrott told me, while he steadied her hindquarters. She was a gentle cat and made no protest at first, but suddenly with a loud miaow, she leaped from my lap and running to the door, scratched at it, and looked at me reproachfully over her shoulder.

"I have her register!" cried Liptrott, glancing at his dial. "It is seven six eight. A very strong cat. So much the better!"

Switching on the current he turned the steel disc in the direction of the cat. She, seeing that no further move was made against her, sat down with admirable composure, and started licking her paw.

It all seemed like crazy nonsense to me, nevertheless my heart was beating fast. There was something uncanny about it. There was no sound in the room but the m.u.f.fled crackling and buzzing from inside the box.

Suddenly the cat with an uneasy whine arose and stood as if listening, twitching her tail. She crouched and whimpered, twisting her head from side to side. Then with a cry she began to run. She ran straight into the wall. She seemed to have increased to twice her size and her tail stood up as thick as a fox's brush. Faster and faster she ran like a creature possessed, until she seemed to be running straight around the walls.

Liptrott switched off the current. He laughed and slapped his thigh in childish delight. "Now will you believe me! Now will you believe me!" he babbled.

I stared at him in horror. Crazy he certainly was, but it seemed to me that he possessed the power of life and death in that black box!

"Good G.o.d, then it's true!" muttered the Inspector. "It was he who killed Ram Lal!"

"He had no more to do with Ram Lal's death than I had," said Mme. Storey coolly from her chair. "I suspected it from the first. Now I know it. There is nothing the matter with the cat but a shot of cocaine. I saw him give her the needle while Bella held her."

Poor Rumsey looked excessively foolish. I know I felt so.

Liptrott, when his trick was exposed, snarled with rage, and started cursing us all. His guards led him away.

"Nothing in it but a crazy desire to win notoriety for his machine," said Mme. Storey. "There's no use bringing him up in court. Better take him home to his hotel."

VII Since I had inside information that the suspects in the Ram Lal case were not to be arraigned until near the close of the session, I did not go to court until after four. The place was the West Side Court on Fifty-Third Street. I was provided with a witness' card which would admit me to a seat on the front benches.

The gross figure of Jim Shryock was lolling in the corner seat of the front row. With a sneer fixed in his face, he was idly tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his nails. An entirely unscrupulous lawyer with mysterious political affiliations, he was one of the most sinister figures in New York. Everybody knew he was a crook, but it seemed impossible to reach him. In the end I'm glad to say, Mme. Storey caught him with the goods. But that's another story.

I was astonished to see that he had old Liptrott sitting beside him. At the moment I was unable to figure out the significance of this move. Liptrott was quiet enough then.

The magistrate was McManigal, one of the newer appointees who take themselves very seriously.

As the moments pa.s.sed, the frown on Inspector Rumsey's face deepened. He knew that he was doomed to cut a ridiculous figure in court unless Mme. Storey came to his aid before our suspects were arraigned.

Finally their names were called, and they were brought in. Cushack was trying to look nonchalant, while Mrs. Bracker was tight-lipped and defiant. Both wished to have it understood that though they happened to be arraigned together, there was no connection between them. Jim Shryock arose lazily, and entered the enclosure to whisper with them.

Rumsey started a speech to the bench relating all the circ.u.mstances of Ram Lal's death. He was obviously sparring for time, and his Honour soon became impatient.