The War Terror

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE PSYCHANALYSIS

  "H--M," mused Kennedy as we walked along after leaving the house."There were several 'complexes,' as they are called, there--the mostinteresting and important being the erotic, as usual. Now, take thelion in the dream, with his mane. That, I suspect, was Dr. Maudsley. Ifyou are acquainted with him, you will recall his heavy, almost tawnybeard."

  Kennedy seemed to be revolving something in his mind and I did notinterrupt. I had known him too long to feel that even a dream might nothave its value with him. Indeed, several times before he had given meglimpses into the fascinating possibilities of the new psychology.

  "In spite of the work of thousands of years, little progress has beenmade in the scientific understanding of dreams," he remarked a fewmoments later. "Freud, of Vienna--you recall the name?--has done most,I think in that direction."

  I recalled something of the theories of the Freudists, but said nothing.

  "It is an unpleasant feature of his philosophy," he went on, "but Freudfinds the conclusion irresistible that all humanity underneath theshell is sensuous and sensual in nature. Practically all dreams betraysome delight of the senses and sexual dreams are a large proportion.There is, according to the theory, always a wish hidden or expressed ina dream. The dream is one of three things, the open, the disguised orthe distorted fulfillment of a wish, sometimes recognized, sometimesrepressed.

  "Anxiety dreams are among the most interesting and important Anxietymay originate in psycho-sexual excitement, the repressed libido, as theFreudists call it. Neurotic fear has its origin in sexual life andcorresponds to a libido which has been turned away from its object andhas not succeeded in being applied. All so-called day dreams of womenare erotic; of men they are either ambition or love.

  "Often dreams, apparently harmless, turn out to be sinister if we takepains to interpret them. All have the mark of the beast. For example,there was that unknown woman who had fallen down and was surrounded bya crowd. If a woman dreams that, it is sexual. It can mean only afallen woman. That is the symbolism. The crowd always denotes a secret.

  "Take also the dream of death. If there is no sorrow felt, then thereis another cause for it. But if there is sorrow, then the dreamerreally desires death or absence. I expect to have you quarrel withthat. But read Freud, and remember that in childhood death issynonymous with being away. Thus for example, if a girl dreams that hermother is dead, perhaps it means only that she wishes her away so thatshe can enjoy some pleasure that her strict parent, by her presence,denies.

  "Then there was that dream about the baby in the water. That, I think,was a dream of birth. You see, I asked her practically to repeat thedreams because there were several gaps. At such points one usuallyfinds first hesitation, then something that shows one of the maincomplexes. Perhaps the subject grows angry at the discovery.

  "Now, from the tangle of the dream thought, I find that she fears thather husband is too intimate with another woman, and that perhapsunconsciously she has turned to Dr. Maudsley for sympathy. Dr.Maudsley, as I said, is not only bearded, but somewhat of a sociallion. He had called on her the day before. Of such stuff are all dreamlions when there is no fear. But she shows that she has been guilty ofno wrongdoing--she escaped, and felt relieved."

  "I'm glad of that," I put in. "I don't like these scandals. On the Starwhen I have to report them, I do it always under protest. I don't knowwhat your psychanalysis is going to show in the end, but I for one havethe greatest sympathy for that poor little woman in the big housealone, surrounded by and dependent on servants, while her husband isout collecting scandals."

  "Which suggests our next step," he said, turning the subject. "I hopethat Butler has found out the retreat of Veronica Haversham."

  We discovered Miss Haversham at last at Dr. Klemm's sanitarium, up inthe hills of Westchester County, a delightful place with a reputationfor its rest cures. Dr. Klemm was an old friend of Kennedy's, havinghad some connection with the medical school at the University.

  She had gone up there rather suddenly, it seemed, to recuperate. Atleast that was what was given out, though there seemed to be muchmystery about her, and she was taking no treatment as far as was known.

  "Who is her physician?" asked Kennedy of Dr. Klemm as we sat in hisluxurious office.

  "A Dr. Maudsley of the city."

  Kennedy glanced quickly at me in time to check an exclamation.

  "I wonder if I could see her?"

  "Why, of course--if she is willing," replied Dr. Klemm.

  "I will have to have some excuse," ruminated Kennedy. "Tell her I am aspecialist in nervous troubles from the city, have been visiting one ofthe other patients, anything."

  Dr. Klemm pulled down a switch on a large oblong oak box on his desk,asked for Miss Haversham, and waited a moment.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "A vocaphone," replied Kennedy. "This sanitarium is quite up to date,Klemm."

  The doctor nodded and smiled. "Yes, Kennedy," he replied."Communicating with every suite of rooms we have the vocaphone. I findit very convenient to have these microphones, as I suppose you wouldcall them, catching your words without talking into them directly asyou have to do in the telephone and then at the other end emitting thewords without the use of an earpiece, from the box itself, as if from amegaphone horn. Miss Haversham, this is Dr. Klemm. There is a Dr.Kennedy here visiting another patient, a specialist from New York. He'dlike very much to see you if you can spare a few minutes."

  "Tell him to come up." The voice seemed to come from the vocaphone asthough she were in the room with us.

  Veronica Haversham was indeed wonderful, one of the leading figures inthe night life of New York, a statuesque brunette of striking beauty,though I had heard of often ungovernable temper. Yet there wassomething strange about her face here. It seemed perhaps a littleyellow, and I am sure that her nose had a peculiar look as if she weresuffering from an incipient rhinitis. The pupils of her eyes were asfine as pin heads, her eyebrows were slightly elevated. Indeed, I feltthat she had made no mistake in taking a rest if she would preserve thebeauty which had made her popularity so meteoric.

  "Miss Haversham," began Kennedy, "they tell me that you are sufferingfrom nervousness. Perhaps I can help you. At any rate it will do noharm to try. I know Dr. Maudsley well, and if he doesn't approve--well,you may throw the treatment into the waste basket."

  "I'm sure I have no reason to refuse," she said. "What would yousuggest?"

  "Well, first of all, there is a very simple test I'd like to try. Youwon't find that it bothers you in the least--and if I can't help you,then no harm is done."

  Again I watched Kennedy as he tactfully went through the preparationsfor another kind of psychanalysis, placing Miss Haversham at her easeon a davenport in such a way that nothing would distract her attention.As she reclined against the leather pillows in the shadow it was notdifficult to understand the lure by which she held together the littlecoterie of her intimates. One beautiful white arm, bare to the elbow,hung carelessly over the edge of the davenport, displaying a plain goldbracelet.

  "Now," began Kennedy, on whom I knew the charms of Miss Havershamproduced a negative effect, although one would never have guessed itfrom his manner, "as I read off from this list of words, I wish thatyou would repeat the first thing, anything," he emphasized, "that comesinto your head, no matter how trivial it may seem. Don't force yourselfto think. Let your ideas flow naturally. It depends altogether on yourpaying attention to the words and answering as quickly as youcan--remember, the first word that comes into your mind. It is easy todo. We'll call it a game," he reassured.

  Kennedy handed a copy of the list to me to record the answers. Theremust have been some fifty words, apparently senseless, chosen atrandom, it seemed. They were:

  head to dance salt white lie

  green sick new child to fear

  water pride to pray sad stork


  to sing ink money to marry false

  death angry foolish dear anxiety

  long needle despise to quarrel to kiss

  ship voyage finger old bride

  to pay to sin expensive family pure

  window bread to fall friend ridicule

  cold rich unjust luck to sleep

  "The Jung association word test is part of the Freud psychanalysis,also," he whispered to me, "You remember we tried something based onthe same idea once before?"

  I nodded. I had heard of the thing in connection with blood-pressuretests, but not this way.

  Kennedy called out the first word, "Head," while in his hand he held astop watch which registered to one-fifth of a second.

  Quickly she replied, "Ache," with an involuntary movement of her handtoward her beautiful forehead.

  "Good," exclaimed Kennedy. "You seem to grasp the idea better than mostof my patients."

  I had recorded the answer, he the time, and we found out, I recallafterward, that the time averaged something like two and two-fifthsseconds.

  I thought her reply to the second word, "green," was curious. It camequickly, "Envy."

  However, I shall not attempt to give all the replies, but merely someof the most significant. There did not seem to be any hesitation aboutmost of the words, but whenever Kennedy tried to question her about aword that seemed to him interesting she made either evasive orhesitating answers, until it became evident that in the back of herhead was some idea which she was repressing and concealing from us,something that she set off with a mental "No Thoroughfare."

  He had finished going through the list, and Kennedy was now studyingover the answers and comparing the time records.

  "Now," he said at length, running his eye over the words again, "I wantto repeat the performance. Try to remember and duplicate your firstreplies," he said.

  Again we went through what at first had seemed to me to be a solemnfarce, but which I began to see was quite important. Sometimes shewould repeat the answer exactly as before. At other times a new wordwould occur to her. Kennedy was keen to note all the differences in thetwo lists.

  One which I recall because the incident made an impression on me had todo with the trio, "Death--life--inevitable."

  "Why that?" he asked casually.

  "Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'One should let nothing which onecan have escape, even if a little wrong is done; no opportunity shouldbe missed; life is so short, death inevitable'?"

  There were several others which to Kennedy seemed more important, butlong after we had finished I pondered this answer. Was that herphilosophy of life? Undoubtedly she would never have remembered thephrase if it had not been so, at least in a measure.

  She had begun to show signs of weariness, and Kennedy quickly broughtthe conversation around to subjects of apparently a general nature, butskillfully contrived so as to lead the way along lines her answers hadindicated.

  Kennedy had risen to go, still chatting. Almost unintentionally hepicked up from a dressing table a bottle of white tablets, without alabel, shaking it to emphasize an entirely, and I believe purposely,irrelevant remark.

  "By the way," he said, breaking off naturally, "what is that?"

  "Only something Dr. Maudsley had prescribed for me," she answeredquickly.

  As he replaced the bottle and went on with the thread of theconversation, I saw that in shaking the bottle he had abstracted acouple of the tablets before she realized it. "I can't tell you justwhat to do without thinking the case over," he concluded, rising to go."Yours is a peculiar case, Miss Haversham, baffling. I'll have to studyit over, perhaps ask Dr. Maudsley If I may see you again. Meanwhile, Iam sure what he is doing is the correct thing."

  Inasmuch as she had said nothing about what Dr. Maudsley was doing, Iwondered whether there was not just a trace of suspicion in her glanceat him from under her long dark lashes.

  "I can't see that you have done anything," she remarked pointedly. "Butthen doctors are queer--queer."

  That parting shot also had in it, for me, something to ponder over. Infact I began to wonder if she might not be a great deal more cleverthan even Kennedy gave her credit for being, whether she might not havesubmitted to his tests for pure love of pulling the wool over his eyes.

  Downstairs again, Kennedy paused only long enough to speak a few wordswith his friend Dr. Klemm.

  "I suppose you have no idea what Dr. Maudsley has prescribed for her?"he asked carelessly.

  "Nothing, as far as I know, except rest and simple food."

  He seemed to hesitate, then he said under his voice, "I suppose youknow that she is a regular dope fiend, seasons her cigarettes withopium, and all that."

  "I guessed as much," remarked Kennedy, "but how does she get it here?"

  "She doesn't."

  "I see," remarked Craig, apparently weighing now the man before him. Atlength he seemed to decide to risk something.

  "Klemm," he said, "I wish you would do something for me. I see you havethe vocaphone here. Now if--say Hazleton--should call--will you listenin on that vocaphone for me?" Dr. Klemm looked squarely at him.

  "Kennedy," he said, "it's unprofessional, but---"

  "So it is to let her be doped up under guise of a cure."

  "What?" he asked, startled. "She's getting the stuff now?"

  "No, I didn't say she was getting opium, or from anyone here. All thesame, if you would just keep an ear open---"

  "It's unprofessional, but--you'd not ask it without a good reason. I'lltry."

  It was very late when we got back to the city and we dined at an uptownrestaurant which we had almost to ourselves.

  Kennedy had placed the little whitish tablets in a small paper packetfor safe keeping. As we waited for our order he drew one from hispocket, and after looking at it a moment crushed it to a powder in thepaper.

  "What is it?" I asked curiously. "Cocaine?"

  "No," he said, shaking his head doubtfully.

  He had tried to dissolve a little of the powder in some water from theglass before him, but it would not dissolve.

  As he continued to look at it his eye fell on the cut-glass vinegarcruet before us. It was full of the white vinegar.

  "Really acetic acid," he remarked, pouring out a little.

  The white powder dissolved.

  For several minutes he continued looking at the stuff.

  "That, I think," he remarked finally, "is heroin."

  "More 'happy dust'?" I replied with added interest now, thinking of ourprevious case. "Is the habit so extensive?"

  "Yes," he replied, "the habit is comparatively new, although in Paris,I believe, they call the drug fiends, 'heroinomaniacs.' It is, as Itold you before, a derivative of morphine. Its scientific name isdiacetyl-morphin. It is New York's newest peril, one of the mostdangerous drugs yet. Thousands are slaves to it, although its sale issupposedly restricted. It is rotting the heart out of the Tenderloin.Did you notice Veronica Haversham's yellowish whiteness, her down-drawnmouth, elevated eyebrows, and contracted eyes? She may have taken it upto escape other drugs. Some people have--and have just got a new habit.It can be taken hypodermically, or in a tablet, or by powdering thetablet to a white crystalline powder and snuffing up the nose. That'sthe way she takes it. It produces rhinitis of the nasal passages, whichI see you observed, but did not understand. It has a more profoundeffect than morphine, and is ten times as powerful as codeine. And oneof the worst features is that so many people start with it, thinking itis as harmless as it has been advertised. I wouldn't be surprised ifshe used from seventy-five to a hundred one-twelfth grain tablets aday. Some of them do, you know."

  "And Dr. Maudsley," I asked quickly, "do you think it is through him orin spite of him?"

  "That's what I'd like to know. About those words," he continued, "whatdid you make of the list and the answers?"

&n
bsp; I had made nothing and said so, rather quickly.

  "Those," he explained, "were words selected and arranged to strikealmost all the common complexes in analyzing and diagnosing. You'dthink any intelligent person could give a fluent answer to them,perhaps a misleading answer. But try it yourself, Walter. You'll findyou can't. You may start all right, but not all the words will bereacted to in the same time or with the same smoothness and ease. Yet,like the expressions of a dream, they often seem senseless. But theyhave a meaning as soon as they are 'psychanalyzed.' All the mistakes inanswering the second time, for example, have a reason, if we can onlyget at it. They are not arbitrary answers, but betray the inmostsubconscious thoughts, those things marked, split off fromconsciousness and repressed into the unconscious. Associations, likedreams, never lie. You may try to conceal the emotions and unconsciousactions, but you can't."

  I listened, fascinated by Kennedy's explanation.

  "Anyone can see that that woman has something on her mind besides theheroin habit. It may be that she is trying to shake the habit off inorder to do it; it may be that she seeks relief from her thoughts byrefuge in the habit; and it may be that some one has purposely causedher to contract this new habit in the guise of throwing off an old. Theonly way by which to find out is to study the case."

  He paused. He had me keenly on edge, but I knew that he was not yet ina position to answer his queries positively.

  "Now I found," he went on, "that the religious complexes were extremelyfew; as I expected the erotic were many. If you will look over thethree lists you will find something queer about every such word as,'child, 'to marry,' 'bride,' 'to lie,' 'stork,' and so on. We're on theright track. That woman does know something about that child."

  "My eye catches the words 'to sin,' 'to fall,' 'pure,' and others," Iremarked, glancing over the list.

  "Yes, there's something there, too. I got the hint for the drug fromher hesitation over 'needle' and 'white.' But the main complex has todo with words relating to that child and to love. In short, I think weare going to find it to be the reverse of the rule of the French, thatit will be a case of 'cherchez l'homme.'"

  Early the next day Kennedy, after a night of studying over the case,journeyed up to the sanitarium again. We found Dr. Klemm eager to meetus.

  "What is it?" asked Kennedy, equally eager.

  "I overheard some surprising things over the vocaphone," he hastened."Hazleton called. Why, there must have been some wild orgies in thatprecious set of theirs, and, would you believe it, many of them seem tohave been at what Dr. Maudsley calls his 'stable studio,' a den he hasfixed up artistically over his garage on a side street."

  "Indeed?"

  "I couldn't get it all, but I did hear her repeating over and over toHazleton, 'Aren't you all mine? Aren't you all mine?' There must besome vague jealousy lurking in the heart of that ardent woman. I can'tfigure it out."

  "I'd like to see her again," remarked Kennedy. "Will you ask her if Imay?"

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  THE ENDS OF JUSTICE

  A few minutes later we were in the sitting room of her suite. Shereceived us rather ungraciously, I thought.

  "Do you feel any better?" asked Kennedy.

  "No," she replied curtly. "Excuse me for a moment. I wish to see thatmaid of mine. Clarisse!"

  She had hardly left the room when Kennedy was on his feet. The bottleof white tablets, nearly empty, was still on the table. I saw him takesome very fine white powder and dust it quickly over the bottle. Itseemed to adhere, and from his pocket he quickly drew a piece of whatseemed to be specially prepared paper, laid it over the bottle wherethe powder adhered, fitting it over the curves. He withdrew it quickly,for outside we heard her light step, returning. I am sure she eithersaw or suspected that Kennedy had been touching the bottle of tablets,for there was a look of startled fear on her face.

  "Then you do not feel like continuing the tests we abandoned lastnight?" asked Kennedy, apparently not noticing her look.

  "No, I do not," she almost snapped. "You--you are detectives. Mrs.Hazleton has sent you."

  "Indeed, Mrs. Hazleton has not sent us," insisted Kennedy, never for aninstant showing his surprise at her mention of the name.

  "You are. You can tell her, you can tell everybody. I'll tell--I'lltell myself. I won't wait. That child is mine--mine--not hers. Now--go!"

  Veronica Haversham on the stage never towered in a fit of passion asshe did now in real life, as her ungovernable feelings broke forthtempestuously on us.

  I was astounded, bewildered at the revelation, the possibilities inthose simple words, "The child is mine." For a moment I was stunned.Then as the full meaning dawned on me I wondered in a flood ofconsciousness whether it was true. Was it the product of herdrug-disordered brain? Had her desperate love for Hazleton produced ahallucination?

  Kennedy, silent, saw that the case demanded quick action. I shall neverforget the breathless ride down from the sanitarium to the Hazletonhouse on Riverside Drive.

  "Mrs. Hazleton," he cried, as we hurried in, "you will pardon me forthis unceremonious intrusion, but it is most important. May I troubleyou to place your fingers on this paper--so?"

  He held out to her a piece of the prepared paper. She looked at himonce, then saw from his face that he was not to be questioned. Almosttremulously she did as he said, saying not a word. I wondered whethershe knew the story of Veronica, or whether so far only hints of it hadbeen brought to her.

  "Thank you," he said quickly. "Now, if I may see Morton?"

  It was the first time we had seen the baby about whom the rapidlythickening events were crowding. He was a perfect specimen ofwell-cared-for, scientific infant.

  Kennedy took the little chubby fingers playfully in his own. He seemedat once to win the child's confidence, though he may have violatedscientific rules. One by one he pressed the little fingers on thepaper, until little Morton crowed with delight as one little piggyafter another "went to market." He had deserted thousands of dollars'worth of toys just to play with the simple piece of paper Kennedy hadbrought with him. As I looked at him, I thought of what Kennedy hadsaid at the start. Perhaps this innocent child was not to be enviedafter all. I could hardly restrain my excitement over the astoundingsituation which had suddenly developed.

  "That will do," announced Kennedy finally, carelessly folding up thepaper and slipping it into his pocket. "You must excuse me now."

  "You see," he explained on the way to the laboratory, "that powderadheres to fresh finger prints, taking all the gradations. Then thepaper with its paraffine and glycerine coating takes off the powder."

  In the laboratory he buried himself in work, with microscope compasses,calipers, while I fumed impotently at the window.

  "Walter," he called suddenly, "get Dr. Maudsley on the telephone. Tellhim to come immediately to the laboratory."

  Meanwhile Kennedy was busy arranging what he had discovered in logicalorder and putting on it the finishing touches.

  As Dr. Maudsley entered Kennedy greeted him and began by plungingdirectly into the case in answer to his rather discourteous inquiry asto why he had been so hastily summoned.

  "Dr. Maudsley," said Craig, "I have asked you to call alone because,while I am on the verge of discovering the truth in an important caseaffecting Morton Hazleton and his wife, I am frankly perplexed as tohow to go ahead."

  The doctor seemed to shake with excitement as Kennedy proceeded.

  "Dr. Maudsley," Craig added, dropping his voice, "is Morton III the sonof Millicent Hazleton or not? You were the physician in attendance onher at the birth. Is he?"

  Maudsley had been watching Kennedy furtively at first, but as he rappedout the words I thought the doctor's eyes would pop out of his head.Perspiration in great beads collected on his face.

  "P--professor K--Kennedy," he muttered, frantically rubbing his faceand lower jaw as if to compose the agitation he could so ill conceal,"let me explain."

  "Yes, yes--go on," urged Kennedy.

  "Mrs.
Hazleton's baby was born--dead. I knew how much she and the restof the family had longed for an heir, how much it meant. AndI--substituted for the dead child a newborn baby from the maternityhospital. It--it belonged to Veronica Haversham--then a poor chorusgirl. I did not intend that she should ever know it. I intended thatshe should think her baby was dead. But in some way she found out.Since then she has become a famous beauty, has numbered among herfriends even Hazleton himself. For nearly two years I have tried tokeep her from divulging the secret. From time to time hints of it haveleaked out. I knew that if Hazleton with his infatuation of her were tolearn---"

  "And Mrs. Hazleton, has she been told?" interrupted Kennedy.

  "I have been trying to keep it from her as long as I can, but it hasbeen difficult to keep Veronica from telling it. Hazleton himself wasso wild over her. And she wanted her son as she---"

  "Maudsley," snapped out Kennedy, slapping down on the table the mass ofprints and charts which he had hurriedly collected and was studying,"you lie! Morton is Millicent Hazleton's son. The whole story isblackmail. I knew it when she told me of her dreams and I suspectedfirst some such devilish scheme as yours. Now I know it scientifically."

  He turned over the prints.

  "I suppose that study of these prints, Maudsley, will convey nothing toyou. I know that it is usually stated that there are no two sets offinger prints in the world that are identical or that can be confused.Still, there are certain similarities of finger prints and othercharacteristics, and these similarities have recently been exhaustivelystudied by Bertilion, who has found that there are clear relationshipssometimes between mother and child in these respects. If Solomon werealive, doctor, he would not now have to resort to the expedient towhich he did when the two women disputed over the right to the livingchild. Modern science is now deciding by exact laboratory methods thesame problem as he solved by his unique knowledge of femininepsychology.

  "I saw how this case was tending. Not a moment too soon, I said tomyself, 'The hand of the child will tell.' By the very variations inunlike things, such as finger and palm prints, as tabulated andarranged by Bertillon after study in thousands of cases, by the veryloops, whorls, arches and composites, I have proved my case.

  "The dominancy, not the identity, of heredity through the infinitevarieties of finger markings is sometimes very striking. Uniquepatterns in a parent have been repeated with marvelous accuracy in thechild. I knew that negative results might prove nothing in regard toparentage, a caution which it is important to observe. But I wasprepared to meet even that.

  "I would have gone on into other studies, such as Tammasia's, ofheredity in the veining of the back of the hands; I would have measuredthe hands, compared the relative proportion of the parts; I would havestudied them under the X-ray as they are being studied to-day; I wouldhave tried the Reichert blood crystal test which is being perfected nowso that it will tell heredity itself. There is no scientific stone Iwould have left unturned until I had delved at the truth of thisriddle. Fortunately it was not necessary. Simple finger prints havetold me enough. And best of all, it has been in time to frustrate thatdevilish scheme you and Veronica Haversham have been slowly unfolding."

  Maudsley crumpled up, as it were, at Kennedy's denunciation. He seemedto shrink toward the door.

  "Yes," cried Kennedy, with extended forefinger, "you may go--for thepresent. Don't try to run away. You're watched from this moment on."

  Maudsley had retreated precipitately.

  I looked at Kennedy inquiringly. What to do? It was indeed a delicatesituation, requiring the utmost care to handle. If the story had beentold to Hazleton, what might he not have already done? He must be foundfirst of all if we were to meet the conspiracy of these two.

  Kennedy reached quickly for the telephone. "There is one stream ofscandal that can be dammed at its source," he remarked, calling anumber. "Hello. Klemm's Sanitarium? I'd like to speak with MissHaversham. What--gone? Disappeared? Escaped?"

  He hung up the receiver and looked at me blankly. I was speechless.

  A thousand ideas flew through our minds at once. Had she perceived theimport of our last visit and was she now on her way to complete herplotted slander of Millicent Hazleton, though it pulled down on herselfin the end the whole structure?

  Hastily Kennedy called Hazleton's home, Butler, and one after anotherof Hazleton's favorite clubs. It was not until noon that Butler himselffound him and came with him, under protest, to the laboratory.

  "What is it--what have you found?" cried Butler, his lean form a-quiverwith suppressed excitement.

  Briefly, one fact after another, sparing Hazleton nothing, Kennedypoured forth the story, how by hint and innuendo Maudsley had beenworking on Millicent, undermining her, little knowing that he hadattacked in her a very tower of strength, how Veronica, infatuated byhim, had infatuated him, had led him on step by step.

  Pale and agitated, with nerves unstrung by the life he had beenleading, Hazleton listened. And as Kennedy hammered one fact afteranother home, he clenched his fists until the nails dug into his verypalms.

  "The scoundrels," he ground out, as Kennedy finished by painting thepicture of the brave little broken-hearted woman fighting off she knewnot what, and the golden-haired, innocent baby stretching out his armsin glee at the very chance to prove that he was what he was. "Thescoundrels--take me to Maudsley now. I must see Maudsley. Quick!"

  As we pulled up before the door of the reconstructed stable-studio,Kennedy jumped out. The door was unlocked. Up the broad flight ofstairs, Hazleton went two at a time. We followed him closely.

  Lying on the divan in the room that had been the scene of so manyorgies, locked in each other's arms, were two figures--VeronicaHaversham and Dr. Maudsley.

  She must have gone there directly after our visit to Dr. Klemm's, musthave been waiting for him when he returned with his story of theexposure to answer her fears of us as Mrs. Hazleton's detectives. In afrenzy of intoxication she must have flung her arms blindly about himin a last wild embrace.

  Hazleton looked, aghast.

  He leaned over and took her arm. Before he could frame the name,"Veronica!" he had recoiled.

  The two were cold and rigid.

  "An overdose of heroin this time," muttered Kennedy.

  My head was in a whirl.

  Hazleton stared blankly at the two figures abjectly lying before him,as the truth burned itself indelibly into his soul. He covered his facewith his hands. And still he saw it all.

  Craig said nothing. He was content to let what he had shown work in theman's mind.

  "For the sake of--that baby--would she--would she forgive?" askedHazleton, turning desperately toward Kennedy.

  Deliberately Kennedy faced him, not as scientist and millionaire, butas man and man.

  "From my psychanalysis," he said slowly, "I should say that it ISwithin your power, in time, to change those dreams."

  Hazleton grasped Kennedy's hand before he knew it.

  "Kennedy--home--quick. This is the first manful impulse I have had fortwo years. And, Jameson--you'll tone down that part of it in thenewspapers that Junior--might read--when he grows up?"

  THE END