Guy Garrick

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE POISONED NEEDLE

  Over a still untasted grapefruit Garrick was considering what his nextmove should be. As for me, even this temporary return to a normal lifecaused me to view things in a different light.

  There had been, as the Chief and the Boss had hinted at in theirconversation, a wave of hysteria which had swept over the city only ashort time before regarding what had come to be called the "poisonedneedle" cases. Personally I had doubted them and I had known manydoctors and scientists as well as vice and graft investigators who hadscouted them, too.

  "Garrick," I said at length, "do you really think that we have to dealwith anything in this case but just plain attempted kidnapping of theold style?"

  He shook his head doubtfully. I knew him to be anything but an alarmistand waited impatiently for him to speak.

  "I wouldn't think so," he said at length slowly, "except for one thing."

  "What's that?" I asked eagerly.

  "His mention of the 'sleepmakers' and Paris," he replied briefly.

  Garrick had risen and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of hisroom. When he returned it was with something gleaming in the morningsunshine as he rolled it back and forth on a piece of paper, just ashining particle. He picked it up carefully.

  I bent over to look at it more closely and there, in Garrick's hand,was a tiny bit of steel, scarcely three-eighths of an inch long, a merespeck. It was like nothing of which I had ever heard or read. YetGarrick himself seemed to regard the minute thing with a sort of awe.As for me, I knew not what to make of it. I wondered whether it mightnot be some new peril.

  "What is it?" I asked at length, seeing that Garrick might be disposedto talk, if I prompted him.

  "Well," he answered laconically, holding it up to the light so that Icould see that it was in reality a very minute, pointed hollow tube,"what would you say if I told you it was the point of anew--er--poisoned needle?"

  He said it in such a simple tone that I reacted from it toward my ownpreconceived notions of the hysterical newspaper stories.

  "I've heard about all the poisoned needle stories," I returned. "I'veinvestigated some of them and written about them for my paper, Guy. AndI must say still that I doubt them. Now in the first place, the mereinsertion of a hypodermic needle--of course, you've had it done,Guy--is something so painful that anyone in his senses would cry aloud.Then to administer a drug that way requires a great deal of skill andknowledge of anatomy, if it is to be done with full and quick effect."

  Garrick said nothing, but continued to regard the hollow point which hehad obtained somewhere, perhaps on a previous case.

  "Why, such an injection," I continued, recalling the result of myformer careful investigations on the subject, "couldn't actinstantaneously anyhow, as it must if they are to get away with it.After the needle is inserted, the plunger has to be pushed down, andthe whole thing would take at least thirty seconds. And then, theaction of the drug. That would take time, too. It seems to me that inno case could it be done without the person's being instantly aware ofit and, before lapsing into unconsciousness, calling for help or--"

  "On the contrary," interrupted Garrick quietly, "it is absurdly easy.Waiving the question whether they might not be able to get VioletWinslow in such a situation where even the old hypodermic method whichyou know would serve as well as any other, why, Marshall, just the hintthat fellow dropped tells me that he could walk up to her on the streetor anywhere else, and--"

  He did not finish the sentence, but left it to my imagination. It wasmy turn, now, to remain silent.

  "You are right, though, Tom, in one respect," he resumed a momentlater. "It is not easy by the old methods that everyone now knows. Forinstance, take the use of chloral-knock-out drops, you know. That iscrude, too. Hypodermics and knock-out drops may answer well enough,perhaps, for the criminals whose victims are found in cafes and divesof a low order. But for the operations of an aristocratic criminal ofto-day--and our friend the Chief seems to belong to the aristocracy ofthe underworld--far more subtle methods are required. Let me show yousomething."

  Carefully, from the back of a drawer in the cabinet, where it wasconcealed in a false partition, he pulled out a little case. He openedit, and in it displayed a number of tiny globes and tubes of thinglass, each with a liquid in it, some lozenges, some bonbons, andseveral cigars and cigarettes.

  "I'm doing this," he remarked, "to show you, Tom, that I'm not undulymagnifying the danger that surrounds Violet Winslow, after hearing whatI did over that detectaphone. Perhaps it didn't impress you, but Ithink I know something of what we're up against."

  From another part of the case he drew a peculiar looking affair andhanded to me without a word. It consisted of a glass syringe about twoinches long, fitted with a glass plunger and an asbestos washer. On theother end of the tube was a hollow point, about three-eighths of aninch long--just a shiny little bit of steel such as he had alreadyshowed me.

  I looked at it curiously and, in spite of my former assurance, began towonder whether, after all, the possibility of a girl being struck downsuddenly, without warning, in a public place and robbed--orworse--might not take on the guise of ghastly reality.

  "What do you make of it?" asked Garrick, evidently now enjoying thepuzzled look on my face.

  I could merely shrug my shoulders.

  "Well," he drawled, "that is a weapon they hinted at last night. Thepossibilities of it are terrifying. Why, it could easily be plungedthrough a fur coat, without breaking."

  He took the needle and made an imaginary lunge at me.

  "When people tell you that the hypodermic needle cannot be employed ina case like this that they are planning," he continued, "they arethinking of ordinary hypodermics. Those things wouldn't be verysuccessful usually, anyhow, under such circumstances. But this isdifferent. The very form of this needle makes it particularly effectivefor anyone who wishes to use it for crime. For instance--take it on arailroad or steamship or in a hotel. Draw back the plunger--so--onequick jab--then drop it on the floor and grind it under your heel. Theglass is splintered into a thousand bits. All evidence of guilt isdestroyed, unless someone is looking for it practically with amicroscope."

  "Yes," I persisted, "that is all right--but the pain and the momentsbefore the drug begins to work?"

  With one hand Garrick reached into the case, selecting a little thinglass tube, and with the other he pulled out his handkerchief.

  "Smell that!" he exclaimed, bending over me so that I could see everymove and be prepared for it.

  Yet it was done so quickly that I could not protect myself.

  "Ugh!" I ejaculated in surprise, as Garrick manipulated the thing witha legerdemain swiftness that quite baffled me, even though he had givenme warning to expect something.

  Everyone has seen freak moving picture films where the actor suddenlybobs up in another place, without visibly crossing the interveningspace. The next thing I knew, Garrick was standing across the room, injust that way. The handkerchief was folded up and in his pocket.

  It couldn't have been done possibly in less than a minute. What hadhappened? Where had that minute or so gone? I felt a sickeningsensation.

  "Smell it again?" Garrick laughed, taking a step toward me.

  I put up my hand and shook my head negatively, slowly comprehending.

  "You mean to tell me," I gasped, "that I was--out?"

  "I could have jabbed a dozen needles into you and you would never haveknown it," asserted Garrick with a quiet smile playing over his face.

  "What is the stuff?" I asked, quite taken aback.

  "Kelene--ethyl chloride. Whiff!--and you are off almost in a second. Itis an anaesthetic of nearly unbelievable volatility. It comes in littlehermetically sealed tubes, with a tiny capillary orifice, to preventits too rapid vaporising, even when opened for use. Such a tube may beheld in the palm of the hand and the end crushed off. The warmth of thehand alone is sufficient to start a veritable spray. It acts violentlyon the sen
ses, too. But kelene anaesthesia lasts only a minute or so.The fraction of time is long enough. Then comes the jab with the realneedle--perhaps another whiff of kelene to give the injection a chance.In two or three minutes the injection itself is working and the victimis unconscious, without a murmur--perhaps, as in your case, without anyclear idea of how it all happened--even without recollection of ahandkerchief, unable to recall any sharp pain of a needle or anythingelse."

  He was holding up a little bottle in which was a thick, colorless syrup.

  "And what is that?" I asked, properly tamed and no longer disposed tobe disputatious.

  "Hyoscine."

  "Is it powerful?"

  "One one-hundredth of a grain of this strength, perhaps less, willrender a person unconscious," replied Garrick. "The first symptom isfaintness; the pupils of the eyes dilate; speech is lost; vitalityseems to be floating away, and the victim lapses into unconsciousness.It is derived from henbane, among ether things, and is a rapid,energetic alkaloid, more rapid than chloral and morphine. And, precededby a whiff of kelene, not even the sensations I have described areremembered."

  I could only stare at the outfit before me, speechless.

  "In Paris, where I got this," continued Garrick, "they call thesepeople who use it, 'endormeurs'--sleepmakers. That must have been whatthe Chief meant when he used that word. I knew it."

  "Sleepmakers," I repeated in horror at the very idea of such a thingbeing attempted on a young girl like Violet Winslow.

  "Yes. The standard equipment of such a criminal consists of theselittle thin glass globes, a tiny glass hypodermic syringe with a sharpsteel point, doped cigars and cigarettes. They use various derivativesof opium, like morphine and heroin, also codeine, dionin, narcein,ethyl chloride and bromide, nitrite of amyl, amylin,--and the skillthat they have acquired in the manipulation of these powerful drugsstamps them as the most dangerous coterie of criminals in existence.Now," he concluded, "doubt it or not, we have to deal with a man who isa proficient student of these sleepmakers. Who is he, where is he, andwhen will he strike?"

  Garrick was now pacing excitedly up and down the room.

  "You see," he added, "the police of Europe by their new scientificmethods are driving such criminals out of the various countries. Thankheaven, I am now prepared to meet them if they come to America."

  "Then you think this is a foreigner?" I asked meekly.

  "I didn't say so," Garrick replied. "No. I think this is a criminalexceptionally wide awake, one who studies and adopts what he seeswhenever he wants it. If you recall, I warned you to have a wholesomerespect for this man at the very start, when we were looking at thatempty cartridge."

  I could restrain my admiration of him no longer. "Guy," I exclaimed,heartily, astounded by what I had seen, "you--you are a wonder!"

  "No," he laughed, "not wonderful, Tom,--only very ordinary. I've had achance to learn some things abroad, fortunately. I've taken the time toshow you all this because I want you to appreciate what it is we are upagainst in this case of Violet Winslow. You can understand now why Iwas so particular about instructing Warrington not to let her goanywhere unattended by friends. There's nothing inherently impossiblein these poisoned needle stories--given the right conjunction ofcircumstances. What we have to guard against principally is letting herget into any situation where the circumstances make such a thingpossible. I've almost a notion to let the New York end of this case goaltogether for a while and take a run up to Tuxedo to warn her and Mrs.de Lancey personally. Still, I think I put it strongly enough withWarrington so that--"

  Our telephone tinkled insistently.

  "Hello," answered Garrick. "Yes, this is Garrick. Who is this?Warrington? In Tuxedo? Why, my dear boy, you needn't have gonepersonally. Are you sure you're strong enough for such exertion?What--what's that? Warrington--it--it isn't--not to New York?"

  Garrick's face was actually pale as he fairly started back from thetelephone and caught my eye.

  "Tom," he exclaimed huskily to me, "Violet Winslow left for New York onthe early train this morning!"

  I felt my heart skip a beat, then pound away like a sledge-hammer at myribs as the terrible possibilities of the situation were seared into mybrain.

  "Yes, Warrington--a letter to her? Read it--quick," I heard Garrick'stense voice repeating. "I see. Her maid Lucille was taken very ill afew days ago and she allowed her to go to her brother who lives onNinth Street. I understand. Now--the letter."

  I could not hear what was said over the telephone, but later Garrickrepeated it to me and I afterwards saw the letter itself which I may aswell reproduce here. It said:

  "Since I left you, mademoiselle, I am very ill here at the home of mybrother. I have a nice room in the back of the house on the first floorand now that I am getting better I can sit up and look out of thewindow.

  "I am very ill yet, but the worst is past and some time when you are inNew York I wish I could see you. You have always been so good to me,mademoiselle, that I hope I may soon be back again, if you have not amaid better than your poor Lucille.

  "Your faithful servant,

  "LUCILLE DE VEAU."

  "And she's already in the city?" asked Garrick of Warrington as hefinished reading the letter. "Mrs. de Lancey has gone with her--to dosome shopping. I see. That will take all day, she said? She is going tocall on Lucille--to-night--that's what she told her new maid there?To-night? That's all right, my boy. I just wanted to be sure. Don'tworry. We'll look out for her here, all right. Now, Warrington, youjust keep perfectly quiet. No relapses, you know, old fellow. We cantake care of everything. I'm glad you told me. Good-bye."

  Garrick had finished up his conversation with Warrington in a confidentand reassuring tone, quite the opposite to that with which he hadstarted and even more in contrast with the expression on his face as hetalked.

  "I didn't want to alarm the boy unnecessarily," he explained to me, ashe hung up the receiver. "I could tell that he was very weak yet andthat the trip up to Tuxedo had almost done him up. It seems that shethought a good deal of Lucille--there's the address--99 Ninth. You cannever tell about these maids, though. Lucille may be all right--or theother maid may be all bad, or vice versa. There's no telling. The worstof it is that she and her aunt are somewhere in the city, perhapsshopping. It only needs that they become separated for something,anything, to happen. There's been no time to warn her, either, andshe's just as likely to visit that Lucille to-night alone as not.Gad--I'm glad I didn't fly off up there to Tuxedo, after all. She'llneed someone here to protect her."

  Garrick was considering hastily what was to be done. Quickly he mappedout his course of action.

  "Come, Tom," he said hurriedly to me, as he wrapped up a little cedarbox which he took from the cabinet where he kept the endormeur outfit."Come--let's investigate that Ninth Street address while we have time."