The Poisoned Pen

by Arthur B. Reeve

  V

  THE CONFIDENCE KING

  "Shake hands with Mr. Burke of the secret service, Professor Kennedy."

  It was our old friend First Deputy O'Connor who thus in his bluff wayintroduced a well-groomed and prosperous-looking man whom he brought upto our apartment one evening.

  The formalities were quickly over. "Mr. Burke and I are old friends,"explained O'Connor. "We try to work together when we can, and veryoften the city department can give the government service a lift, andthen again it's the other way--as it was in the trunk-murder mystery.Show Professor Kennedy the 'queer,' Tom."

  Burke drew a wallet out of his pocket, and from it slowly anddeliberately selected a crisp, yellow-backed hundred-dollar bill. Helaid it flat on the table before us. Diagonally across its face fromthe upper left-to the lower right-hand corner extended two parallelscorings in indelible ink.

  Not being initiated into the secrets of the gentle art of "shoving thequeer," otherwise known as passing counterfeit money, I suppose myquestioning look betrayed me.

  "A counterfeit, Walter," explained Kennedy. "That's what they do withbills when they wish to preserve them as records in the secret serviceand yet render them valueless."

  Without a word Burke handed Kennedy a pocket magnifying-glass, andKennedy carefully studied the bill. He was about to say something whenBurke opened his capacious wallet again and laid down a Bank of Englandfive-pound note which had been similarly treated.

  Again Kennedy looked through the glass with growing amazement writtenon his face, but before he could say anything, Burke laid down anexpress money-order on the International Express Company.

  "I say," exclaimed Kennedy, putting down the glass, "stop! How manymore of these are there?"

  Burke smiled. "That's all," he replied, "but it's not the worst."

  "Not the worst? Good heavens, man, next you'll tell me that thegovernment is counterfeiting its own notes! How much of this stuff doyou suppose has been put into circulation?"

  Burke chewed a pencil thoughtfully, jotted down some figures on a pieceof paper, and thought some more. "Of course I can't say exactly, butfrom hints I have received here and there I should think that a safebet would be that some one has cashed in upward of half a milliondollars already."

  "Whew," whistled Kennedy, "that's going some. And I suppose it is allsalted away in some portable form. What an inventory it must be--goodbills, gold, diamonds, and jewellery. This is a stake worth playingfor."

  "Yes," broke in O'Connor, "but from my standpoint, professionally, Imean, the case is even worse than that. It's not the counterfeits thatbother us. We understand that, all right. But," and he leaned forwardearnestly and brought his fist down hard on the table with a resoundingIrish oath, "the finger-print system, the infallible finger-printsystem, has gone to pieces. We've just imported this new 'portraitparle' fresh from Paris and London, invented by Bertillon and all thatsort of thing--it has gone to pieces, too. It's a fine case, this is,with nothing left of either scientific or unscientificcriminal-catching to rely on. There--what do you know about that?"

  "You'll have to tell me the facts first," said Kennedy. "I can'tdiagnose your disease until I know the symptoms."

  "It's like this," explained Burke, the detective in him showing nowwith no effort at concealment. "A man, an Englishman, apparently, wentinto a downtown banker's office about three months ago and asked tohave some English bank-notes exchanged for American money. After he hadgone away, the cashier began to get suspicious. He thought there wassomething phoney in the feel of the notes. Under the glass he noticedthat the little curl on the 'e' of the 'Five' was missing. It's theprotective mark. The water-mark was quite equal to that of thegenuine--maybe better. Hold that note up to the light and see foryourself.

  "Well, the next day, down to the Custom House, where my office is, aman came who runs a swell gambling-house uptown. He laid ten brand-newbills on my desk. An Englishman had been betting on the wheel. Hedidn't seem to care about winning, and he cashed in each time with anew one-hundred-dollar bill. Of course he didn't care about winning. Hecared about the change--that was his winning. The bill on the table isone of the original ten, though since then scores have been put intocirculation. I made up my mind that it was the same Englishman in bothcases.

  "Then within a week, in walked the manager of the Mozambique Hotel--hehad been stung with the fake International Express money-order--sameEnglishman, too, I believe."

  "And you have no trace of him?" asked Kennedy eagerly.

  "We had him under arrest once--we thought. A general alarm was sentout, of course, to all the banks and banking-houses. But the man wastoo clever to turn up in that way again. In one gambling-joint whichwomen frequent a good deal, a classy dame who might have been a duchessor a--well, she was a pretty good loser and always paid withhundred-dollar bills. Now, you know women are NOT good losers. Besides,the hundred-dollar-bill story had got around among the gambling-houses.This joint thought it worth taking a chance, so they called me up onthe 'phone, extracted a promise that I'd play fair and keep O'Connorfrom raiding them, but wouldn't I please come up and look over the dameof the yellow bills? Of course I made a jump at it. Sure enough, theywere the same counterfeits. I could tell because the silk threads weredrawn in with coloured ink. But instead of making an arrest I decidedto trail the lady.

  "Now, here comes the strange part of it. Let me see, this must havebeen over two months ago. I followed her out to a suburban town,Riverwood along the Hudson, and to a swell country house overlookingthe river, private drive, stone gate, hedges, old trees, and all thatsort of thing. A sporty-looking Englishman met her at the gate with oneof those big imported touring-cars, and they took a spin.

  "I waited a day or so, but nothing more happened, and I began to getanxious. Perhaps I was a bit hasty. Anyhow I watched my chance and madean arrest of both of them when they came to New York on a shoppingexpedition. You should have heard that Englishman swear. I didn't knowsuch language was possible. But in his pocket we found twenty more ofthose hundred-dollar bills--that was all. Do you think he owned up? Nota bit of it. He swore he had picked the notes up in a pocketbook on thepier as he left the steamer. I laughed. But when he was arraigned incourt he told the magistrate the same story and that he had advertisedhis find at the time. Sure enough, in the files of the papers wediscovered in the lost-and-found column the ad., just as he claimed. Wecouldn't even prove that he had passed the bills. So the magistraterefused to hold them, and they were both released. But we had had themin our power long enough to take their finger-prints and getdescriptions and measurements of them, particularly by this new'portrait parle' system. We felt we could send out a strange detectiveand have him pick them out of a crowd--you know the system, I presume?"

  Kennedy nodded, and I made a mental note of finding out more about the"portrait parle" later.

  Burke paused, and O'Connor prompted, "Tell them about Scotland Yard,Tom."

  "Oh, yes," resumed Burke. "Of course I sent copies of the finger-printsto Scotland Yard. Within two weeks they replied that one set belongedto William Forbes, a noted counterfeiter, who, they understood, hadsailed for South Africa but had never arrived there. They were glad tolearn that he was in America, and advised me to look after him sharply.The woman was also a noted character--Harriet Wollstone, anadventuress."

  "I suppose you have shadowed them ever since?" Kennedy asked.

  "Yes, a few days after they were arrested the man had an accident withhis car. It was said he was cranking the engine and that it kicked backand splintered the bone in his forearm. Anyhow, he went about with hishand and arm in a sling."

  "And then?"

  "They gave my man the slip that night in their fast touring-car. Youknow automobiles have about made shadowing impossible in these days.The house was closed up, and it was said by the neighbours thatWilliams and Mrs. Williams--as they called themselves--had gone tovisit a specialist in Philadelphia. Still, as they had a year's leaseon the house, I detailed a man to watch
it more or less all the time.They went to Philadelphia all right; some of the bills turned up there.But we saw nothing of them.

  "A short time ago, word came to me that the house was open again. Itwasn't two hours later that the telephone rang like mad. A Fifth Avenuejeweller had just sold a rope of pearls to an Englishwoman who paid forit herself in crisp new one-hundred-dollar bills. The bank had returnedthem to him that very afternoon--counterfeits. I didn't lose any timemaking a second arrest up at the house of mystery at Riverwood. I hadthe county authorities hold them--and, now, O'Connor, tell the rest ofit. You took the finger-prints up there."

  O'Connor cleared his throat as if something stuck in it, in thetelling. "The Riverwood authorities refused to hold them," he said withevident chagrin. "As soon as I heard of the arrest I started up myselfwith the finger-print records to help Burke. It was the same man, allright--I'll swear to that on a stack of Bibles. So will Burke. I'llnever forget that snub nose--the concave nose, the nose being the firstpoint of identification in the 'portrait parle.' And the ears, too--oh,it was the same man, all right. But when we produced the Londonfinger-prints which tallied with the New York fingerprints which we hadmade--believe it or not, but it is a fact, the Riverwood finger-printsdid not tally at all."

  He laid the prints on the table. Kennedy examined them closely. Hisface clouded. It was quite evident that he was stumped, and he said so."There are some points of agreement," he remarked, "but more points ofdifference. Any points of difference are usually considered fatal tothe finger-print theory."

  "We had to let the man go," concluded Burke. "We could have held thewoman, but we let her go, too, because she was not the principal in thecase. My men are shadowing the house now and have been ever since then.But the next day after the last arrest, a man from New York, who lookedlike a doctor, made a visit. The secret-service man on the job didn'tdare leave the house to follow him, but as he never came again perhapsit doesn't matter. Since then the house has been closed."

  The telephone rang. It was Burke's office calling him. As he talked wecould gather that something tragic must have happened at Riverwood, andwe could hardly wait until he had finished.

  "There has been an accident up there," he remarked as he hung up thereceiver rather petulantly. "They returned in the car this afternoonwith a large package in the back of the tonneau. But they didn't staylong. After dark they started out again in the car. The accident was atthe bad railroad crossing just above Riverwood. It SEEMS Williams's cargot stalled on the track just as the Buffalo express was due. No onesaw it, but a man in a buggy around the bend in the road heard a womanscream. He hurried down. The train had smashed the car to bits. How thewoman escaped was a miracle, but they found the man's body up thetracks, horribly mangled. It was Williams, they say. They identifiedhim by the clothes and by letters in his pockets. But my man tells mehe found a watch on him with 'W. F.' engraved on it. His hands and armsand head must have been right under the locomotive when it struck him,I judge."

  "I guess that winds the case up, eh?" exclaimed O'Connor with evidentchagrin. "Where's the woman?"

  "They said she was in the little local hospital, but not much hurt.Just the shock and a few bruises."

  O'Connor's question seemed to suggest an idea to Burke, and he reachedfor the telephone again. "Riverwood 297," he ordered; then to us as hewaited he said: "We must hold the woman. Hello, 297? The hospital? Thisis Burke of the secret service. Will you tell my man, who must besomewhere about, that I would like to have him hold that woman who wasin the auto smash until I can--what? Gone? The deuce!"

  He hung up the receiver angrily. "She left with a man who called forher about half an hour ago," he said. "There must be a gang of them.Forbes is dead, but we must get the rest. Mr. Kennedy, I'm sorry tohave bothered you, but I guess we can handle this alone, after all. Itwas the finger-prints that fooled us, but now that Forbes is out of theway it's just a straight case of detective work of the old style whichwon't interest you."

  "On the contrary," answered Kennedy, "I'm just beginning to beinterested. Does it occur to you that, after all, Forbes may not bedead?"

  "Not dead?" echoed Burke and O'Connor together.

  "Exactly; that's just what I said--not dead. Now stop and think amoment. Would the great Forbes be so foolish as to go about with awatch marked 'W. F.' if he knew, as he must have known, that you wouldcommunicate with London and by means of the prints find out all abouthim?"

  "Yes," agreed Burke, "all we have to go by is his watch found onWilliams. I suppose there is some possibility that Forbes may still bealive."

  "Who is this third man who comes in and with whom Harriet Wollstonegoes away so willingly?" put in O'Connor. "You said the house had beenclosed--absolutely closed?"

  Burke nodded. "Been closed ever since the last arrest. There's aservant who goes in now and then, but the car hasn't been there beforeto-night, wherever it has been."

  "I should like to watch that house myself for a while," mused Kennedy."I suppose you have no objections to my doing so?"

  "Of course not. Go ahead," said Burke. "I will go along with you if youwish, or my man can go with you."

  "No," said Kennedy, "too many of us might spoil the broth. I'll watchalone to-night and will see you in the morning. You needn't even sayanything to your man there about us."

  "Walter, what's on for to-night?" he asked when they had gone. "How areyou fixed for a little trip out to Riverwood?"

  "To tell the truth, I had an engagement at the College Club with someof the fellows."

  "Oh, cut it."

  "That's what I intend to do," I replied.

  It was a raw night, and we bundled ourselves up in old footballsweaters under our overcoats. Half an hour later we were on our way upto Riverwood.

  "By the way, Craig," I asked, "I didn't like to say anything beforethose fellows. They'd think I was a dub. But I don't mind asking you.What is this 'portrait parle' they talk about, anyway?"

  "Why, it's a word-picture--a 'spoken picture,' to be literal. I tooksome lessons in it at Bertillon's school when I was in Paris. It's amethod of scientific apprehension of criminals, a sort of necessaryaddition and completion to the methods of scientific identification ofthem after they are arrested. For instance, in trying to pick out agiven criminal from his mere description you begin with the nose. Now,noses are all concave, straight, or convex. This Forbes had a nose thatwas concave, Burke says. Suppose you were sent out to find him. Of allthe people you met, we'll say, roughly, two-thirds wouldn't interestyou. You'd pass up all with straight or convex noses. Now the nextpoint to observe is the ear. There are four general kinds ofears-triangular, square, oval, and round, besides a number of otherdifferences which are clear enough after you study ears. This fellow isa pale man with square ears and a peculiar lobe to his ear. So youwouldn't give a second glance to, say, three-fourths of thesquare-eared people. So by a process of elimination of variousfeatures, the eyes, the mouth, the hair, wrinkles, and so forth, youwould be able to pick your man out of a thousand--that is, if you weretrained."

  "And it works?" I asked rather doubtfully.

  "Oh, yes. That's why I'm taking up this case. I believe science canreally be used to detect crime, any crime, and in the present instanceI've just pride enough to stick to this thing until--until they beginto cut ice on the Styx. Whew, but it will be cold out in the countryto-night, Walter--speaking about ice."

  It was quite late when we reached Riverwood, and Kennedy hurried alongthe dimly lighted streets, avoiding the main street lest some one mightbe watching or following us. He pushed on, following the directionsBurke had given him. The house in question was a large, newly builtaffair of concrete, surrounded by trees and a hedge, directlyoverlooking the river. A bitter wind swept in from the west, but in theshadow of an evergreen tree and of the hedge Kennedy established ourwatch.

  Of all fruitless errands this seemed to me to be the acme. The housewas deserted; that was apparent, I thought, and I said so. Hardly had Isaid it when I heard t
he baying of a dog. It did not come from thehouse, however, and I concluded that it must have come from the nextestate.

  "It's in the garage," whispered Kennedy. "I can hardly think they wouldgo away and leave a dog locked up in it. They would at least turn himloose."

  Hour after hour we waited. Midnight passed, and still nothing happened.At last when the moon had disappeared under the clouds, Kennedy pulledme along. We had seen not a sign of life in the house, yet he observedall the caution he would have if it had been well guarded. Quickly weadvanced over the open space to the house, approaching in the shadow asmuch as possible, on the side farthest from the river.

  Tiptoeing over the porch, Kennedy tried a window. It was fastened.Without hesitation he pulled out some instruments. One of them was arubber suction-cup, which he fastened to the window-pane. Then with avery fine diamond-cutter he proceeded to cut out a large section. Itsoon fell and was prevented from smashing on the floor by the stringand the suction-cup. Kennedy put his hand in and unlatched the window,and we stepped in.

  All was silent. Apparently the house was deserted.

  Cautiously Kennedy pressed the button of his pocket storage-batterylamp and flashed it slowly about the room. It was a sort of library,handsomely furnished. At last the beam of light rested on a huge deskat the opposite end. It seemed to interest Kennedy, and we tiptoed overto it. One after another he opened the drawers. One was locked, and hesaved that until the last.

  Quietly as he could, he jimmied it open, muffling the jimmy in a feltcloth that was on a table. Most people do not realise the disruptiveforce that there is in a simple jimmy. I didn't until I saw the soliddrawer with its heavy lock yield with just the trace of a noise.Kennedy waited an instant and listened. Nothing happened.

  Inside the drawer was a most nondescript collection of uselessarticles. There were a number of pieces of fine sponge, some of themvery thin and cut in a flat oval shape, smelling of lysol strongly;several bottles, a set of sharp little knives, some paraffin, bandages,antiseptic gauze, cotton--in fact, it looked like a first-aid kit. Assoon as he saw it Kennedy seemed astonished but not at a loss toaccount for it.

  "I thought he left that sort of thing to the doctors, but I guess hetook a hand in it himself," he muttered, continuing to fumble with theknives in the drawer. It was no time to ask questions, and I did not.Kennedy rapidly stowed away the things in his pockets. One bottle heopened and held to his nose. I could distinguish immediately thevolatile smell of ether. He closed it quickly, and it, too, went intohis pocket with the remark, "Somebody must have known how to administeran anaesthetic--probably the Wollstone woman."

  A suppressed exclamation from Kennedy caused me to look. The drawer hada false back. Safely tucked away in it reposed a tin box, one of thoseso-called strong-boxes which are so handy in that they save a burglarmuch time and trouble in hunting all over for the valuables he has comeafter. Kennedy drew it forth and laid it on the desk. It was locked.

  Even that did not seem to satisfy Kennedy, who continued to scrutinisethe walls and corners of the room as if looking for a safe or somethingof that sort.

  "Let's look in the room across the hall," he whispered.

  Suddenly a piercing scream of a woman rang out upstairs. "Help! Help!There's some one in the house! Billy, help!"

  I felt an arm grasp me tightly, and for a moment a chill ran over me atbeing caught in the nefarious work of breaking and entering adwelling-house at night. But it was only Kennedy, who had alreadytucked the precious little tin box under his arm.

  With a leap he dragged me to the open window, cleared it, vaulted overthe porch, and we were running for the clump of woods that adjoined theestate on one side. Lights flashed in all the windows of the house atonce. There must have been some sort of electric-light system thatcould be lighted instantly as a "burglar-expeller." Anyhow, we had madegood our escape.

  As we lost ourselves in the woods I gave a last glance back and saw alantern carried from the house to the garage. As the door was unlockedI could see, in the moonlight, a huge dog leap out and lick the handsand face of a man.

  Quickly we now crashed through the frozen underbrush. Evidently Kennedywas making for the station by a direct route across country instead ofthe circuitous way by the road and town. Behind us we could hear a deepbaying.

  "By the Lord, Walter," cried Kennedy, for once in his life thoroughlyalarmed, "it's a bloodhound, and our trail is fresh."

  Closer it came. Press forward as we might, we could never expect tobeat that dog.

  "Oh, for a stream," groaned Kennedy, "but they are all frozen--even theriver."

  He stopped short, fumbled in his pocket, and drew out the bottle ofether.

  "Raise your foot, Walter," he ordered.

  I did so and he smeared first mine and then his with the ether. Then wedoubled on our trail once or twice and ran again.

  "The dog will never be able to pick up the ether as our trail," pantedKennedy; "that is, if he is any good and trained not to go off onwild-goose chases."

  On we hurried from the woods to the now dark and silent town. It wasindeed fortunate that the dog had been thrown off our scent, for thestation was closed, and, indeed, if it had been open I am sure thestation agent would have felt more like locking the door against twosuch tramps as we were, carrying a tin box and pursued by a dog, thanopening it for us. The best we could do was to huddle into a corneruntil we succeeded in jumping a milk-train that luckily slowed down asit passed Riverwood station.

  Neither of us could wait to open the tin box in our apartment, andinstead of going uptown Kennedy decided it would be best to go to ahotel near the station. Somehow we succeeded in getting a room withoutexciting suspicion. Hardly had the bellboy's footsteps ceased echoingin the corridor than Kennedy was at work wrenching off the lid of thebox with such leverage as the scanty furnishings of the room afforded.

  At last it yielded, and we looked in curiously, expecting to findfabulous wealth in some form. A few hundred dollars and a rope ofpearls lay in it. It was a good "haul," but where was the vast spoilthe counterfeiters had accumulated? We had missed it. So far we werecompletely baffled.

  "Perhaps we had better snatch a couple of hours' sleep," was all thatCraig said, stifling his chagrin.

  Over and over in my mind I was turning the problem of where they hadhidden the spoil. I dozed off, still thinking about it and thinkingthat, even should they be captured, they might have stowed away perhapsa million dollars to which they could go back after their sentenceswere served.

  It was still early for New York when Kennedy roused me by talking overthe telephone in the room. In fact, I doubt if he had slept at all.

  Burke was at the other end of the wire. His man had just reported thatsomething had happened during the night at Riverwood, but he couldn'tgive a very clear account. Craig seemed to enjoy the joke immensely ashe told his story to Burke.

  The last words I heard were: "All right. Send a man up here to thestation--one who knows all the descriptions of these people. I'm surethey will have to come into town to-day, and they will have to come bytrain, for their car is wrecked. Better watch at the uptown stations,also."

  After a hasty breakfast we met Burke's man and took our places at theexit from the train platforms. Evidently Kennedy had figured out thatthe counterfeiters would have to come into town for some reason orother. The incoming passengers were passing us in a steady stream, fora new station was then being built, and there was only a temporarystructure with one large exit.

  "Here is where the 'portrait parle' ought to come in, if ever,"commented Kennedy as he watched eagerly.

  And yet neither man nor woman passed us who fitted the description.Train after train emptied its human freight, yet the pale man with theconcave nose and the peculiar ear, accompanied perhaps by a lady, didnot pass us.

  At last the incoming stream began to dwindle down. It was long past thetime when the counterfeiters should have arrived if they had started onany reasonable train.

  "Perhaps
they have gone up to Montreal, instead," I ventured.

  Kennedy shook his head. "No," he answered. "I have an idea that I wasmistaken about the money being kept at Riverwood. It would have beentoo risky. I thought it out on the way back this morning. They probablykept it in a safe deposit vault here. I had figured that they wouldcome down and get it and leave New York after last night's events. Wehave failed--they have got by us. Neither the 'portrait parle' nor theordinary photography nor any other system will suffice alone againstthe arch-criminal back of this, I'm afraid. Walter, I am sore anddisgusted. What I should have done was to accept Burke'soffer--surround the house with a posse if necessary, last night, andcatch the counterfeiters by sheer force. I was too confident. I thoughtI could do it with finesse, and I have failed. I'd give anything toknow what safe deposit vault they kept the fake money in."

  I said nothing as we strolled away, leaving Burke's man still to watch,hoping against hope. Kennedy walked disconsolately through the station,and I followed. In a secluded part of the waiting-room he sat down, hisface drawn up in a scowl such as I had never seen. Plainly he wasdisgusted with himself--with only himself. This was no bungling ofBurke or any one else. Again the counterfeiters had escaped from thehand of the law.

  As he moved his fingers restlessly in the pockets of his coat, heabsently pulled out the little pieces of sponge and the ether bottle.He regarded them without much interest.

  "I know what they were for," he said, diving back into his pocket forthe other things and bringing out the sharp little knives in theircase. I said nothing, for Kennedy was in a deep study. At last he putthe things back into his pocket. As he did so his hand encounteredsomething which he drew forth with a puzzled air. It was the piece ofparaffin.

  "Now, what do you suppose that was for?" he asked, half to himself. "Ihad forgotten that. What was the use of a piece of paraffin? Phew,smell the antiseptic worked into it."

  "I don't know," I replied, rather testily. "If you would tell me whatthe other things were for I might enlighten you, but--"

  "By George, Walter, what a chump I am!" cried Kennedy, leaping to hisfeet, all energy again. "Why did I forget that lump of paraffin? Why,of course--I think I can guess what they have been doing--of course.Why, man alive, he walked right past us, and we never knew it. Boy,boy," he shouted to a newsboy who passed, "what's the latest sportingedition you have?"

  Eagerly he almost tore a paper open and scanned the sporting pages."Racing at Lexington begins to-morrow," he read. "Yes, I'll bet that'sit. We don't have to know the safe deposit vault, after all. It wouldbe too late, anyhow. Quick, let us look up the train to Lexington."

  As we hurried over to the information booth, I gasped, in a whirl:"Now, look here, Kennedy, what's all this lightning calculation? Whatpossible connection is there between a lump of paraffin and one of thefew places in the country where they still race horses?"

  "None," he replied, not stopping an instant. "None. The paraffinsuggested to me the possible way in which our man managed to elude usunder our very eyes. That set my mind at work again. Like a flash itoccurred to me: Where would they be most likely to go next to work offsome of the bills? The banks are on, the jewellery-houses are on, thegambling-joints are on. Why, to the racetracks, of course. That's it.Counterfeiters all use the bookmakers, only since racing has beenkilled in New York they have had to resort to other means here. If NewYork has suddenly become too hot, what more natural than to leave it?Here, let me see--there's a train that gets there early to-morrow, thebest train, too. Say, is No. 144 made up yet?" he inquired at the desk.

  "No. 144 will be ready in fifteen minutes. Track 8."

  Kennedy thanked the man, turned abruptly, and started for the stillclosed gate at Track 8.

  "Beg pardon--why, hulloa--it's Burke," he exclaimed as we ran plumpinto a man staring vacantly about.

  It was not the gentleman farmer of the night before, nor yet thesupposed college graduate. This man was a Western rancher; hisbroad-brimmed hat, long moustache, frock coat, and flowing tieproclaimed it. Yet there was something indefinably familiar about him,too. It was Burke in another disguise.

  "Pretty good work, Kennedy," nodded Burke, shifting his tobacco fromone side of his jaws to the other. "Now, tell me how your man escapedyou this morning, when you can recognise me instantly in this rig."

  "You haven't altered your features," explained Kennedy simply. "Ourpale-faced, snub-nosed peculiar-eared friend has. What do you think ofthe possibility of his going to the Lexington track, now that he findsit too dangerous to remain in New York?"

  Burke looked at Kennedy rather sharply. "Say, do you add telepathy toyour other accomplishments?"

  "No," laughed Craig, "but I'm glad to see that two of us workingindependently have arrived at the same conclusion. Come, let us saunterover to Track 8--I guess the train is made up."

  The gate was just opened, and the crowd filed through. No one whoseemed to satisfy either Burke or Kennedy appeared. The train-announcermade his last call. Just then a taxicab pulled up at the street-end ofthe platform, not far from Track 8. A man jumped out and assisted aheavily veiled lady, paid the driver, picked up the grips, and turnedtoward us.

  We waited expectantly. As he turned I saw a dark-skinned, hook-nosedman, and I exclaimed disgustedly to Burke: "Well, if they are going toLexington they can't make this train. Those are the last people whohave a chance."

  Kennedy, however, continued to regard the couple steadily. The man sawthat he was being watched and faced us defiantly, "Such impertinence!"Then to his wife, "Come, my dear, we'll just make it."

  "I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you to show us what's in that grip,"said Kennedy, calmly laying his hand on the man's arm.

  "Well, now, did you ever hear of such blasted impudence? Get out of myway, sir, this instant, or I'll have you arrested."

  "Come, come, Kennedy," interrupted Burke. "Surely you are getting inwrong here. This can't be the man."

  Craig shook his head decidedly. "You can make the arrest or not, Burke,as you choose. If not, I am through. If so--I'll take all theresponsibility."

  Reluctantly Burke yielded. The man protested; the woman cried; a crowdcollected.

  The train-gate shut with a bang. As it did so the man's demeanourchanged instantly. "There," he shouted angrily, "you have made us missour train. I'll have you in jail for this. Come on now to the nearestmagistrate's court. I'll have my rights as an American citizen. Youhave carried your little joke too far. Knight is my name--John Knight,of Omaha, pork-packer. Come on now. I'll see that somebody suffers forthis if I have to stay in New York a year. It's an outrage--an outrage."

  Burke was now apparently alarmed--more at the possibility of thehumorous publicity that would follow such a mistake by the secretservice than at anything else. However, Kennedy did not weaken, and ongeneral principles I stuck to Kennedy.

  "Now," said the man surlily while he placed "Mrs. Knight" in as easy achair as he could find in the judge's chambers, "what is the occasionof all this row? Tell the judge what a bad man from Bloody Gulch I am."

  O'Connor had arrived, having broken all speed laws and perhaps somerecords on the way up from headquarters. Kennedy laid the Scotland Yardfinger-prints on the table. Beside them he placed those taken byO'Connor and Burke in New York.

  "Here," he began, "we have the finger-prints of a man who was one ofthe most noted counterfeiters in Great Britain. Beside them are thoseof a man who succeeded in passing counterfeits of several kindsrecently in New York. Some weeks later this third set of prints wastaken from a man who was believed to be the same person."

  The magistrate was examining the three sets of prints. As he came tothe third, he raised his head as if about to make a remark, whenKennedy quickly interrupted.

  "One moment, sir. You were about to say that finger-prints neverchange, never show such variations as these. That is true. There arefingerprints of people taken fifty years ago that are exactly the sameas their finger-prints of to-day. They don't change--they areperman
ent. The fingerprints of mummies can be deciphered even afterthousands of years. But," he added slowly, "you can change fingers."

  The idea was so startling that I could scarcely realise what he meantat first. I had read of the wonderful work of the surgeons of theRockefeller Institute in transplanting tissues and even whole organs,in grafting skin and in keeping muscles artificially alive for daysunder proper conditions. Could it be that a man had deliberatelyamputated his fingers and grafted on new ones? Was the stake sufficientfor such a game? Surely there must be some scars left after suchgrafting. I picked up the various sets of prints. It was true that thethird set was not very clear, but there certainly were no scars there.

  "Though there is no natural changeability of finger-prints," pursuedKennedy, "such changes can be induced, as Dr. Paul Prager of Vienna hasshown, by acids and other reagents, by grafting and by injuries. Now,is there any method by which lost finger-tips can be restored? I knowof one case where the end of a finger was taken off and onlyone-sixteenth inch of the nail was left. The doctor incised the edgesof the granulating surface and then led the granulations on by what isknown in the medical profession as the 'sponge graft.' He grew a newfinger-tip.

  "The sponge graft consists in using portions of a fine Turkish surgicalsponge, such I have here. I found these pieces in a desk at Riverwood.The patient is anaesthetised. An incision is made from side to side inthe stump of the finger and flaps of skin are sliced off and turned upfor the new end of the finger to develop in--a sort of shell of livingskin. Inside this, the sponge is placed, not a large piece, but a verythin piece sliced off and cut to the shape of the finger-stump. It isperfectly sterilised in water and washed in green soap after all thestony particles are removed by hydrochloric acid. Then the finger isbound up and kept moist with normal salt solution.

  "The result is that the end of the finger, instead of healing over,grows into the fine meshes of the pieces of sponge, by capillaryattraction. Of course even this would heal in a few days, but thedoctor does not let it heal. In three days he pulls the sponge offgently. The end of the finger has grown up just a fraction of an inch.Then a new thin layer of sponge is added. Day after day this process isrepeated, each time the finger growing a little more. A new naildevelops if any of the matrix is left, and I suppose a clever surgeonby grafting up pieces of epidermis could produce on such a stump verypassable finger-prints."

  No one of us said anything, but Kennedy seemed to realise the thoughtin our minds and proceeded to elaborate the method.

  "It is known as the 'education sponge method,' and was first describedby Dr. D. J. Hamilton, of Edinburgh, in 1881. It has frequently beenused in America since then. The sponge really acts in a mechanicalmanner to support the new finger-tissue that is developed. The meshesare filled in by growing tissue, and as it grows the tissue absorbspart of the sponge, which is itself an animal tissue and acts likecatgut. Part of it is also thrown off. In fact, the sponge imitateswhat happens naturally in the porous network of a regular blood-clot.It educates the tissue to grow, stimulates it--new blood-vessels andnerves as well as flesh.

  "In another case I know of, almost the whole of the first joint of afinger was crushed off, and the doctor was asked to amputate the stumpof bone that protruded. Instead, he decided to educate the tissue togrow out to cover it and appear like a normal finger. In these casesthe doctors succeeded admirably in giving the patients entire newfinger-tips, without scars, and, except for the initial injury andoperation, with comparatively little inconvenience except that absoluterest of the hands was required.

  "That is what happened, gentlemen," concluded Kennedy. "That is why Mr.Forbes, alias Williams, made a trip to Philadelphia to be treated--forcrushed finger-tips, not for the kick of an automobile engine. He mayhave paid the doctors in counterfeits. In reality this man was playinga game in which there was indeed a heavy stake at issue. He was acounterfeiter sought by two governments with the net closing about him.What are the tips of a few fingers compared with life, liberty, wealth,and a beautiful woman? The first two sets of prints are different fromthe third because they are made by different finger-tips--on the sameman. The very core of the prints was changed. But the finger-printsystem is vindicated by the very ingenuity of the man who so cleverlyhas contrived to beat it."

  "Very interesting--to one who is interested," remarked the stranger,"but what has that to do with detaining my wife and myself, making usmiss our train, and insulting us?"

  "Just this," replied Craig. "If you will kindly oblige us by layingyour fingers on this inking-pad and then lightly on this sheet ofpaper, I think I can show you an answer."

  Knight demurred, and his wife grew hysterical at the idea, but therewas nothing, to do but comply. Kennedy glanced at the fourth set ofprints, then at the third set taken a week ago, and smiled. No one saida word. Knight or Williams, which was it? He nonchalantly lit acigarette.

  "So you say I am this Williams, the counterfeiter?" he askedsuperciliously.

  "I do," reiterated Kennedy. "You are also Forbes."

  "I don't suppose Scotland Yard has neglected to furnish you withphotographs and a description of this Forbes?"

  Burke reluctantly pulled out a Bertillon card from his pocket and laidit on the table. It bore the front face and profile of the famouscounterfeiter, as well as his measurements.

  The man picked it up as if indeed it was a curious thing. His coolnessnearly convinced me. Surely he should have hesitated in actuallydemanding this last piece of evidence. I had heard, however, that theBertillon system of measurements often depended on the personalequation of the measurer as well as on the measured. Was he relying onthat, or on his difference in features?

  I looked over Kennedy's shoulder at the card on the table. There wasthe concave nose of the "portrait parle" of Forbes, as it had firstbeen described to us. Without looking further I involuntarily glancedat the man, although I had no need to do so. I knew that his nose wasthe exact opposite of that of Forbes.

  "Ingenious at argument as you are," he remarked quietly, "you willhardly deny that Knight, of Omaha, is the exact opposite of Forbes, ofLondon. My nose is almost Jewish--my complexion is dark as an Arab's.Still, I suppose I am the sallow, snub-nosed Forbes described here,inasmuch as I have stolen Forbes's fingers and lost them again by amost preposterous method."

  "The colour of the face is easily altered," said Kennedy. "A littlepicric acid will do that. The ingenious rogue Sarcey in Paris eludedthe police very successfully until Dr. Charcot exposed him and showedhow he changed the arch of his eyebrows and the wrinkles of his face.Much is possible to-day that would make Frankenstein and Dr. Moreaulook clumsy and antiquated."

  A sharp feminine voice interrupted. It was the woman, who had keptsilent up to this time. "But I have read in one of the papers thismorning that a Mr. Williams was found dead in an automobile accident upthe Hudson yesterday. I remember reading it, because I am afraid ofaccidents myself."

  All eyes were now fixed on Kennedy. "That body," he answered quickly,"was a body purchased by you at a medical school, brought in your carto Riverwood, dressed in Williams's clothes with a watch that wouldshow he was Forbes, placed on the track in front of the auto, while youtwo watched the Buffalo express run it down, and screamed. It was aclever scheme that you concocted, but these facts do not agree."

  He laid the measurements of the corpse obtained by Burke and those fromthe London police card side by side. Only in the roughest way did theyapproximate each other.

  "Your honour, I appeal to your sense of justice," cried our prisonerimpatiently. "Hasn't this farce been allowed to go far enough? Is thereany reason why this fake detective should make fools out of us all andkeep my wife longer in this court? I'm not disposed to let the matterdrop. I wish to enter a charge against him of false arrest andmalicious prosecution. I shall turn the whole thing over to my attorneythis afternoon. The deuce with the races--I'll have justice."

  The man had by this time raised himself to a high pitch of apparentlyrighteous wrath. He
advanced menacingly toward Kennedy, who stood withhis shoulders thrown back, and his hands deep in his pockets, and ahalf amused look on his face.

  "As for you, Mr. Detective," added the man, "for eleven cents I'd lickyou to within an inch of your life. 'Portrait parle,' indeed! It's afine scientific system that has to deny its own main principles inorder to vindicate itself. Bah! Take that, you scoundrel!"

  Harriet Wollstone threw her arms about him, but he broke away. His fistshot out straight. Kennedy was too quick for him, however. I had seenCraig do it dozens of times with the best boxers in the "gym." Hesimply jerked his head to one side, and the blow passed just a fractionof an inch from his jaw, but passed it as cleanly as if it had been ayard away.

  The man lost his balance, and as he fell forward and caught himself,Kennedy calmly and deliberately slapped him on the nose.

  It was an intensely serious instant, yet I actually laughed. The man'snose was quite out of joint, even from such a slight blow. It wastwisted over on his face in the most ludicrous position imaginable.

  "The next time you try that, Forbes," remarked Kennedy, as he pulledthe piece of paraffin from his pocket and laid it on the table with theother exhibits, "don't forget that a concave nose built out tohook-nose convexity by injections of paraffin, such as thebeauty-doctors everywhere advertise, is a poor thing for a White Hope."

  Both Burke and O'Connor had seized Forbes, but Kennedy had turned hisattention to the larger of Forbes's grips, which the Wollstone womanvociferously claimed as her own. Quickly he wrenched it open.

  As he turned it up on the table my eyes fairly bulged at the sight.Forbes' suit-case might have been that of a travelling salesman for theKimberley, the Klondike, and the Bureau of Engraving, all in one. Craigdumped the wealth out on the table--stacks of genuine bills, gold coinsof two realms, diamonds, pearls, everything portable and tangible allheaped up and topped off with piles of counterfeits awaiting the magictouch of this Midas to turn them into real gold.

  "Forbes, you have failed in your get-away," said Craig triumphantly."Gentlemen, you have here a master counterfeiter, surely--a mastercounterfeiter of features and fingers as well as of currency."