'By Jove!' I cried.
'From that it all fits in. It seems funny that the thief should drop a cartridge, funnier still 'at he shouldn't notice he'd left a bit of his necker stuck to the nails on the door. Still, I'd allow them two things might happen. But when it came to his having more bits of his necker torn off by the spruces where Evans found them, it looked like as if the thief was a mighty poor woodsman. Which he wasn't. He hid his tracks good and cunning. After that I guessed I was on the right scent, but I wasn't plumb sure till I come up to the place where he killed the partridge. While he was snaring it he rested his rifle ag'in' a tree. I saw the mark of the butt on the ground, and the scratch from the foresight upon the bark. Then I knew he didn't carry no English rifle.'
'How did you know?' asked Sally.
'I could measure its length ag'in' the tree. It was nigh a foot shorter than an English rifle.'
Val's fist came down on the table. 'Bully for you, Joe!'
'Well, now, there was one more thing. Besides that black fox Sally here missed other marked pelts. They wasn't much value. Why did the thief take them? Again, only one reason. He wanted 'em for making more false evidence ag'in' Val.'
He paused. 'Go on, Joe,' cried Mrs Rone impatiently.
'When Mr Quaritch and I came to Val's shack we searched it. Nothing there. Why? 'Cos Val had been home all night and Sylvester couldn't get in without wakin' him.'
'But,' said I, 'wasn't there a good case against Black without that?'
'Yes, there was a case, but his conviction wasn't an absolute cinch. On the other hand, if the stolen skins was found hid in his shack ... That's why you had to lie in that brush so long, Mr Quaritch, while I went in to Lavette and spread it around that the shack hadn't been searched by Evans. Sylvester was at the store and he fell into the trap right enough. We waited for him and we got him.'
'O' course,' continued Joe, 'revenge on Val weren't Sylvester's only game. He meant robbin' Sally, too, and had his plan laid. He must 'a' first gone to Val's and stole a cartridge and the bits of necker before he robbed Sally's house. Last night he started out to leave a few cheap pelts at Val's, but he had the black fox skin separate in his pack with a bit o' tea and flour and tobacco, so if we hadn't took him he'd have lit out into Maine an' sold the black fox pelt there.'
'But, Joe,' said Sally, 'when I came on Sylvester that evening I told you of when I was trailing the robber, how was it that his tracks and the robber's was quite different?'
'Had Sylvester a pack on his back?'
'Yes. Now I think of it, he had.'
'Then I dare bet that if you'd been able to look in that pack you'd 'a' found a second pair o' moccasins in it. Sylvester'd just took them off, I expect. It was snowing, weren't it?'
'Yes.'
'And he held you in talk?'
'He did.'
'Till the snow covered his tracks?'
'It's wonderful clear, Joe,' said Mrs Rone. 'But why should Sylvester have such a down on Val?'
Joe laughed. 'Ask Val!'
'Ten years ago,' said Val, 'when we was both rising twenty year, I gave Sylvester a thrashing he'd likely remember. He had a dog what weren't no use and he decided to shoot it. So he did, but he didn't kill it. He shot it far back and left it in the woods... and I come along... '
'The brute!' exclaimed Sally.
'He's a dangerous Injin,' said November, 'and he's of a breed that never forgets.'
'When he gets out of prison, you'll have to keep awake, Joe,' said Val.
'When he gets out, I'll have the snow in my hair all right, and you and Sally'll be old married folks,' retorted Joe. 'You'll sure be tired of each other by then.'
Sally looked at Val and Joe caught the look.
'Leastways,' he added, 'you'll pretend you are better'n you do now.' We all laughed.
Craig Kennedy
Created by Arthur B. Reeve (1880 – 1936)
BORN IN NEW YORK state, Arthur B. Reeve was educated at Princeton and trained as a lawyer but never practised. Instead he turned to writing fiction and, in 1910, he created his most successful character, the 'scientific detective' Craig Kennedy who went on to appear in dozens of short stories and more than twenty novels. A professor of chemistry, Kennedy applied his knowledge of science and his mastery of scientific gadgets to the solution of apparently baffling crimes. His adventures were narrated by his own Watson-like companion, the journalist Walter Jameson, and were enormously popular in America for several decades. Film versions of Reeve's works were made throughout the 1910s and 1920s and a TV series based on Craig Kennedy's cases was produced as late as 1952. Today Reeve's stories often seem clumsy and stilted but they have a particular charm as reminders of a time when things that are now commonplace (like the X-rays and microphone in 'The Deadly Tube') were seen as miracles of cutting-edge technology.
The Deadly Tube
'FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, Gregory, what is the matter?' asked Craig Kennedy as a tall, nervous man stalked into our apartment one evening. 'Jameson, shake hands with Dr Gregory. What's the matter, Doctor? Surely your X-ray work hasn't knocked you out like this?'
The doctor shook hands with me mechanically. His hand was icy. 'The blow has fallen,' he exclaimed, as he sank limply into a chair and tossed an evening paper over to Kennedy.
In red ink on the first page, in the little square headed 'Latest News', Kennedy read the caption, 'Society Woman Crippled for Life by X-Ray Treatment'.
'A terrible tragedy was revealed in the suit begun today,' continued the article, 'by Mrs Huntington Close against Dr James Gregory, an X-ray specialist with offices at Madison Avenue, to recover damages for injuries which Mrs Close alleges she received while under his care. Several months ago she began a course of X-ray treatment to remove a birthmark on her neck. In her complaint Mrs Close alleges that Dr Gregory has carelessly caused X-ray dermatitis, a skin disease of cancerous nature, and that she has also been rendered a nervous wreck through the effects of the rays. Simultaneously with filing the suit she left home and entered a private hospital. Mrs Close is one of the most popular hostesses in the smart set, and her loss will be keenly felt.'
'What am I to do, Kennedy?' asked the doctor imploringly. 'You remember I told you the other day about this case – that there was something queer about it, that after a few treatments I was afraid to carry on any more and refused to do so? She really has dermatitis and nervous prostration, exactly as she alleges in her complaint. But, before Heaven, Kennedy, I can't see how she could possibly have been so affected by the few treatments I gave her. And to-night, just as I was leaving the office, I received a telephone call from her husband's attorney, Lawrence, very kindly informing me that the case would be pushed to the limit. I tell you, it looks black for me.'
'What can they do?'
'Do? Do you suppose any jury is going to take enough expert testimony to outweigh the tragedy of a beautiful woman? Do? Why, they can ruin me, even if I get a verdict of acquittal. They can leave me with a reputation for carelessness that no mere court decision can ever overcome.'
'Gregory, you can rely on me,' said Kennedy. 'Anything I can do to help you I will gladly do. Jameson and I were on the point of going out to dinner. Join us, and after that we will go down to your office and talk things over.'
'You are really too kind,' murmured the doctor. The air of relief that was written on his face was pathetically eloquent.
'Now, not a word about the case till we have had dinner,' commanded Craig. 'I see very plainly that you have been worrying about the blow for a long time. Well, it has fallen. The neat thing to do is to look over the situation and see where we stand.'
Dinner over, we rode down-town in the subway, and Gregory ushered us into an office-building on Madison Avenue, where he had a very handsome suite of several rooms. We sat down in his waitingroom to discuss the affair.
'It is indeed a very tragic case,' began Kennedy, 'almost more tragic than if the victim had been killed outright. Mrs Huntington Close is – or rather
I suppose I should say was – one of the famous beauties of the city. From what the paper says, her beauty has been hopelessly ruined by this dermatitis, which, I understand, Doctor, is practically incurable.'
Dr Gregory nodded, and I could not help following his eyes as he looked at his own rough and scarred hands.
'Also,' continued Craig, with his eyes half closed and his finger-tips together, as if he were taking a mental inventory of the facts in the case, 'her nerves are so shattered that she will be years in recovering, if she ever recovers.'
'Yes,' said the doctor simply. 'I myself, for instance, am subject to the most unexpected attacks of neuritis. But, of course, I am under the influence of the rays fifty or sixty times a day, while she had only a few treatments at intervals of many days.'
'Now, on the other hand,' resumed Craig, 'I know you, Gregory, very well. Only the other day, before any of this came out, you told me the whole story with your fears as to the outcome. I know that that lawyer of Close's has been keeping this thing hanging over your head for a long time. And I also know that you are one of the most careful X-ray operators in the city. If this suit goes against you, one of the most brilliant men of science in America will be ruined. Now, having said this much, let me ask you to describe just exactly what treatments you gave Mrs Close.'
The doctor led us into his X-ray room adjoining. A number of Xray tubes were neatly put away in a great glass case, and at one end of the room was an operating-table with an X-ray apparatus suspended over it. A glance at the room showed that Kennedy's praise was not exaggerated.
'How many treatments did you give Mrs Close?' asked Kennedy.
'Not over a dozen, I should say,' replied Gregory. 'I have a record of them and the dates, which I will give you presently. Certainly they were not numerous enough or frequent enough to have caused a dermatitis such as she has. Besides, look here. I have an apparatus which, for safety to the patient, has few equals in the country. This big lead-glass bowl, which is placed over my X-ray tube when in use, cuts off the rays at every point except exactly where they are needed.'
He switched on the electric current, and the apparatus began to sputter. The pungent odour of ozone from the electric discharge filled the room. Through the lead-glass bowl I could see the X-ray tube inside suffused with its peculiar, yellowish-green light, divided into two hemispheres of different shades. That, I knew, was the cathode ray, not the X-ray, for the X-ray itself, which streams outside the tube, is invisible to the human eye. The doctor placed in our hands a couple of fluoroscopes, an apparatus by which X-rays can be detected. It consists simply of a closed box with an opening to which the eyes are placed. The opposite end of the box is a piece of board coated with a salt such as platino-barium cyanide. When the X-ray strikes this salt it makes it glow, or fluoresce, and objects held between the X-ray tube and the fluoroscope cast shadows according to the density of the parts which the X-rays penetrate.
With the lead-glass bowl removed, the X-ray tube sent forth its wonderful invisible radiation and made the back of the fluoroscope glow with light. I could see the bones of my fingers as I held them up between the X-ray tube and the fluoroscope. But with the leadglass bowl in position over the tube, the fluoroscope was simply a black box into which I looked and saw nothing. So very little of the radiation escaped from the bowl that it was negligible – except at one point where there was an opening in the bottom of the bowl to allow the rays to pass freely through exactly on the spot on the patient where they were to be used.
'The dermatitis, they say, has appeared all over her body, particularly on her head and shoulders,' added Dr Gregory. 'Now I have shown you my apparatus to impress on you how really impossible it would have been for her to contract it from her treatments here. I've made thousands of exposures with never an X-ray burn before – except to myself. As for myself, I'm as careful as I can be, but you can see I am under the rays very often, while the patient is only under them once in a while.'
To illustrate his care he pointed out to us a cabinet directly back of the operating-table, lined with thick sheets of lead. From this cabinet he conducted most of his treatments as far as possible. A little peephole enabled him to see the patient and the X-ray apparatus, while an arrangement of mirrors and a fluorescent screen enabled him to see exactly what the X-rays were disclosing, without his leaving the lead-lined cabinet.
'I can think of no more perfect protection for either patient or operator,' said Kennedy admiringly. 'By the way, did Mrs Close come alone?'
'No, the first time Mr Close came with her. After that, she came with her French maid.'
The next day we paid a visit to Mrs Close herself at the private hospital. Kennedy had been casting about in his mind for an excuse to see her, and I had suggested that we go as reporters from the Star. Fortunately after sending up my card on which I had written Craig's name we were at length allowed to go up to her room.
We found the patient reclining in an easy chair, swathed in bandages, a wreck of her former self. I felt the tragedy keenly. All that social position and beauty had meant to her had been suddenly blasted.
'You will pardon my presumption,' began Craig, 'but, Mrs Close, I assure you that I am actuated by the best of motives. We represent the New York Star – '
'Isn't it terrible enough that I should suffer so,' she interrupted, 'but must the newspapers hound me, too?'
'I beg your pardon, Mrs Close,' said Craig, 'but you must be aware that the news of your suit of Dr Gregory has now become public property. I couldn't stop the Star, much less the other papers, from talking about it. But I can and will do this, Mrs Close. I will see that justice is done to you and all others concerned. Believe me, I am not here as a yellow journalist to make newspaper copy out of your misfortune. I am here to get at the truth sympathetically. Incidentally, I may be able to render you a service, too.'
'You can render me no service except to expedite the suit against that careless doctor – I hate him.'
'Perhaps,' said Craig. 'But suppose someone else should be proved to have been really responsible? Would you still want to press the suit and let the guilty person escape?'
She bit her lip. 'What is it you want of me?' she asked.
'I merely want permission to visit your rooms at your home and to talk with your maid. I do not mean to spy on you, far from it; but consider, Mrs Close, if I should be able to get at the bottom of this thing, find out the real cause of your misfortune, perhaps show that you are the victim of a cruel wrong rather than of carelessness, would you not be willing to let me go ahead? I am frank to tell you that I suspect there is more to this affair than you yourself have any idea of.'
'No, you are mistaken, Mr Kennedy. I know the cause of it. It was my love of beauty. I couldn't resist the temptation to get rid of even a slight defect. If I had left well enough alone I should not be here now. A friend recommended Dr Gregory to my husband, who took me there. My husband wishes me to remain at home, but I tell him I feel more comfortable here in the hospital. I shall never go to that house again – the memory of the torture of sleepless nights in my room there when I felt my good looks going, going' – she shuddered – 'is such that I can never forget it. He says I would be better off there, but no, I cannot go. Still,' she continued wearily, 'there can be no harm in your talking to my maid.'
Kennedy noted attentively what she was saying. 'I thank you, Mrs Close,' he replied. 'I am sure you will not regret your permission. Would you be so kind as to give me a note to her?'
She rang, dictated a short note to a nurse, signed it, and languidly dismissed us.
I don't know that I ever felt as depressed as I did after that interview with one who had entered a living death to ambition, for while Craig had done all the talking I had absorbed nothing but depression. I vowed that if Gregory or anybody else was responsible I would do my share toward bringing on him retribution.
The Closes lived in a splendid big house in the Murray Hill section. The presentation of the note quickly brough
t Mrs Close's maid down to us. She had not gone to the hospital because Mrs Close had considered the services of the trained nurses quite sufficient.
Yes, the maid had noticed how her mistress had been failing, had noticed it long ago, in fact almost at the time when she had begun the X-ray treatment. She had seemed to improve once when she went away for a few days, but that was at the start, and directly after her return she grew worse again, until she was no longer herself.
'Did Dr Gregory, the X-ray specialist, ever attend Mrs Close at her home, in her room?' asked Craig.
'Yes, once, twice, he call, but he do no good,' she said with her French accent.
'Did Mrs Close have other callers?'
'But, m'sieur, everyone in society has many. What does m'sieur mean?'
Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, The Page 31