Science Fiction by Gaslight: A History and Anthology of Science Fiction in the Popular Magazines, 1891-1911

by Sam Moskowitz (ed. )

“The solution of the mystery,” he said. “I will explain presently. Now to save him. I believe we shall do it.”

  He fell on his knees and helped me with the artificial respiration with all his might. For five long minutes there was not the slightest result. Then there came a feeble gasp. It was followed by another. We redoubled our efforts and waited for a moment. Forbes began to breathe again; we drew back and dashed the sweat from our streaming faces.

  “He will do now,” whispered Khan; “leave him quiet.”

  “What is it? For God’s sake, what is it?” I said, as soon as I could get my voice to speak.

  “I will tell you. This has been the most dastardly and awful thing. I have been trying to get at the solution the whole evening, and just grasped it as Mr. Forbes stood up to open that window. I was too late. He got what they meant for him, but he will do. Yes, his pulse is stronger.”

  I laid my hand on the victim’s wrist: the beats came more regularly each moment, though he was still only half-conscious.

  “But what can it be?” I cried; “what have you discovered?”

  Khan’s eyes were blazing with excitement.

  “What has happened?” I continued. “A bullet through the brain could not have been more instantaneous; but, silent and unseen, before our very eyes the blow fell and left no trace. This is magic with a vengeance.”

  “I will explain it,” said Khan. “I have been hammering out the solution all the evening, and, fool that I was, never suspected the real thing until just too late, Look here—here is something that your modern scientific criminal has never dreamt of.”

  “But what the deuce is it?” I said, examining a small box in much bewilderment which Khan now placed in my hands. Three of the sides and the top and bottom were made of wood, but across one end was stretched some material which looked like indiarubber. At the opposite end to this was a small circular opening, which could be closed by a hinged flap.

  “Explain what this means, for God’s sake,” I cried. As I spoke I bent my nose towards the box, and instantly was seized by a catching sensation at the back of the throat.

  “Ah, you had better not come too close to it,” cried Khan. “This box contained the most deadly gas known to modern chemists: the vapour of concentrated anhydrous hydrogen cyanide.”

  I started back. Well did I know the action of this most infernally potent and deadly gas. Still, the mystery of how the gas reached Forbes was unexplained.

  “How was it done?” I cried, staring at Khan in absolute bewilderment.

  “Simply in this way,” he answered. As he spoke he lit a cigarette, and at the same time laid his hand on the box. “The poison was projected as a vortex ring in the marvellous and mysterious rotational motion which vortex rings assume. This motion can be imparted to gas, but even scientists of the present day cannot explain it, although the study has given rise to Thompson’s fascinating theory on the constitution of matter. All we know is this,” continued Khan, “that, projected by the operator, a ring of that gas would move through the air as a solid body, and would burst as true as a shot from a rifle, and slay as quickly, only it would be perfectly silent and invisible. When made with smoke these rings are visible, of course, and we can watch their motion—so.” He shot a ring of cigarette smoke from his mouth, and I watched it as it sailed across the room and burst at last into curling wreaths.

  “With this apparatus,” he continued, pointing to the box, “an enormous velocity could be given to a vortex ring. Even in broad daylight its approach could not be seen, and, breaking on the mouth and nostrils of a man, it would instantly kill him unless artificial respiration were immediately resorted to. Yes,” he added, “the modern detective has a lot to learn.”

  “But the man who did it?” I cried.

  “Gone! We shall never see or hear of him again. He must have seen me when I leapt from the window, and dropped the box in his hasty flight. Of course he followed us here, and crept up to the open window. This was the Mueddin’s chance—he projected the vortex ring straight into Archie’s face. Thank Heaven, the instant remedies employed have saved him. One second’s delay, and he must have died.”

  Forbes had now staggered to a sitting posture, and Vivien had fallen on her knees by his side.

  “Leave us alone, father,” she said to me; “yes, leave us alone for a little.”

  And the Persian and I slowly left the room.

  My girl is now married to Archie Forbes. She loves him, as only such women can love. He has recovered his manhood and his pluck, but there is a shadow on his face which I think will stay there while he lives.

  The Black Cat

  July, 1906

  IN RE STATE VS. FORBES

  by Warren Earle

  THIS is a scientific detective story of a most unusual nature, with a surprise ending of high originality. It is at the same time a typical “Black Cat” story, the type of yarn that made The Black Cat a by-word of the unusual for almost twenty-five years. The author, who comes down to us from July 1906 as only a name, has avoided the charge of scientific impossibility by a technical device so skilled that it causes one to suspect that this story was not a one-shot accident.

  At the time this tale appeared, Wilhelm Konrad Roentgen’s discovery of the effects of the X-ray, made November 5, 1895, was not yet eleven years old. X-rays figure prominently in many science fiction stories at the turn of the century as one phenomenon whose full effects were not completely known and from which new ramifications might yet be expected. The X-ray machine is used in this story as an integral part of the plot.

  The story method, of having a condemned man confess to his lawyers the true facts behind a murder, is very old, but its effectiveness is acute. This is a tale that skirts the borderline of believability yet will be admired for its ingenuity.

  OF ALL the questions put to the lawyer, the one he is most often called upon to answer, if so be his work carries him that way, is how can you conscientiously defend a murderer when you know him to be guilty? And though there are many good answers to that question, viewed from the legal standpoint, they seldom, if ever, appeal to the lay mind. To the man in the street the man under indictment is probably guilty. If a jury subsequently so find him the original opinion is confirmed. If not, a deal of credit is given to the shrewdness of the lawyer as to one who has succeeded in setting at naught all the machinery of the law. In either instance, the public is absolutely sure of its facts, and the original query remains.

  It has been my fortune to defend several men accused of high crimes and misdemeanors, and, invariably, my friends and acquaintances have asked me the question. Occasionally, I have been publicly criticized, or pityingly excused on the plea that it was my business, with the emphasis on the business. All this is fresher in my mind by reason of the fact that it has all been repeated in the last few weeks. Many of my cases have caused comment, but none have subjected me to a more universal uplifting of eyebrows and elevation of chins than my late defense of Dr. Forbes. In all justice to my critics I will say that the facts appearing on the trial rather justified them in their attitude, if such an attitude can ever be justified. Long before the trial was finished the public had condemned the defendant, and the verdict of the jury was in accordance with the public view. And, now that they have both had their say, I am inclined to have mine. Not that I intend to change public opinion, or attempt to do so, but because the facts present one of the most curious cases which has ever fallen under my notice.

  For the benefit of those who have never heard of the case of the State vs. Forbes, I will briefly outline the evidence, as testified to by the witnesses: Dr. Forbes was a man thirty-six years of age, unmarried, and living very quietly in an old quarter of the city. His parents were both dead, and, in fact, it was not shown that he had any living relatives, except a younger sister who lived with and kept house for him. He was a well-educated man, of studious habits and possessed of sufficient means to allow of close application to scientific medical investigations, to
which he seems to have devoted a large portion of his time. He had a laboratory at the back of his house, where he carried on his work and conducted his experiments. He was taciturn and diffident, a trifle priggish, and in consequence enjoyed the reputation among his neighbors of being queer, odd, haughty and “stuck up.”

  The sister, Rhoda Forbes, was a very beautiful girl of about twenty-four years, and the same neighbors who condemned the brother declared her bright, clever and vivacious. It appeared that they had been left as orphans when she was a young child, and that her education and maintenance had devolved upon the elder brother. Between them, and notwithstanding their constitutional differences in temperament, there existed a pleasant and wholesome relationship, a condition and mutual attitude, in short, which proved extremely baffling to the State’s Attorney in his endeavors to prove motive. It is needless to say that the young lady had a number of suitors, but with a single exception, none of them attracted much attention upon the trial.

  The exception was one Bert Lapham, the son of a merchant in the city, of good repute and large fortune. The young man was a college graduate, and, unlike his father, had a reputation around town which was far from savory. Very naturally that side of his character was not on exhibition while he was courting Rhoda Forbes, and from the evidence it was inferable that he was not an unwelcome visitor at the house. It did not appear that the Doctor encouraged his visits, but the same might have been said concerning any of the other young men. And aside from a certain jealousy which he seems to have manifested against all who sought favor of his sister, he showed no excessive ill-will toward Lapham. Such, then, was the apparent condition of affairs when, on the morning of February 2d, 1905, Dr. Forbes met Lapham on the street, and deliberately and carefully shot him down. Lapham died almost instantly and without making any statement.

  The Doctor was arrested and taken to the jail. He made no resistance, but, as is often the case with murderers, acted like a man who had planned up to a certain point and deed, and was without purpose thereafter. As soon as he was disposed of, the police went to his house, and there, on the operating table in the laboratory they found the dead body of the sister. The coroner was summoned, and an inquest was held. Two other doctors were called in, an autopsy was decided upon. That, too, was held, and the doctors reported that there were no visible signs of foul play. The verdict, being unexpected, aroused a deal of astonishment. The doctors were asked how she came to die, and in such a place, and they answered in a most astounding burst of medical candor that they did not know, and added that it was probably heart trouble.

  Being without evidence then as to the sister, the grand jury merely indicted the Doctor for the murder of Lapham. The above are the facts elicited upon the trial; that which follows I learned from the lips of the Doctor himself. Soon after his indictment he sent for me, and in response to his request I went to the jail.

  I was obliged to wait but a few moments before he was brought in. I had read a few of the less lurid accounts of the affair, and had a fair idea of the facts and the man, but nevertheless, I was somewhat surprised at his appearance. He had been described as a man of medium height, dark complexion, black hair shot with gray, brown eyes, brown mustache and Vandyke beard. All this was very true, but they had omitted to mention the low and very wide forehead, and the fact that he looked at one with the steady, unblinking stare of the short-sighted naturalist. He looked the well-to-do doctor of studious habits, and as I stepped forward to greet him I thought: “He might murder for the sake of science, but not in passion.”

  He received me calmly, and we seated ourselves.

  “You sent for me,” I said.

  “Yes,” his tones were well modulated. “Yes. I presume you are aware of the indictment against me—and the case?”

  “I have read some of the accounts. You are indicted for the murder of Lapham.”

  “Yes. It occurred about as the newspapers have it. As a matter of fact, I presume there is no adequate defense.”

  “Suppose you tell me the facts,” I suggested.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “You have them already,” he replied.

  “All of them?” I queried.

  “No—” he hesitated. “No—but all that would do you any good.”

  “It would be better if I knew them all,” I said.

  “There is nothing which would relieve.”

  “But there may be something which would entertain.”

  He nodded and smiled and twirled the point of his beard reflectively.

  “Briefly,” he said, “I met Lapham on the street. I said ‘Sir, I am about to kill you.’ I raised the revolver and fired. I left the house with the purpose of doing so. That is what I believe you call premeditation, and the thing for which you hang people. I bought the revolver at a store on the way downtown, and I had the man show me how to load and fire it. This I did in order that I might not miss my aim when I met him. I thought out all the details before I left the house.”

  “Exactly,” I said, “And now for the matters which occurred before the premeditation.”

  “They would not aid you, I fear.”

  “And I am certain they would entertain me,” I repeated.

  He looked at me between half-closed lids steadily, keenly, quizzically.

  “I like your attitude,” he said, and after another short pause, and a few more twirls of his beard he added, “but I warn you that in all I say you will find no particle of what you call competent evidence.”

  “Motives seldom constitute legal excuses,” I volunteered, “ and we need not consider them in that light, if you desire it so.”

  He handed me his cigarette case, and while holding the match for him I for the first time noticed a certain gleam in the eyes which was distinctly animal. He inhaled a long breath and dropped his lids in the manner of a cat in contentment by a fire, or a tiger in a quiet mood.

  “If you are to understand me at all,” he said, “you must know that our family is peculiar in one respect. We arc what you might call a telegraphic race. You know that by instinct, development or training, some families in all their ramifications have certain trails, I do not mean merely physical traits, but more particularly, tendencies to certain lines of work. I can point you to families which have had ministers in the line for centuries. There are others which have run to lawyers or merchants, or clowns or what not. In ours this tendency is all to telegraphy. My father and all his brothers and their father before them, and that in the days of the infancy of the science, were all connected with the telegraphic business.

  “I do not suppose there is a man or woman of our family today who is not thoroughly familiar with the instruments and code of the craft. I, myself, in common with my sister, learned the code as soon as I could read. We had senders all over the old house at home, and among my earliest recollections is the sharp clicking of the machines. You are aware that the things we inherit and the lessons we learn in our early childhood gradually become instinct—no less. So it was with myself and my sister. We never forgot our early training and, in fact, fostered it. In a hundred ways we used it about the house where we lived together, and we even played with it elsewhere. At the theatre or in church we would tap messages to each other with our finger nails on wood, thus”:

  He drummed on the arms of his chair in a nonchalant manner, and with such a perfect show of indifference that had my attention not been called, I should not have caught the peculiar telegraphic rhythm.

  “Our house was fitted up with all sorts of devices. The senders were concealed in out-of-the-way places, and generally within reach of the hand, so that often when I was in the laboratory and Rhoda in the parlor she would be telling me the things the caller of the moment was doing and saying. Of course the position and character of these instruments we kept secret from all our acquaintances, and a certain attachment which rendered the sending soundless and which was and is a secret of my family, greatly aided us to this end.

  “Personally, I was expected by
my parents to follow in their footsteps, but as I grew older, I found that I had a natural inclination toward medicine and surgery, and particularly the latter. This tendency increased with age, and before I had finished my academic course in college I had made up my mind to practice. That plan the mechanical turn in my blood frustrated. As I went on I found myself absorbed by the scientific phase of the subject. I was still in college when the X-ray was first discovered. It took a strong hold upon my imagination. I watched and followed the improvements, and without further parley decided to put my life into that line of work. Being sufficiently well fortified financially so that I was not obliged to practice for a living, I gave it up, except in so far as I found it running with my scientific work. As you can see, I am not an old man, and indeed, it has been but a few years since my graduation.

  “Those years I have spent in the attainment of one object, the perfection of the X-ray. As you are doubtless aware, despite all the advertisement given the matter in the newspapers, the most that the masters have been able to do has been to use the ray for the discovery and location of solid substances embedded in or surrounded by substances of less consistency. That is, for instance, the perception of bones in the flesh of the arm or leg, or the presence of metals in the body.

  “It was my purpose in taking up the study to perfect the apparatus to the point where it would be possible to discern the blood vessels, or possibly, the nerves. To this task I gave all my time, and, Sir, I can state to you that I have been successful!”

  He leaned forward and searched my face. His eyes shone with the fervor of the enthusiast. He drew a long breath and sank back in his chair, and it was several moments before he continued his narrative.

  “I have in my laboratory a table, an operating table, which is the result of my inventions. On that table I place a body. Beneath is the ray, and connected with the ray, above and directly over, is the ordinary fluoro-scope with a microscopic attachment. I shall not undertake to describe the entire matter to you. Unless you are of a scientific turn of mind you would not understand, and—” He paused and I shook my head. “Ah, you are not—then I will refrain. It is sufficient to say that the fluoroscope and the connected ray may be moved about at will, and any part of the body may be subjected to investigation. The light is developed in a bulb as in the ordinary machine, but the quality of it and thereby its usefulness for descrying nerves, muscles or blood vessels, is the secret which I have learned. You may perhaps get a better comprehension if I state that I use a separate tube for each species of investigation. That is, I attach the ordinary X-ray for the detection of metal. With another tube all the intervening substances fade into fog and the nerves stand revealed. So, by yet another adjustment, I can study the blood, the microscope aiding very materially, as you can readily understand.”