VII
THE GREEN CURSE
The American Medici disappeared into his main library, where Miss Whitewas making a minute examination to determine what damage had been donein the realm over which she presided.
"Apparently every book with a green binding has been mutilated in someway," resumed Dr. Lith, "but that was only the beginning. Others havesuffered, too, and some are even gone. It is impossible that anyvisitor could have done it. Only a few personal friends of Mr. Spencerare ever admitted here, and they are never alone. No, it is weird,mysterious."
Just then Spencer returned with Miss White. She was an extremelyattractive girl, slight of figure, but with an air about her that allthe imported gowns in New York could not have conferred. They wereengaged in animated conversation, so much in contrast with the boredair with which Spencer had listened to Dr. Lith that even I noticedthat the connoisseur was completely obliterated in the man, whose loveof beauty was by no means confined to the inanimate. I wondered if itwas merely his interest in her story that impelled Spencer. The more Iwatched the girl the more I was convinced that she knew that she wasinteresting to the millionaire.
"For example," Dr. Lith was saying, "the famous collection of emeraldswhich has disappeared has always been what you Americans call'hoodooed.' They hare always brought ill luck, and, like many things ofthe sort to which superstition attaches, they have been 'banked,' so tospeak, by their successive owners in museums."
"Are they salable; that is, could any one dispose of the emeralds orthe other curios with reasonable safety and at a good price?"
"Oh, yes, yes," hastened Dr. Lith, "not as collections, but separately.The emeralds alone cost fifty thousand dollars. I believe Mr. Spencerbought them for Mrs. Spencer some years before she died. She did notcare to wear them, however, and had them placed here."
I thought I noticed a shade of annoyance cross the face of the magnate."Never mind that," he interrupted. "Let me introduce Miss White. Ithink you will find her story one of the most uncanny you have everheard."
He had placed a chair for her and, still addressing us but looking ather, went on: "It seems that the morning the vandalism was firstdiscovered she and Dr. Lith at once began a thorough search of thebuilding to ascertain the extent of the depredations. The search lastedall day, and well into the night. I believe it was midnight before youfinished?"
"It was almost twelve," began the girl, in a musical voice that was tooParisian to harmonize with her plain Anglo-Saxon name, "when Dr. Lithwas down here in his office checking off the objects in the cataloguewhich were either injured or missing. I had been working in thelibrary. The noise of something like a shade flapping in the windattracted my attention. I listened. It seemed to come from theart-gallery, a large room up-stairs where some of the greatestmasterpieces in this country are hung. I hurried up there.
"Just as I reached the door a strange feeling seemed to come over methat I was not alone in that room. I fumbled for the electric lightswitch, but in my nervousness could not find it. There was just enoughlight in the room to make out objects indistinctly. I thought I heard alow, moaning sound from an old Flemish copper ewer near me. I had heardthat it was supposed to groan at night."
She paused and shuddered at her recollection, and looked about as ifgrateful for the flood of electric light that now illuminatedeverything. Spencer reached over and touched her arm to encourage herto go on. She did not seem to resent the touch.
"Opposite me, in the middle of the open floor," she resumed, her eyesdilated and her breath coming and going rapidly, "stood the mummy-caseof Ka, an Egyptian priestess of Thebes, I think. The case was empty,but on the lid was painted a picture of the priestess! Such wonderfuleyes! They seem to pierce right through your very soul. Often in thedaytime I have stolen off to look at them. But at night--remember thehour of night, too--oh, it was awful, terrible. The lid of themummy-case moved, yes, really moved, and seemed to float to one side. Icould see it. And back of that carved and painted face with thepiercing eyes was another face, a real face, real eyes, and they lookedout at me with such hatred from the place that I knew was empty--"
She had risen and was facing us with wild terror written on her face asif in appeal for protection against something she was powerless toname. Spencer, who had not taken his hand off her arm, gently pressedher back into the easy chair and finished the story.
"She screamed and fainted. Dr. Lith heard it and rushed up-stairs.There she lay on the floor. The lid of the sarcophagus had really beenmoved. He saw it. Not a thing else had been disturbed. He carried herdown here and revived her, told her to rest for a day or two, but--"
"I cannot, I cannot," she cried. "It is the fascination of the thing.It brings me back here. I dream of it. I thought I saw those eyes theother night. They haunt me. I fear them, and yet I would not avoidthem, if it killed me to look. I must meet and defy the power. What isit? Is it a curse four thousand years old that has fallen on me?"
I had heard stories of mummies that rose from their sleep of centuriesto tell the fate of some one when it was hanging in the balance, ofmummies that groaned and gurgled and fought for breath, franticallybeating with their swathed hands in the witching hours of the night.And I knew that the lure of these mummies was so strong for some peoplethat they were drawn irresistibly to look upon and confer with them.Was this a case for the oculists, the spiritualists, the Egyptologists,or for a detective?
"I should like to examine the art gallery, in fact, go over the wholemuseum," put in Kennedy in his most matter-of-fact tone.
Spencer, with a glance at his watch, excused himself, nodding to Dr.Lith to show us about, and with a good night to Miss White which wasnoticeable for its sympathy with her fears, said, "I shall be at thehouse for another half-hour at least, in case anything really importantdevelops."
A few minutes later Miss White left for the night, with apparentreluctance, and yet, I thought, with just a little shudder as shelooked back up the staircase that led to the art-gallery.
Dr. Lith led us into a large vaulted marble hall and up a broad flightof steps, past beautiful carvings and frescoes that I should have likedto stop and admire.
The art-gallery was a long room in the interior and at the top of thebuilding, windowless but lighted by a huge double skylight each half ofwhich must have been some eight or ten feet across. The light fallingthrough this skylight passed through plate glass of marvelloustransparency. One looked up at the sky as if through the air itself.
Kennedy ignored the gallery's profusion of priceless art for the timeand went directly to the mummy-case of the priestess Ka.
"It has a weird history," remarked Dr. Lith. "No less than sevendeaths, as well as many accidents, have been attributed to the maligninfluence of that greenish yellow coffin. You know the ancientEgyptians used to chant as they buried their sacred dead: 'Woe to himwho injures the tomb. The dead shall point out the evildoer to theDevourer of the Underworld. Soul and body shall be destroyed.'"
It was indeed an awesome thing. It represented a woman in the robes ofan Egyptian priestess, a woman of medium height, with an inscrutableface. The slanting Egyptian eyes did, as Miss White had said, almostliterally stare through you. I am sure that any one possessing a natureat all affected by such things might after a few minutes gazing at themin self-hypnotism really convince himself that the eyes moved and werereal. Even as I turned and looked the other way I felt that thosepenetrating eyes were still looking at me, never asleep, always keenand searching.
There was no awe about Kennedy. He carefully pushed aside the lid andpeered inside. I almost expected to see some one in there. A momentlater he pulled out his magnifying-glass and carefully examined theinterior. At last he was apparently satisfied with his search. He hadnarrowed his attention down to a few marks on the stone, partly in thethin layer of dust that had collected on the bottom.
"This was a very modern and material reincarnation," he remarked, as herose. "If I am not mistaken, the apparition wore shoes, shoes withnai
ls in the heels, and nails that are not like those in Americanshoes. I shall have to compare the marks I have found with marks I havecopied from shoe-nails in the wonderful collection of M. Bertillon.Offhand, I should say that the shoes were of French make."
The library having been gone over next without anything attractingKennedy's attention particularly, he asked about the basement orcellar. Dr. Lith lighted the way, and we descended.
Down there were innumerable huge packing-cases which had just arrivedfrom abroad, full of the latest consignment of art treasures whichSpencer had purchased. Apparently Dr. Lith and Miss White had been soengrossed in discovering what damage had been done to the art treasuresabove that they had not had time to examine the new ones in thebasement.
Kennedy's first move was to make a thorough search of all the littlegrated windows and a door which led out into a sort of little areawayfor the removal of ashes and refuse. The door showed no evidence ofhaving been tampered with, nor did any of the windows at first sight. Alow exclamation from Kennedy brought us to his side. He had opened oneof the windows and thrust his hand out against the grating, which hadfallen on the outside pavement with a clang. The bars had beencompletely and laboriously sawed through, and the whole thing had beenwedged back into place so that nothing would be detected at a cursoryglance. He was regarding the lock on the window. Apparently it was allright; actually it had been sprung so that it was useless.
"Most persons," he remarked, "don't know enough about jimmies. Againstthem an ordinary door-lock or window-catch is no protection. With ajimmy eighteen inches long even an anaemic burglar can exert a pressuresufficient to lift two tons. Not one window in a thousand can standthat strain. The only use of locks is to keep out sneak-thieves andcompel the modern scientific educated burglar to make a noise. Butmaking a noise isn't enough here, at night. This place with all itsfabulous treasures must be guarded constantly, now, every hour, as ifthe front door were wide open."
The bars replaced and the window apparently locked as before, Craigdevoted his efforts to examining the packing cases in the basement. Asyet apparently nothing down there had been disturbed. But whilerummaging about, from an angle formed behind one of the cases he drewforth a cane, to all appearances an ordinary Malacca walking-stick. Hebalanced it in his hand a moment, then shook his head.
"Too heavy for a Malacca," he ruminated. Then an idea seemed to occurto him. He gave the handle a twist. Sure enough, it came off, and as itdid so a bright little light flashed up.
"Well, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed. "For a scientificdark-lantern that is the neatest thing I have ever seen. An electriclight cane, with a little incandescent lamp and a battery hidden in it.This grows interesting. We must at last have found the cache of a realgentleman burglar such as Bertillon says exists only in books. I wonderif he has anything else hidden back here."
He reached down and pulled out a peculiar little instrument--a singleblue steel cylinder. He fitted a hard rubber cap snugly into the palmof his hand, and with the first and middle fingers encircled thecylinder over a steel ring near the other end.
A loud report followed, and a vase, just unpacked, at the opposite endof the basement was shattered as if by an explosion.
"Phew!" exclaimed Kennedy. "I didn't mean to do that. I knew the thingwas loaded, but I had no idea the hair-spring ring at the end was sodelicate as to shoot it off at a touch. It's one of those aristocraticlittle Apache pistols that one can carry in his vest pocket and hide inhis hand. Say, but that stung! And back here is a little box ofcartridges, too."
We looked at each other in amazement at the chance find. Apparently thevandal had planned a series of visits.
"Now, let me see," resumed Kennedy. "I suppose our very human but nonethe less mysterious intruder expected to use these again. Well, let himtry. I'll put them back here for the present. I want to watch in theart-gallery to-night."
I could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be aninside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind. Or was thevandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that so oftenseems to emanate from objects that have come down from the remote agesof the world? I could not help asking myself whether the story thatMiss White had told was absolutely true. Had there been anything morethan superstition in the girl's evident fright? She had seen something,I felt sure, for it was certain she was very much disturbed. But whatwas it she had really seen? So far all that Kennedy had found hadproved that the reincarnation of the priestess Ka had been verymaterial. Perhaps the "reincarnation" had got in in the daytime and hadspent the hours until night in the mummy-case. It might well have beenchosen as the safest and least suspicious hiding-place.
Kennedy evidently had some ideas and plans, for no sooner had hecompleted arrangements with Dr. Lith so that we could get into themuseum that night to watch, than he excused himself. Scarcely aroundthe corner on the next business street he hurried into a telephonebooth.
"I called up First Deputy O'Connor," he explained as he left the bootha quarter of an hour later. "You know it is the duty of two ofO'Connor's men to visit all the pawn-shops of the city at least once aweek, looking over recent pledges and comparing them with descriptionsof stolen articles. I gave him a list from that catalogue of Dr. Lith'sand I think that if any of the emeralds, for instance, have been pawnedhis men will be on the alert and will find it out."
We had a leisurely dinner at a near-by hotel, during most of which timeKennedy gazed vacantly at his food. Only once did he mention the case,and that was almost as if he were thinking aloud.
"Nowadays," he remarked, "criminals are exceptionally well informed.They used to steal only money and jewels; to-day it is famous picturesand antiques also. They know something about the value of antiquebronze and marble. In fact, the spread of a taste for art has taughtthe enterprising burglar that such things are worth money, and he, inturn, has educated up the receivers of stolen goods to pay a reasonablepercentage of the value of his artistic plunder. The success of theEuropean art thief is enlightening the American thief. That's why Ithink we'll find some of this stuff in the hands of the professionalfences."
It was still early in the evening when we returned to the museum andlet ourselves in with the key that Dr. Lith had loaned Kennedy. He hadbeen anxious to join us in the watch, but Craig had diplomaticallydeclined, a circumstance that puzzled me and set me thinking thatperhaps he suspected the curator himself.
We posted ourselves in an angle where we could not possibly be seeneven if the full force of the electrolier were switched on. Hour afterhour we waited. But nothing happened. There were strange and weirdnoises in plenty, not calculated to reassure one, but Craig was alwaysready with an explanation.
It was in the forenoon of the day after our long and unfruitful vigilin the art-gallery that Dr. Lith himself appeared at our apartment in agreat state of perturbation.
"Miss White has disappeared," he gasped, in answer to Craig's hurriedquestion. "When I opened the museum, she was not there as she isusually. Instead, I found this note."
He laid the following hastily written message on the table:
Do not try to follow me. It is the green curse that has pursued me from Paris. I cannot escape it, but I may prevent it from affecting others.
LUCILLE WHITE.
That was all. We looked at each other at a loss to understand theenigmatic wording--"the green curse."
"I rather expected something of the sort," observed Kennedy. "By theway, the shoenails were French, as I surmised. They show the marks ofFrench heels. It was Miss White herself who hid in the mummy-case."
"Impossible," exclaimed Dr. Lith incredulously. As for myself, I hadlearned that it was of no use being incredulous with Kennedy.
A moment later the door opened, and one of O'Connor's men came inbursting with news. Some of the emeralds had been discovered in a ThirdAvenue pawn-shop. O'Connor, mindful of the historic fate of the MexicanMadonna and the stolen statue of the E
gyptian goddess Neith, hadinstituted a thorough search with the result that at least part of thepilfered jewels had been located. There was only one clue to the thief,but it looked promising. The pawnbroker described him as "a crazyFrenchman of an artist," tall, with a pointed black beard. In pawningthe jewels he had given the name of Edouard Delaverde, and the citydetectives were making a canvass of the better known studios in hope oftracing him.
Kennedy, Dr. Lith and myself walked around to the boarding-house whereMiss White lived. There was nothing about it, from the landlady to thegossip, to distinguish it from scores of other places of the bettersort. We had no trouble in finding out that Miss White had not returnedhome at all the night before. The landlady seemed to look on her as awoman of mystery, and confided to us that it was an open secret thatshe was not an American at all, but a French girl whose name, shebelieved, was really Lucille Leblanc--which, after all, was White.Kennedy made no comment, but I wavered between the conclusions that shehad been the victim of foul play and that she might be the criminalherself, or at least a member of a band of criminals.
No trace of her could be found through the usual agencies for locatingmissing persons. It was the middle of the afternoon, however, when wordcame to us that one of the city detectives had apparently located thestudio of Delaverde. It was coupled with the interesting informationthat the day before a woman roughly answering the description of MissWhite had been seen there. Delaverde himself was gone.
The building to which the detective took us was down-town in aresidence section which had remained as a sort of little eddy to oneside of the current of business that had swept everything before itup-town. It was an old building and large, and was entirely given overto studios of artists.
Into one of the cheapest of the suites we were directed. It was almostbare of furniture and in a peculiarly shiftless state of disorder. Ahalf-finished picture stood in the centre of the room, and severalcompleted ones were leaning against the wall. They were of the wildestcharacter imaginable. Even the conceptions of the futurists looked tamein comparison.
Kennedy at once began rummaging and exploring. In a corner of acupboard near the door he disclosed a row of dark-colored bottles. Onewas filled halfway with an emerald-green liquid.
He held it up to the light and read the label, "Absinthe."
"Ah," he exclaimed with evident interest, looking first at the bottleand then at the wild, formless pictures. "Our crazy Frenchman was anabsintheur. I thought the pictures were rather the product of adisordered mind than of genius."
He replaced the bottle, adding: "It is only recently that our owngovernment placed a ban on the importation of that stuff as a result ofthe decision of the Department of Agriculture that it was dangerous tohealth and conflicted with the pure food law. In France they call itthe 'scourge,' the 'plague,' the 'enemy,' the 'queen of poisons.'Compared with other alcoholic beverages it has the greatest toxicity ofall. There are laws against the stuff in France, Switzerland, andBelgium. It isn't the alcohol alone, although there is from fifty toeighty per cent. in it, that makes it so deadly. It is the absinthe,the oil of wormwood, whose bitterness has passed into a proverb. Theactive principle absinthin is a narcotic poison. The stuff creates ahabit most insidious and difficult to break, a longing more exactingthan hunger. It is almost as fatal as cocaine in its blasting effectson mind and body.
"Wormwood," he pursued, still rummaging about, "has a special affinityfor the brain-cells and the nervous system in general. It produces aspecial affliction of the mind, which might be called absinthism. Lossof will follows its use, brutishness, softening of the brain. It givesrise to the wildest hallucinations. Perhaps that was why our absintheurchose first to destroy or steal all things green, as if there were somemerit in the colour, when he might have made away with so many morevaluable things. Absintheurs have been known to perform some of themost intricate manoeuvres, requiring great skill and the use ofdelicate tools. They are given to disappearing, and have no memory oftheir actions afterward."
On an ink-spattered desk lay some books, including Lombroso's"Degenerate Man" and "Criminal Woman." Kennedy glanced at them, then ata crumpled manuscript that was stuck into a pigeonhole. It was writtenin a trembling, cramped, foreign hand, evidently part of a book, or anarticle.
"Oh, the wickedness of wealth!" it began. "While millions of the poortoilers slave and starve and shiver, the slave-drivers of to-day, likethe slave-drivers of ancient Egypt, spend the money wrung from theblood of the people in useless and worthless toys of art while thepeople have no bread, in old books while the people have no homes, injewels while the people have no clothes. Thousands are spent on deadartists, but a dollar is grudged to a living genius. Down with suchart! I dedicate my life to righting the wrongs of the proletariat. Vivel'anarchism!"
The thing was becoming more serious. But by far the most seriousdiscovery in the now deserted studio was a number of large glass tubesin a corner, some broken, others not yet used and standing in rows asif waiting to be filled. A bottle labelled "Sulphuric Acid" stood atone end of a shelf, while at the other was a huge jar full of blackgrains, next a bottle of chlorate of potash. Kennedy took a few of theblack grains and placed them on a metal ash-tray. He lighted a match.There was a puff and a little cloud of smoke.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "black gunpowder. Our absintheur was a bomb-maker,an expert perhaps. Let me see. I imagine he was making an explosivebomb, ingeniously contrived of five glass tubes. The centre one, Iventure, contained sulphuric acid and chlorate of potash separated by aclose-packed wad of cotton wool. Then the two tubes on each sideprobably contained the powder, and perhaps the outside tubes werefilled with spirits of turpentine. When it is placed in position, it isso arranged that the acid in the center tube is uppermost and will thusgradually soak through the cotton wool and cause great heat and anexplosion by contact with the potash. That would ignite the powder inthe next tubes, and that would scatter the blazing turpentine, causinga terrific explosion and a widespread fire. With an imperative idea ofvengeance, such as that manuscript discloses, either for his own wrongsas an artist or for the fancied wrongs of the people, what may thisabsintheur not be planning now? He has disappeared, but perhaps he maybe more dangerous if found than if lost."
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