The Dream Doctor

by Arthur B. Reeve

  X

  THE TOXIN OF DEATH

  The note of appeal in her tone was powerful, but I could not so readilyshake off my first suspicions of the woman. Whether or not sheconvinced Kennedy, he did not show.

  "I was only a young girl when I met Mr. Thornton," she raced on. "I wasnot yet eighteen when we were married. Too late, I found out the curseof his life--and of mine. He was a drug fiend. From the very first lifewith him was insupportable. I stood it as long as I could, but when hebeat me because he had no money to buy drugs, I left him. I gave myselfup to my career on the stage. Later I heard that he was dead--asuicide. I worked, day and night, slaved, and rose in theprofession--until, at last, I met Mr. Pitts."

  She paused, and it was evident that it was with a struggle that shecould talk so.

  "Three months after I was married to him, Thornton suddenly reappeared,from the dead it seemed to me. He did not want me back. No, indeed. Allhe wanted was money. I gave him money, my own money, for I made agreat deal in my stage days. But his demands increased. To silence himI have paid him thousands. He squandered them faster than ever. Andfinally, when it became unbearable, I appealed to a friend. That friendhas now succeeded in placing this man quietly in a sanitarium for theinsane."

  "And the murder of the chef?" shot out Kennedy.

  She looked from one to the other of us in alarm. "Before God, I know nomore of that than does Mr. Pitts."

  Was she telling the truth? Would she stop at anything to avoid thescandal and disgrace of the charge of bigamy? Was there not somethingstill that she was concealing? She took refuge in the lastresort--tears.

  Encouraging as it was to have made such progress, it did not seem to methat we were much nearer, after all, to the solution of the mystery.Kennedy, as usual, had nothing to say until he was absolutely sure ofhis ground. He spent the greater part of the next day hard at work overthe minute investigations of his laboratory, leaving me to arrange thedetails of a meeting he planned for that night.

  There were present Mr. and Mrs. Pitts, the former in charge of Dr.Lord. The valet, Edward, was also there, and in a neighbouring room wasThornton in charge of two nurses from the sanitarium. Thornton was asad wreck of a man now, whatever he might have been when his blackmailfurnished him with an unlimited supply of his favourite drugs.

  "Let us go back to the very start of the case," began Kennedy when wehad all assembled, "the murder of the chef, Sam."

  It seemed that the mere sound of his voice electrified his littleaudience. I fancied a shudder passed over the slight form of Mrs.Pitts, as she must have realised that this was the point where Kennedyhad left off, in his questioning her the night before.

  "There is," he went on slowly, "a blood test so delicate that one mightalmost say that he could identify a criminal by his veryblood-crystals--the fingerprints, so to speak, of his blood. It was bymeans of these 'hemoglobin clues,' if I may call them so, that I wasable to get on the right trail. For the fact is that a man's blood isnot like that of any other living creature. Blood of different men, ofmen and women differ. I believe that in time we shall be able to refinethis test to tell the exact individual, too.

  "What is this principle? It is that the hemoglobin or redcolouring-matter of the blood forms crystals. That has long been known,but working on this fact Dr. Reichert and Professor Brown of theUniversity of Pennsylvania have made some wonderful discoveries.

  "We could distinguish human from animal blood before, it is true. Butthe discovery of these two scientists takes us much further. By meansof blood-crystals we can distinguish the blood of man from that of theanimals and in addition that of white men from that of negroes andother races. It is often the only way of differentiating betweenvarious kinds of blood.

  "The variations in crystals in the blood are in part of form and inpart of molecular structure, the latter being discovered only by meansof the polarising microscope. A blood-crystal is only onetwo-thousand-two-hundred-and-fiftieth of an inch in length and onenine-thousandth of an inch in breadth. And yet minute as these crystalsare, this discovery is of immense medico-legal importance. Crime maynow be traced by blood-crystals."

  He displayed on his table a number of enlarged micro-photographs. Somewere labelled, "Characteristic crystals of white man's blood"; others"Crystallisation of negro blood"; still others, "Blood-crystals of thecat."

  "I have here," he resumed, after we had all examined the photographsand had seen that there was indeed a vast amount of difference, "threecharacteristic kinds of crystals, all of which I found in the variousspots in the kitchen of Mr. Pitts. There were three kinds of blood, bythe infallible Reichert test."

  I had been prepared for his discovery of two kinds, but threeheightened the mystery still more.

  "There was only a very little of the blood which was that of the poor,faithful, unfortunate Sam, the negro chef," Kennedy went on. "A littlemore, found far from his body, is that of a white person. But most ofit is not human blood at all. It was the blood of a cat."

  The revelation was startling. Before any of us could ask, he hastenedto explain.

  "It was placed there by some one who wished to exaggerate the strugglein order to divert suspicion. That person had indeed been woundedslightly, but wished it to appear that the wounds were very serious.The fact of the matter is that the carving-knife is spotted deeply withblood, but it is not human blood. It is the blood of a cat. A few yearsago even a scientific detective would have concluded that a fiercehand-to-hand struggle had been waged and that the murderer was,perhaps, fatally wounded. Now, another conclusion stands, provedinfallibly by this Reichert test. The murderer was wounded, but notbadly. That person even went out of the room and returned later,probably with a can of animal blood, sprinkled it about to give theappearance of a struggle, perhaps thought of preparing in this way aplea of self-defence. If that latter was the case, this Reichert testcompletely destroys it, clever though it was." No one spoke, but thesame thought was openly in all our minds. Who was this wounded criminal?

  I asked myself the usual query of the lawyers and the detectives--Whowould benefit most by the death of Pitts? There was but one answer,apparently, to that. It was Minna Pitts. Yet it was difficult for me tobelieve that a woman of her ordinary gentleness could be here to-night,faced even by so great exposure, yet be so solicitous for him as shehad been and then at the same time be plotting against him. I gave itup, determining to let Kennedy unravel it in his own way.

  Craig evidently had the same thought in his mind, however, for hecontinued: "Was it a woman who killed the chef? No, for the thirdspecimen of blood, that of the white person, was the blood of a man;not of a woman."

  Pitts had been following closely, his unnatural eyes now gleaming. "Yousaid he was wounded, you remember," he interrupted, as if casting aboutin his mind to recall some one who bore a recent wound. "Perhaps it wasnot a bad wound, but it was a wound nevertheless, and some one musthave seen it, must know about it. It is not three days."

  Kennedy shook his head. It was a point that had bothered him a greatdeal.

  "As to the wounds," he added in a measured tone "although this occurredscarcely three days ago, there is no person even remotely suspected ofthe crime who can be said to bear on his hands or face others than oldscars of wounds."

  He paused. Then he shot out in quick staccato, "Did you ever hear ofDr. Carrel's most recent discovery of accelerating the healing ofwounds so that those which under ordinary circumstances might take tendays to heal might be healed in twenty-four hours?"

  Rapidly, now, he sketched the theory. "If the factors that bring aboutthe multiplication of cells and the growth of tissues were discovered,Dr. Carrel said to himself, it would perhaps become possible to hastenartificially the process of repair of the body. Aseptic wounds couldprobably be made to cicatrise more rapidly. If the rate of reparationof tissue were hastened only ten times, a skin wound would heal in lessthan twenty-four hours and a fracture of the leg in four or five days.

  "For five years Dr. Carrel has
been studying the subject, applyingvarious extracts to wounded tissues. All of them increased the growthof connective tissue, but the degree of acceleration varied greatly. Insome cases it was as high, as forty times the normal. Dr. Carrel'sdream of ten times the normal was exceeded by himself."

  Astounded as we were by this revelation, Kennedy did not seem toconsider it as important as one that he was now hastening to show us.He took a few cubic centimetres of some culture which he had beenpreparing, placed it in a tube, and poured in eight or ten drops ofsulphuric acid. He shook it.

  "I have here a culture from some of the food that I found was being orhad been prepared for Mr. Pitts. It was in the icebox."

  Then he took another tube. "This," he remarked, "is aone-to-one-thousand solution of sodium nitrite."

  He held it up carefully and poured three or four cubic centimetres ofit into the first tube so that it ran carefully down the side in amanner such as to form a sharp line of contact between the heavierculture with the acid and the lighter nitrite solution.

  "You see," he said, "the reaction is very clear cut if you do it thisway. The ordinary method in the laboratory and the text-books is crudeand uncertain."

  "What is it?" asked Pitts eagerly, leaning forward with unwontedstrength and noting the pink colour that appeared at the junction ofthe two liquids, contrasting sharply with the portions above and below.

  "The ring or contact test for indol," Kennedy replied, with evidentsatisfaction. "When the acid and the nitrites are mixed the colourreaction is unsatisfactory. The natural yellow tint masks that pinktint, or sometimes causes it to disappear, if the tube is shaken. Butthis is simple, clear, delicate--unescapable. There was indol in thatfood of yours, Mr. Pitts."

  "Indol?" repeated Pitts.

  "Is," explained Kennedy, "a chemical compound--one of the toxinssecreted by intestinal bacteria and responsible for many of thesymptoms of senility. It used to be thought that large doses of indolmight be consumed with little or no effect on normal man, but now weknow that headache, insomnia, confusion, irritability, decreasedactivity of the cells, and intoxication are possible from it.Comparatively small doses over a long time produce changes in organsthat lead to serious results.

  "It is," went on Kennedy, as the full horror of the thing sank into ourminds, "the indol-and phenol-producing bacteria which are theundesirable citizens of the body, while the lactic-acid producing germscheck the production of indol and phenol. In my tests here to-day, Iinjected four one-hundredths of a grain of indol into a guinea-pig. Theanimal had sclerosis or hardening of the aorta. The liver, kidneys, andsupra-renals were affected, and there was a hardening of the brain. Inshort, there were all the symptoms of old age."

  We sat aghast. Indol! What black magic was this? Who put it in the food?

  "It is present," continued Craig, "in much larger quantities than allthe Metchnikoff germs could neutralise. What the chef was ordered toput into the food to benefit you, Mr. Pitts, was rendered valueless,and a deadly poison was added by what another--"

  Minna Pitts had been clutching for support at the arms of her chair asKennedy proceeded. She now threw herself at the feet of Emery Pitts.

  "Forgive me," she sobbed. "I can stand it no longer. I had tried tokeep this thing about Thornton from you. I have tried to make you happyand well--oh--tried so hard, so faithfully. Yet that old skeleton of mypast which I thought was buried would not stay buried. I have boughtThornton off again and again, with money--my money--only to find himthreatening again. But about this other thing, this poison, I am asinnocent, and I believe Thornton is as--"

  Craig laid a gentle hand on her lips. She rose wildly and faced him inpassionate appeal.

  "Who--who is this Thornton?" demanded Emery Pitts.

  Quickly, delicately, sparing her as much as he could, Craig hurriedover our experiences.

  "He is in the next room," Craig went on, then facing Pitts added: "Withyou alive, Emery Pitts, this blackmail of your wife might have gone on,although there was always the danger that you might hear of it--and doas I see you have already done--forgive, and plan to right theunfortunate mistake. But with you dead, this Thornton, or rather someone using him, might take away from Minna Pitts her whole interest inyour estate, at a word. The law, or your heirs at law, would neverforgive as you would."

  Pitts, long poisoned by the subtle microbic poison, stared at Kennedyas if dazed.

  "Who was caught in your kitchen, Mr. Pitts, and, to escape detection,killed your faithful chef and covered his own traces so cleverly?"rapped out Kennedy. "Who would have known the new process of healingwounds? Who knew about the fatal properties of indol? Who was willingto forego a one-hundred-thousand-dollar prize in order to gain afortune of many hundreds of thousands?"

  Kennedy paused, then finished with irresistibly dramatic logic;

  "Who else but the man who held the secret of Minna Pitts's past andpower over her future so long as he could keep alive the unfortunateThornton--the up-to-date doctor who substituted an elixir of death atnight for the elixir of life prescribed for you by him in thedaytime--Dr. Lord."

  Kennedy had moved quietly toward the door. It was unnecessary. Dr. Lordwas cornered and knew it. He made no fight. In fact, instantly his keenmind was busy outlining his battle in court, relying on the conflictingtestimony of hired experts.

  "Minna," murmured Pitts, falling back, exhausted by the excitement, onhis pillows, "Minna--forgive? What is there to forgive? The only thingto do is to correct. I shall be well--soon now--my dear. Then all willbe straightened out."

  "Walter," whispered Kennedy to me, "while we are waiting, you canarrange to have Thornton cared for at Dr. Hodge's Sanitarium."

  He handed me a card with the directions where to take the unfortunateman. When at last I had Thornton placed where no one else could do anyharm through him, I hastened back to the laboratory.

  Craig was still there, waiting alone.

  "That Dr. Lord will be a tough customer," he remarked. "Of courseyou're not interested in what happens in a case after we have caughtthe criminal. But that often is really only the beginning of the fight.We've got him safely lodged in the Tombs now, however."

  "I wish there was some elixir for fatigue," I remarked, as we closedthe laboratory that night.

  "There is," he replied. "A homeopathic remedy--more fatigue."

  We started on our usual brisk roundabout walk to the apartment. Butinstead of going to bed, Kennedy drew a book from the bookcase.

  "I shall read myself to sleep to-night," he explained, settling deeplyin his chair.

  As for me, I went directly to my room, planning that to-morrow I wouldtake several hours off and catch up in my notes.

  That morning Kennedy was summoned downtown and had to interrupt moreimportant duties in order to appear before Dr. Leslie in the coroner'sinquest over the death of the chef. Dr. Lord was held for the GrandJury, but it was not until nearly noon that Craig returned.

  We were just about to go out to luncheon, when the door buzzer sounded.

  "A note for Mr. Kennedy," announced a man in a police uniform, with ablue anchor edged with white on his coat sleeve.

  Craig tore open the envelope quickly with his forefinger. Headed"Harbour Police, Station No. 3, Staten Island," was an urgent messagefrom our old friend Deputy Commissioner O'Connor.

  "I have taken personal charge of a case here that is sufficiently outof the ordinary to interest you," I read when Kennedy tossed the noteover to me and nodded to the man from the harbour squad to wait for us."The Curtis family wish to retain a private detective to work inconjunction with the police in investigating the death of BerthaCurtis, whose body was found this morning in the waters of Kill vanKull."

  Kennedy and I lost no time in starting downtown with the policeman whohad brought the note.

  The Curtises, as we knew, were among the prominent families ofManhattan and I recalled having heard that at one time Bertha Curtishad been an actress, in spite of the means and social position of herfamily, from whom
she had become estranged as a result.

  At the station of the harbour police, O'Connor and another man, who wasin a state of extreme excitement, greeted us almost before we hadlanded.

  "There have been some queer doings about here," exclaimed the deputy ashe grasped Kennedy's hand, "but first of all let me introduce Mr.Walker Curtis."

  In a lower tone as we walked up the dock O'Connor continued, "He is thebrother of the girl whose body the men in the launch at the stationfound in the Kill this morning. They thought at first that the girl hadcommitted suicide, making it doubly sure by jumping into the water, buthe will not believe it and,--well, if you'll just come over with us tothe local undertaking establishment, I'd like to have you take a lookat the body and see if your opinion coincides with mine.

  "Ordinarily," pursued O'Connor, "there isn't much romance in harbourpolice work nowadays, but in this case some other elements seem to bepresent which are not usually associated with violent deaths in thewaters of the bay, and I have, as you will see, thought it necessary totake personal charge of the investigation.

  "Now, to shorten the story as much as possible, Kennedy, you know ofcourse that the legislature at the last session enacted lawsprohibiting the sale of such drugs as opium, morphine, cocaine, chloraland others, under much heavier penalties than before. The Healthauthorities not long ago reported to us that dope was being sold almostopenly, without orders from physicians, at several scores of places andwe have begun a crusade for the enforcement of the law. Of course youknow how prohibition works in many places and how the law is beaten.The dope fiends seem to be doing the same thing with this law.

  "Of course nowadays everybody talks about a 'system' controllingeverything, so I suppose people would say that there is a 'dope trust.'At any rate we have run up against at least a number of places thatseem to be banded together in some way, from the lowest down inChinatown to one very swell joint uptown around what the newspapers arecalling 'Crime Square.' It is not that this place is pandering tocriminals or the women of the Tenderloin that interests us so much asthat its patrons are men and women of fashionable society whose janglednerves seem to demand a strong narcotic.

  "This particular place seems to be a headquarters for obtaining them,especially opium and its derivatives.

  "One of the frequenters of the place was this unfortunate girl, BerthaCurtis. I have watched her go in and out myself, wild-eyed, nervous,mentally and physically wrecked for life. Perhaps twenty-five or thirtypersons visit the place each day. It is run by a man known as 'BigJack' Clendenin who was once an actor and, I believe, met andfascinated Miss Curtis during her brief career on the stage. He has anattendant there, a Jap, named Nichi Moto, who is a perfect enigma. Ican't understand him on any reasonable theory. A long time ago weraided the place and packed up a lot of opium, pipes, material andother stuff. We found Clendenin there, this girl, several others, andthe Jap. I never understood just how it was but somehow Clendenin gotoff with a nominal fine and a few days later opened up again. We werewatching the place, getting ready to raid it again and present suchevidence that Clendenin couldn't possibly beat it, when all of a suddenalong came this--this tragedy."

  We had at last arrived at the private establishment which was doingduty as a morgue. The bedraggled form that had been bandied about bythe tides all night lay covered up in the cold damp basement. BerthaCurtis had been a girl of striking beauty once. For a long time I gazedat the swollen features before I realised what it was that fascinatedand puzzled me about her. Kennedy, however, after a casual glance hadarrived at at least a part of her story.

  "That girl," he whispered to me so that her brother could not hear,"has led a pretty fast life. Look at those nails, yellow and dark. Itisn't a weak face, either. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing,the Oriental glamour and all that, fascinated her as much as the drug."

  So far the case with its heartrending tragedy had all the earmarks ofsuicide.