IV
THE MYSTIC POISONER
"It's almost as though he had been struck down by a spirit hand,Kennedy."
Grady, the house detective of the Prince Edward Charles Hotel, hadrouted us out of bed in the middle of the night with a hurried call forhelp, and now met us in the lobby of the fashionable hostelry. All thathe had said over the wire was that there had been a murder--"anEnglishman, a Captain Shirley."
"Why," exclaimed Grady, lowering his voice as he led us through thelobby, "it's the most mysterious thing, I think, that I've ever seen!"
"In what way?" prompted Kennedy.
"Well," continued Grady, "it must have been just a bit after midnightthat one of the elevator-boys heard what sounded like a muffled reportin a room on the tenth floor. There were other employees and someguests about at the time, and it was only a matter of seconds beforethey were on the spot. Finally, the sound was located as having comeprobably from Captain Shirley's room. But the door was locked--on theinside. There was no response, although some one had seen him ride upin the elevator scarcely five minutes before. By that time they hadsent for me. We broke in. There was Shirley, alone, fully dressed,lying on the floor before a writing-table. His face was horribly set,as though he had perhaps seen something that frightened and hauntedhim--though I suppose it might have been the pain that did it. I thinkhe must have heard something, jumped from the chair, perhaps in fear,then have fallen down on the floor almost immediately.
"We hurried over to him. He was still alive, but could not speak. Iturned him over, tried to rouse him and make him comfortable. It wasonly then that I saw that he was really conscious. But it seemed as ifhis tongue and most of his muscles were paralyzed. Somehow he managedto convey to us the idea that it was his heart that troubled him most.
"Really, at first I thought it was a case of suicide. But there was nosign of a weapon about and not a trace of poison--no glass, no packet.There was no wound on him, either--except a few slight cuts andscratches on his face and hands. But none of them looked to be serious.And yet, before we could get the house physician up to him he was dead."
"And with not a word?" queried Kennedy.
"That's the strangest part of it. No; not a word spoken. But as he laythere, even in spite of his paralyzed muscles, he was just able tomotion with his hands. I thought he wanted to write, and gave him apencil and a piece of paper. He clutched at them, but here is all hewas able to do."
Grady drew from his pocket a piece of paper and handed it to us. On itwere printed in trembling, irregular characters, "G A D," the "D"scarcely finished and trailing off into nothing.
What did it all mean? How had Shirley met his death, and why?
"Tell me something about him," said Kennedy, studying the paper with afrown. Grady shrugged his shoulders.
"An Englishman--that's about all I know. Looked like one of the youngersons who so frequently go out to seek their fortunes in the colonies.By his appearance, I should say he had been in the Far East--India, nodoubt. And I imagine he had made good. He seemed to have plenty ofmoney. That's all I know about him."
"Is anything missing from his room?" I asked. "Could it have been arobbery?"
"I searched the room hastily," replied Grady. "Apparently not a thinghad been touched. I don't think it was robbery."
By this time we had made our way through the lobby and were in theelevator.
"I've kept the room just as it was," went on Grady to Kennedy, loweringhis voice. "I've even delayed a bit in notifying the police, so thatyou could get here first."
A moment later we entered the rooms, a fairly expensive suite,consisting of a sitting-room, bedroom, and bath. Everything was in acondition to indicate that Shirley had just come in when the shot, ifshot it had been, was fired.
There, on the floor, lay his body, still in the same attitude in whichhe had died and almost as Grady had found him gasping. Grady'sdescription of the horrible look on his face was, if anything, anunderstatement.
As I stood with my eyes riveted on the horror-stricken face on thefloor, Kennedy had been quietly going over the furniture and carpetabout the body.
"Look!" he exclaimed at last, scarcely turning to us. On the chair, thewriting-table, and even on the walls were little pitted marks andscratches. He bent down over the carpet. There, reflecting the electriclight, scattered all about, were little fine pieces of something thatglittered.
"You have a vacuum cleaner, I suppose?" inquired Craig, rising quickly.
"Certainly--a plant in the cellar."
"No; I mean one that is portable."
"Yes; we have that, too," answered Grady, hurrying to the roomtelephone to have the cleaner sent up.
Kennedy now began to look through Shirley's baggage. There was,however, nothing to indicate that it had been rifled.
I noted, among other things, a photograph of a woman in Oriental dress,dusky, languorous, of more than ordinary beauty and intelligence. On itsomething was written in native characters.
Just then a boy wheeled the cleaner down the hall, and Kennedy quicklyshoved the photograph into his pocket.
First, Kennedy removed the dust that was already in the machine. Thenhe ran the cleaner carefully over the carpet, the upholstery,everything about that corner of the room where the body lay. When hehad finished he emptied out the dust into a paper and placed it in hispocket. He was just finishing when there came a knock at the door, andit was opened.
"Mr. Grady?" said a young man, entering hurriedly.
"Oh, hello, Glenn! One of the night clerks in the office, Kennedy,"introduced the house detective.
"I've just heard of the--murder," Glenn began. "I was in thedining-room, being relieved for my little midnight luncheon as usual,when I heard of it, and I thought that perhaps you might want to knowsomething that happened just before I went off duty."
"Yes; anything," broke in Kennedy.
"It was early in the evening," returned the clerk, slowly, "when amessenger left a little package for Captain Shirley--said that CaptainShirley had had it sent himself and asked that it be placed in hisroom. It was a little affair in a plain, paper-wrapped parcel. I sentone of the boys up with it and a key, and told him to put the packageon the writing-desk tip here."
Kennedy looked at me. That, then, was the way something, whatever itmight be, was introduced into the room.
"When the captain came in," resumed the night clerk, "I saw there was aletter for him in the mailbox and handed it to him. He stood before theoffice desk while he opened it. I thought he looked queer. The contentsseemed to alarm him."
"What was in it?" asked Kennedy. "Could you see?"
"I got one glimpse. It seemed to be nothing but a little scarlet beadwith a black spot on it. In his surprise, he dropped a piece of paperfrom the envelope in which the bead had been wrapped up. I thought itwas strange, and, as he hurried over to the elevator, I picked it up.Here it is."
The clerk handed over a crumpled piece of notepaper. On it was scrawledthe word "Gadhr," and underneath, "Beware!" I spelled out the firststrange word. It had an ominous sound--"Gadhr." Suddenly there flashedthrough my mind the letters Shirley had tried to print but had notfinished, "G A D."
Kennedy looked at the paper a moment.
"Gadhr!" he exclaimed, in a low, tense tone. "Revolt--the native wordfor unrest in India, the revolution!"
We stared at each other blankly. All of us had been reading lately inthe despatches about the troubles there, hidden under the ban of thecensorship. I knew that the Hindu propaganda in America was as yet inits infancy, although several plots and conspiracies had been hatchedhere.
"Is there any one in the hotel whom you might suspect?" asked Kennedy.
Grady cleared his throat and looked at the night clerk significantly.
"Well," he answered, thoughtfully, "across the hall there is a newguest who came to-day--or, rather, yesterday--a Mrs. Anthony. We don'tknow anything about her, except that she looks like a foreigner. Shedid not come directly from abro
ad, but must have been living in NewYork for some time. They tell me she asked for a room on this floor, atthis end of the hall."
"H'm!" considered Kennedy. "I'd like to see her--without being seen."
"I think I can arrange that," acquiesced Grady. "You and Jameson stayin the bedroom. I'll ask her to come over here, and then you can get agood look at her."
The plan satisfied Kennedy, and together we entered the bedroom,putting out the light and leaving the door just a trifle ajar.
A moment later Mrs. Anthony entered. I heard a suppressed gasp fromKennedy.
"The woman in the photograph!" he whispered to me.
I studied her face minutely from our coign of vantage. There was,indeed, a resemblance, too striking to be mere coincidence.
In the presence of Grady, she seemed to be nervous and on guard, asthough she knew, intuitively, that she was suspected.
"Did you know Captain Shirley?" shot out Grady.
Kennedy looked over at me and frowned. I knew that something moresubtle than New York police methods would be necessary in order to getanything from a woman like this.
"No," she replied, quietly. "You see, I just came here to-day." Hervoice had an English accent.
"Did you hear a shot?"
"No," she replied. "The voices in the hall wakened me, though I did notknow what was the matter until just now."
"Then you made no effort to find out?" inquired Grady, suspiciously.
"I am alone here in the city," she answered, simply. "I was afraid tointrude."
Throughout she gave the impression that she was strangely reticentabout herself. Evidently Kennedy had not much faith that Grady wouldelicit anything of importance. He tiptoed to the door that led from thebedroom to the hall and found that it could be opened from the inside.
While Grady continued his questioning, Craig and I slipped out into thehall to the room which Mrs. Anthony occupied.
It was a suite much plainer than that occupied by Shirley. Craigswitched on the light and looked about hastily and keenly.
For a moment he stood before a dressing-table on which were severaltoilet articles. A jewel-case seemed to attract his attention, and heopened it. Inside were some comparatively trifling trinkets. The thingthat caused him to exclaim, however, was a necklace, broken andunstrung. I looked, too. It was composed of little crimson beads, eachwith a black spot on it!
Quickly he drew from his pocket the photograph he had taken fromShirley's baggage. As I looked at it again there could be no doubt nowin my mind of the identity of the original. It was the same face. Andabout the neck, in the picture, was a necklace, plainly the same asthat before us.
"What are the beads?" I asked, fingering them. "I've never seenanything like them."
"Not beads at all," he replied. "They are Hindu prayer-beans, sometimescalled ruttee, jequirity beans, seeds of the plant known to science asAbrus precatorius. They produce a deadly poison--abrin." He slippedfour or five of them into his pocket. Then he resumed his cursorysearch of the room. There, on a writing-pad, was a note which Mrs.Anthony had evidently been engaged in writing. Craig pored over it forsome time, while I fidgeted. It was nothing but a queer jumble ofletters:
SOWC FSSJWA EKNLFFBY WOVHLX IHWAJYKH 101MLEL EPJNVPSL WCLURL GHIHDAELBA.
"Come," I cautioned; "she may return any moment."
Quickly he copied off the letters.
"It's a cipher," he said, simply, "a new and rather difficult one, too,I imagine. But I may be able to decipher it."
Kennedy withdrew from the room and, instead of going back to Shirley's,rode down in the elevator to find the night clerk.
"Had Captain Shirley any friends in the city?" asked Craig.
Glenn shrugged his shoulders.
"He was out most of the time," he replied. "He seemed to be veryoccupied about something. No, I don't think I ever saw him speak to asoul here, except a word to the waiters and the boys. Once, though," herecollected, "he was called up by a Mrs. Beekman Rogers."
"Mrs. Beekman Rogers," repeated Kennedy, jotting the name down andlooking it up in the telephone-book. She lived on Riverside Drive, and,slender though the information was, Kennedy seemed glad to get it.
Grady joined us a moment later, having been wondering where we haddisappeared.
"You saw her?" he asked. "What did you think of her?"
"Worth watching," was all Kennedy would say. "Did you get anything outof her?"
Grady shook his head.
"But I am convinced she knows something," he insisted.
Kennedy was about to reply when he was interrupted by the arrival of acouple of detectives from the city police, tardily summoned by Grady.
"I shall let you know the moment I have discovered anything," he said,as he bade Grady good-by. "And thank you for letting me have a chanceat the case before all the clues had been spoiled."
Late though it was, in the laboratory Kennedy set to work examining thedust which he had swept up by the vacuum cleaner, as well as thejequirity beans he had taken from Mrs. Anthony's jewel-case.
I do not know how much sleep he had, but I managed to snatch a fewhours' rest, and early in the morning I found him at work again,examining the cipher message which he had copied.
"By the way," he said, scarcely looking up as he saw me again, "thereis something quite important which you can do for me." Rather pleasedto be of some use, I waited eagerly. "I wish you'd go out and see whatyou can find out about that Mrs. Beekman Rogers," he continued. "I'vesome work here that will keep me for several hours; so come back to mehere."
It was such a commission as he had often given me before, and, throughmy connection with the Star, I found no difficulty in executing it.
I found that Mrs. Rogers was well known in a certain circle of societyin the city. She was wealthy and had the reputation of having givenquite liberally to many causes that had interested her. Just now, herparticular fad was Oriental religions, and some of her bizarre beliefshad attracted a great deal of attention. A couple of years before shehad made a trip around the world, and had lived in India for severalmonths, apparently fascinated by the life and attracted to themysteries of Oriental faiths.
With my budget of information I hastened back again to join Kennedy atthe laboratory. I could see that the cipher was still unread. Fromthat, I conjectured that it was, as he had guessed, constructed on somenew and difficult plan.
"What do you think of Mrs. Rogers?" I asked, as I finished recitingwhat I had learned. "Is it possible that she can be in thisrevolutionary propaganda?" He shook his head doubtfully.
"Much of the disaffection that exists in India to-day," he replied, "isdue to the encouragement and financial assistance which it has receivedfrom people here in this country, although only a fraction of thenatives of India have ever heard of us. Much of the money devoted tothe cause of revolution and anarchy in India is contributed by worthypeople who innocently believe that their subscriptions are destined topromote the cause of native enlightenment. I prefer to believe thatthere is some such explanation in her case. At any rate, I think thatwe had better make a call on Mrs. Rogers."
Early that afternoon, accordingly, we found ourselves at the door ofthe large stone house on Riverside Drive in which Mrs. Rogers lived.Kennedy inquired for her, and we were admitted to a largereception-room, the very decorations of which showed evidence of herleaning toward the Orient. Mrs. Rogers proved to be a widow of bafflingage, good-looking, with a certain indefinable attractiveness.
Kennedy's cue was obvious. It was to be an eager neophyte in themysteries of the East, and he played the part perfectly withoutoverdoing it.
"Perhaps you would like to come to some of the meetings of our Cult ofthe Occult," she suggested.
"Delighted, I am sure," returned Kennedy. She handed him a card.
"We have a meeting this afternoon at four," she explained. "I should beglad to welcome you among us."
Kennedy thanked her and rose to go, preferring to say nothing more justthen about the probl
ems which vexed us in the Shirley case, lest itshould make further investigation more difficult.
Nothing more had happened at the hotel, as we heard from Grady a fewminutes later, and, as there was some time before the cult met, wereturned to the laboratory.
Things had evidently progressed well, even in the few hours that he hadbeen studying his meager evidence. Not only was he making a series ofdelicate chemical tests, but, in cases, he had several guinea-pigswhich he was using also.
He now studied through a microscope some of the particles of dust fromthe vacuum cleaner.
"Little bits of glass," he said, briefly, taking his eye from theeyepiece. "Captain Shirley was not shot."
"Not shot?" I repeated. "Then how was he killed?"
Kennedy eyed me gravely.
"Shirley was murdered by a poisoned bomb!"
I said nothing, for the revelation was even more startling than I hadimagined.
"In that package which was placed in his room," he went on, "must havebeen a little infernal machine of glass, constructed so as to explodethe moment the wrapper was broken. The flying pieces of glass injectedthe poison as by a myriad of hypodermic needles--the highly poisonoustoxin of abrin, product of the jequirity, which is ordinarily destroyedin the stomach but acts powerfully if injected into the blood. Shirleydied of jequirity poisoning, or rather of the alkaloid in the bean. Ithas been used in India for criminal poisoning for ages. Only, there itis crushed, worked into a paste, and rolled into needle-pointed formswhich prick the skin. Abrin is composed of two albuminous bodies, oneof which resembles snake-venom in all its effects, attacking the heart,making the temperature fall rapidly, and leaving the blood fluid afterdeath. It is a vegetable toxin, quite comparable with ricin from thecastor-oil bean."
In spite of my horror at the diabolical plot that had been aimed atShirley, my mind ran along, keenly endeavoring to piece together thescattered fragments of the case. Some one, of course, had sent thepackage while he was out and had it placed in his room. Had it been thesame person who had sent the single jequirity bean? My mind instantlyreverted to the strange woman across the hall, the photograph in hisluggage, and the broken necklace in the jewel-case.
Kennedy continued looking at the remainder of the jequirity beans and aliquid he had developed from some of them. Finally, with a glance athis watch, he placed a tube of the liquid in a leather case in hispocket.
"This may not be the only murder," he remarked, sententiously. "It isbest to be prepared. Come; we must get up to that meeting."
We journeyed up-town and arrived at the little private hall which theCult of the Occult had hired somewhat ahead of the time set for themeeting, as Kennedy had aimed to do. Mrs. Rogers was already there andmet us at the door.
"So glad to see you," she welcomed, leading us in.
As we entered we could breathe the characteristic pervading odor ofsandalwood. Rich Oriental hangings were on the walls, interspersed withcabalistic signs, while at one end was a raised dais.
Mrs. Rogers introduced us to a rather stout, middle-aged, sallow-facedindividual in a turban and flowing robes of rustling purple silk. Hiseyes were piercing, small, and black. The plump, unhealthy, milk-whitefingers of his hands were heavy with ornate rings. He looked like whatI should have imagined a swami to be, and such, I found, was indeed histitle.
"The Swami Rajmanandra," introduced Mrs. Rogers.
He extended his flabby hand in welcome, while Kennedy eyed him keenly.We were not permitted many words with the swami, however, for Mrs.Rogers next presented us to a younger but no less interesting-lookingOriental who was in Occidental dress.
"This is Mr. Singh Bandematarain," said Mrs. Rogers. "You know, he hasbeen sent here by the nizam of his province to be educated at theuniversity."
Mrs. Rogers then hastened to conduct us to seats as, one by one, theworshipers entered. They were mostly women of the aristocratic type whoevidently found in this cult a new fad to occupy their jaded cravingfor the sensational. In the dim light, there was something almostsepulchral about the gathering, and their complexions seemed as whiteas wax.
Again the door opened and another woman entered. I felt the pressure ofKennedy's hand on my arm and turned my eyes unobtrusively. It was Mrs.Anthony.
Quietly she seemed to glide over the floor toward the swami and, for amoment, stood talking to him. I saw Singh eye her with a curious look.Was it fear or suspicion?
I had come expecting to see something weird and wild, perhaps theexhibition of an Indian fakir--I know not what. In that, at least, Iwas disappointed. The Swami Rajmanandra, picturesque though he was,talked most fascinatingly about his religion, but either thetheatricals were reserved for an inner circle or else we were subtlysuspected, for I soon found myself longing for the meeting to close sothat we could observe those whom we had come to watch.
I had almost come to the conclusion that our mission had been a failurewhen the swami concluded and the visitors swarmed forward to talk withthe holy man from the East. Kennedy managed to make his way about thecircle to Mrs. Rogers and soon was in an animated conversation.
"Were you acquainted with a Captain Shirley?" he asked, finally, as sheopened the way for the question by a remark about her life in Calcutta.
"Y-yes," she replied, hesitating; "I read in the papers this morningthat he was found dead, most mysteriously. Terrible, wasn't it? Yes, Imet him in Calcutta while I was there. Why, he was on his way toLondon, and came to New York and called on me."
My eye followed the direction of Mrs. Rogers's. She was talking to us,but really her attention was centered on Mrs. Anthony and the swamitogether. As I glanced back at her I caught sight of Singh, evidentlyengaged in watching the same two that I was. Did he have some suspicionof Mrs. Anthony? Why was he watching Mrs. Rogers? I determined to studythe two women more closely. I saw that Kennedy had already noticed whatI had seen.
"One very peculiar thing," he said, deliberately modulating his voiceso that it could be heard by those about us, "was that, just before hewas killed, some one sent a prayer-bean from a necklace to him."
At the mention of the necklace I saw that Mrs. Rogers was allattention. Involuntarily she shot a glance at Mrs. Anthony, as if shenoted that she was not wearing the necklace now.
"Is that Englishwoman a member of the cult?" queried Kennedy, a momentlater, as, quite naturally, he looked over at Mrs. Anthony. "Who isshe?"
"Oh," replied Mrs. Rogers, quickly, "she isn't an Englishwoman at all.She is a Hindu--I believe, a former nautch-girl, daughter of anautch-girl. She passes by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but really hername is Kalia Dass. Every one in Calcutta knew her."
Kennedy quietly drew his card-case from his pocket and handed a card toMrs. Rogers.
"I should like to talk to you about her some time," he said, in acareful whisper. "If anything happens--don't hesitate to call on me."
Before Mrs. Rogers could recover from her surprise Kennedy had saidgood-by and we were on our way to the laboratory.
"That's a curious situation," I observed. "Can you make it out? Howdoes Shirley fit into this thing?"
Craig hesitated a moment, as though debating whether to say anything,even to me, about his suspicions.
"Suppose," he said, slowly, "that Shirley was a secret agent of theBritish government, charged with the mission of finding out whetherMrs. Rogers was contributing--unknowingly, perhaps--to hatching anotherIndian mutiny? Would that suggest anything to you?"
"And the nautch-girl whom he had known in Calcutta followed him, hopingto worm from him the secrets which he--"
"Not too fast," he cautioned. "Let us merely suppose that Shirley was aspy. If I am not mistaken, we shall see something happen soon, as aresult of what I said to Mrs. Rogers."
Excited now by the possibilities opened up by his conjecture regardingShirley, which I knew must have amounted to a certainty in his mind, Iwatched him impatiently, as he calmly set to work cleaning up theremainder of the laboratory investigation in the affair.
I
t was scarcely half an hour later that a car drove up furiously to ourdoor and Mrs. Rogers burst in, terribly agitated.
"You remember," she cried, breathlessly, "you said that a jequiritybean was sent to Captain Shirley?"
"Yes," encouraged Kennedy.
"Well, after you left, I was thinking about it. That Kalia Dass used towear a necklace of them, but she didn't have it on to-day. I beganthinking about it. While she was talking to the swami I went over. I'venoticed how careful she always is of her hand-bag. So I managed tocatch my hand in the loop about her wrist. It dropped on the floor. Weboth made a dive for it, but I got it. I managed, also, to open thecatch and, when I picked it up to hand to her, with an apology, whatshould roll out but a score of prayer-beans! Some papers dropped out,too. She almost tore them from my hands; in fact, one of them did tear.After it was over I had this scrap, a corner torn off one of them."
Kennedy took the scrap which she handed to him and studied itcarefully, while we looked over his shoulder. On it was a queeralphabetical table. Across the first line were the letters singly, eachfollowed by a dash. Then, in squares underneath, were pairs ofletters--AA, BA, CA, DA, and so on, while, vertically, the column onthe left read: AA, AB, AC, AD, and so on.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rogers," Craig said, rising. "This is very important."
She seemed reluctant to go, but, as there was no excuse for stayinglonger, she finally left. Kennedy immediately set to work studying thescrap of paper and the cipher message he had copied, while I stifled myimpatience as best I could.
I could do nothing but reflect on the possibility of what a jealouswoman might do. Mrs. Rogers had given us one example. Did the sameexplanation shed any light on the mystery of the nautch-girl and thejequirity bean sent to Shirley? There was no doubt now that Shirley hadknown her in Calcutta--intimately, also. Perhaps the necklace had somesignificance. At least, he must have remembered it, as his agitationover the single bean and the word "Gadhr" seemed to indicate. If shehad sent it to him, was it as a threat? To all appearance, he had notknown that she was in New York, much less that she was at the samehotel and on the same floor. Why had she followed him? Had shemisinterpreted his attentions to Mrs. Rogers?
Longing to ask Kennedy the myriad questions that flashed through mymind, I turned to him as he scowled at the scrap of paper and thecipher before him.
Presently he glanced up at me, still scowling.
"It's no use, Walter," he said; "I can't make it out without thekey--at least, it will take so long to discover the key that it may beuseless."
Just then the telephone-bell rang and he sprang to it eagerly. As Ilistened I gathered that it was another hurried call from Grady.
"Something has happened to Mrs. Anthony!" cried Craig, as he hooked upthe receiver and seized his hat.
A second time we posted to the Prince Edward Charles, spurred by themystery that surrounded the case. No one met us in the lobby this time,and we rode up directly in the elevator to Mrs. Anthony's room.
As we came down the hall and Grady met us at the door, he did not needto tell us that something was wrong. One experience like that withShirley had put the hotel people on guard, and the house physician wasalready there, administering stimulants to Mrs. Anthony, who was lyingon the bed.
"It's just like the other case," whispered Grady. "There are the samescratches on her face and hands."
The doctor glanced about at us. By the look on his face, I read that itwas a losing fight. Kennedy bent down. The floor about the door wascovered with little glittering slivers of glass. On Mrs. Anthony's facewas the same drawn look as on Shirley's.
Was it a suicide? Had we been getting too close on her trail, or hadMrs. Anthony been attacked? Had some one been using her, and now wasafraid of her and sought to get her out of the way for safety?
What was the secret locked in her silent lips? The woman was plainlydying. Would she carry the secret with her, after all?
Kennedy quickly drew from his pocket the vial which I had seen himplace there in the laboratory early in the day. From the doctor's casehe selected a hypodermic and coolly injected a generous dose of thestuff into her arm.
"What is it?" asked the doctor, as we all watched her face anxiously.
"The antitoxin to abrin," he replied. "I developed some of it at thesame time that I was studying the poison. If an animal that is immuneto a toxin is bled and the serum collected, the antitoxin in it may beinjected into a healthy animal and render it immune. Ricin and abrinare vegetable protein toxins of enormous potency and exert a narcoticaction. Guinea-pigs fed on them in proper doses attain such a degree ofimmunity that, in a short time, they can tolerate four hundred timesthe fatal dose. The serum also can be used to neutralize the toxin inanother animal, to a certain extent."
We crowded about Kennedy and the doctor, our eyes riveted on the drawnface before us. Would the antitoxin work?
Meanwhile, Kennedy moved over to the writing-table which he hadexamined on our first visit to the room. Covered up in the writing-padwas still the paper which he had copied. Only, Mrs. Anthony had addedmuch more to it. He looked at it desperately. What good would it do if,after hours, his cleverness might solve the cipher--too late?
Mrs. Anthony seemed to be struggling bravely. Once I thought she wasalmost conscious. Glazed though her eyes looked, she saw Kennedyvaguely, with the paper in his hand. Her lips moved. Kennedy bent down,though whether he heard or read her lip movements I do not know.
"Her pocket-book!" he exclaimed.
We found it crushed under her coat which she had taken off when sheentered. Craig opened it and drew forth a crumpled sheet of paper fromwhich a corner had been torn. It exactly fitted the scrap that Mrs.Rogers had given us. There, contained within twenty-seven horizontaland twenty-seven vertical lines, making in all six hundred andseventy-six squares, was every possible combination of two letters ofthe alphabet.
Kennedy looked up, still in desperation. It did him no good. He couldhave completed the table himself.
"In--the--lining." Her lips managed to frame the words.
Kennedy literally tore the bag apart. There was nothing but a plainwhite blank card. With a superhuman effort she moved her lips again.
"Smelling-salts," she seemed to say.
I looked about. On the dressing-table stood a little dark-green bottle.I pulled the ground-glass stopper from it and a most pungent odor ofcarbonate of ammonia filled the room. Quickly I held it under her nose,but she shook her head weakly.
Kennedy seemed to understand. He snatched the bottle from me and heldthe card directly over its mouth. As the fumes of the ammonia pouredout, I saw faintly on the card the letters HR.
We turned to Mrs. Anthony. The effort had used up her strength. She hadlapsed again into unconsciousness as Craig bent over her.
"Will she live?" lasted.
"I think so," he replied, adding a hasty word to the doctor.
"What's that? Look!" I exclaimed, pointing to the card from which theletters HR had already faded as mysteriously as they had appeared,leaving the card blank again.
"It is the key!" he cried, excitedly. "Written in sympathetic ink. Atlast we have it all."
On the queer alphabetical table which the two pieces of paper made, henow wrote quickly the alphabet again, horizontally across the top,starting with H, and vertically down the side, starting with R, thus:
H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F GR a- b- c- d- e- f- g- h- i- j- k- l- m- n- o- p- q- r- s- t- u- v- w-x- y- z-S aa ba ca da ea fa ga ha ia ja ka la ma na oa pa qa ra sa taua va wa xa ya za T ab bb cb db eb fb gb hb ib jb kb lb mb nb ob pb qbrb sb tb ub vb wb xb yb zb U ac bc cc dc ec fc gc hc ic jc kc lc mc ncoc pc qc rc sc tc uc vc wc xc yc zc V ad bd cd dd ed fd gd hd id jd kdld md nd od pd qd rd sd td ud vd wd xd yd zd W ae be ce de ee fe ge heie je ke le me ne oe pe qe re se te ue ve we xe ye ze X af bf cf df efff gf hf if jf kf lf mf nf of pf qf rf sf tf uf vf wf xf yf zf Y ag bgcg dg eg fg gg hg ig jg kg lg mg ng og pg qg rg sg tg ug vg wg xg
yg zgZ ah bh ch dh eh fh gh hh ih jh kh lh mh nh oh ph qh rh sh th uh vy whxh yh zh & ai bi ci di ei fi gi hi ii ji ki li mi ni oi pi qi ri si tiui vi wi xi yi zi A aj bj cj dj ej fj gj hj ij jj kj lj mj nj oj pj qjrj sj tj uj vj wj xj yj zj B ak bk ck dk ek fk gk hk ik jk kk lk mk nkok pk qk rk sk tk uk vk wk xk yk zk C al bl cl dl el fl gl hl il jl klll ml nl ol pl ql rl sl tl ul vl wl xl yl zl D am bm cm dm em fm gm hmim jm km lm mm nm om pm qm rm sm tm um vm wm xm ym zm E an bn cn dn enfn gn hn in jn kn ln mn nn on pn qn rn sn tn un vn wn xn yn zn F ao boco do eo fo go ho io jo ko lo mo no oo po qo ro so to uo vo wo xo yo zoG ap bp cp dp ep fp gp hp ip jp kp lp mp np op pp qp rp sp tp up vp wpxp yp zp H aq bq cq dq eq fq gq hq iq jq kq lq mq nq oq pq qq rq sq tquq vq wq xq yq zq I ar br cr dr er fr gr hr ir jr kr lr mr nr or pr qrrr sr tr ur vr wr xr yr zr J as bs cs ds es fs gs hs is js ks ls ms nsos ps qs rs ss ts us vs ws xs ys zs K at bt ct dt et ft gt ht it jt ktlt mt nt ot pt qt rt st tt ut vt wt xt yt zt L au bu cu du eu fu gu huiu ju ku lu mu nu ou pu qu ru su tu uu vu wu xu yu zu M av bv cv dv evfv gv hv iv jv kv lv mv nv ov pv qv rv sv tv uv vv wv xv yv zv N aw bwcw dw ew fw gw hw iw jw kw lw mw nw ow pw qw rw sw tw uw vw ww xw yw zwO ax bx cx dx ex fx gx hx ix jx kx lx mx nx ox px qx rx sx tx ux vx wxxx yx zx P ay by cy dy ey fy gy hy iy jy ky ly my ny oy py qy ry sy tyuy vy wy xy yy zy Q az bz cz dz ez fz gz hz iz jz kz lz mz nz oz pz qzrz sz tz uz vz wz xz yz zz
"See!" exclaimed Kennedy, triumphantly, working rapidly. "Take the word'war' for instance. The square which contains WA is in line S, columnD. So I put down SD. The odd letter R, with a dash, is in line R,column Y. So I put down RY. WAR thus becomes SDRY. Working it backwardfrom SDRY, I take the two letters SD. In line S, column D, I find WA inthe square, and in line R, column Y, I find just R--making thetranslation of the cipher read 'War.' Now," he went on, excitedly,"take the message we have:
"SOWC FSSJWA EKNLFFBY WOVHLX IHWAJYKH 101MLEL EPJNVPSL WCLURL GHIHDAELBA.
"I translate each pair of letters as I come to them." He was writingrapidly. There was the message:
Have located New York headquarters at 101 Eveningside Avenue, ApartmentK. Kennedy did not pause, but dashed from the room, followed by Gradyand myself.
As our taxi pulled up on the avenue, we saw that the address was a newbut small apartment-house. We entered and located Apartment K.
Casting about for a way to get in, Craig discovered that thefire-escape could be reached from a balcony by the hall window. Heswung himself over the gap, and we followed. It was the work of only aminute to force the window-latch. We entered. No one was there.
As we pressed after him, he stopped short and flashed his electricbull's-eye about with an exclamation of startled surprise. There was afully equipped chemical and electrical laboratory. There wereexplosives enough to have blown not only us but a whole block tokingdom come. More than that, it was a veritable den of poisons. On atable stood beakers and test-tubes in which was crushed a paste thatstill showed parts of the red ruttee beans.
"Some one planned here to kill Shirley, get him out of the way,"reconstructed Kennedy, gazing about; "some one working under the cloakof Oriental religion."
"Mrs. Anthony?" queried Grady. Kennedy shook his head.
"On the contrary, like Shirley, she was an agent of the Indian SecretService. The rest of the cipher shows it. She was sent to watch someone else, as he was sent to watch Mrs. Rogers. Neither could have knownthat the other was on the case. She found out, first, that the packagewith the prayer-bean and the word 'Gadhr' was an attempt to warn andsave Shirley, whom she had known in Calcutta and still loved, butfeared to compromise. She must have tried to see him, but failed. Shehesitated to write, but finally did. Then some one must have seen thatshe was dangerous. Another poisoned bomb was sent to her. No; thenautch-girl is innocent."
"'Sh!" cautioned Grady.
Outside we could hear the footsteps of some one coming along the hall.Kennedy snapped off his light. The door opened.
"Stand still! One motion and I will throw it!"
As Kennedy's voice rang out from the direction of the table on whichstood the half-finished glass bombs, Grady and I flung ourselvesforward at the intruder, not knowing what we would encounter.
A moment later Kennedy had found the electric switch and flashed up thelights.
It was Singh, who had used both Mrs. Rogers's money and Raimanandra'sreligion to cover his conspiracy of revolt.
The Treasure-Train Page 4