The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (top 10 motivational books .txt) 📕

Kennedy's Suit-Case Was Lying Open On The Bed,  And He Was

Literally Throwing Things Into It From His Chiffonier,  As I

Entered After A Hurried Trip Up-Town From The Star Office In

Response To An Urgent Message From Him.

"Come,  Walter," He Cried,  Hastily Stuffing In A Package Of Clean

Laundry Without Taking Off The Wrapping-Paper,  "I've Got Your

Suit-Case Out. Pack Up Whatever You Can In Five Minutes. We Must

Take The Six O'clock Train For Danbridge."

I Did Not Wait To Hear Any More. The Mere Mention Of The Name Of

The Quaint And Quiet Little Connecticut Town Was Sufficient. For

Danbridge Was On Everybody's Lips At That Time. It Was The Scene

Of The Now Famous Danbridge Poisoning Case--A Brutal Case In Which

The Pretty Little Actress,  Vera Lytton,  Had Been The Victim.

"I've Been Retained By Senator Adrian Willard," He Called From His

Room,  As I Was Busy Packing In Mine. "The Willard Family Believe

That That Young Dr. Dixon Is The Victim Of A Conspiracy--Or At

Least Alma Willard Does,  Which Comes To The Same Thing,  And--Well,

The Senator Called Me Up On Long-Distance And Offered Me Anything

I Would Name In Reason To Take The Case. Are You Ready? Come On,

Then. We've Simply Got To Make That Train."

As We Settled Ourselves In The Smoking-Compartment Of The Pullman,

Which For Some Reason Or Other We Had To Ourselves,  Kennedy Spoke

Again For The First Time Since Our Frantic Dash Across The City To

Catch The Train.

"Now Let Us See,  Walter," He Began. "We've Both Read A Good Deal

About This Case In The Papers. Let's Try To Get Our Knowledge In

An Orderly Shape Before We Tackle The Actual Case Itself."

"Ever Been In Danbridge?" I Asked.

"Never," He Replied. "What Sort Of Place Is It?"

"Mighty Interesting," I Answered; "A Combination Of Old New

England And New,  Of Ancestors And Factories,  Of Wealth And

Poverty,  And Above All It Is Interesting For Its Colony Of New-

Yorkers--What Shall I Call It?--A Literary-Artistic-Musical

Combination,  I Guess."

"Yes," He Resumed,  "I Thought As Much. Vera Lytton Belonged To The

Colony. A Very Talented Girl,  Too--You Remember Her In 'The Taming

Of The New Woman' Last Season? Well,  To Get Back To The Facts As

We Know Them At Present.

"Here Is A Girl With A Brilliant Future On The Stage Discovered By

Her Friend,  Mrs. Boncour,  In Convulsions--Practically Insensible--

With A Bottle Of Headache-Powder And A Jar Of Ammonia On Her

Dressing-Table. Mrs. Boncour Sends The Maid For The Nearest

Doctor,  Who Happens To Be A Dr. Waterworth. Meanwhile She Tries To

Restore Miss Lytton,  But With No Result. She Smells The Ammonia

And Then Just Tastes The Headache-Powder,  A Very Foolish Thing To

Do,  For By The Time Dr. Waterworth Arrives He Has Two Patients."

"No?" I Corrected,  "Only One,  For Miss Lytton Was Dead When He

Arrived,  According To His Latest Statement."

"Very Well,  Then--One. He Arrives,  Mrs. Boncour Is Ill,  The Maid

Knows Nothing At All About It,  And Vera Lytton Is Dead. He,  Too,

Smells The Ammonia,  Tastes The Headache-Powder--Just The Merest

Trace--And Then He Has Two Patients,  One Of Them Himself. We Must

See Him,  For His Experience Must Have Been Appalling. How He Ever

Did It I Can't Imagine,  But He Saved Both Himself And Mrs. Boncour

From Poisoning--Cyanide,  The Papers Say,  But Of Course We Can't

Accept That Until We See. It Seems To Me,  Walter,  That Lately The

Papers Have Made The Rule In Murder Cases: When In Doubt,  Call It

Cyanide."

Not Relishing Kennedy In The Humour Of Expressing His Real Opinion

Of The Newspapers,  I Hastily Turned The Conversation Back Again By

Asking,  "How About The Note From Dr. Dixon?"

"Ah,  There Is The Crux Of The Whole Case--That Note From Dixon.

Let Us See. Dr. Dixon Is,  If I Am Informed Correctly,  Of A Fine

And Aristocratic Family,  Though Not Wealthy. I Believe It Has Been

Established That While He Was An Interne In A City Hospital He

Became Acquainted With Vera Lytton,  After Her Divorce From That

Artist Thurston. Then Comes His Removal To Danbridge And His

Meeting And Later His Engagement With Miss Willard. On The Whole,

Walter,  Judging From The Newspaper Pictures,  Alma Willard Is Quite

The Equal Of Vera Lytton For Looks,  Only Of A Different Style Of

Beauty. Oh,  Well,  We Shall See. Vera Decided To Spend The Spring

And Summer At Danbridge In The Bungalow Of Her Friend,  Mrs.

Boncour,  The Novelist. That's When Things Began To Happen."

"Yes," I Put In,  "When You Come To Know Danbridge As I Did After

That Summer When You Were Abroad,  You'll Understand,  Too.

Everybody Knows Everybody Else's Business. It Is The Main

Occupation Of A Certain Set,  And The Per-Capita Output Of Gossip

Is A Record That Would Stagger The Census Bureau. Still,  You Can't

Get Away From The Note,  Craig. There It Is,  In Dixon's Own

Handwriting,  Even If He Does Deny It: 'This Will Cure Your

Headache. Dr. Dixon.' That's A Damning Piece Of Evidence."

"Quite Right," He Agreed Hastily; "The Note Was Queer,  Though,

Wasn't It? They Found It Crumpled Up In The Jar Of Ammonia. Oh,

There Are Lots Of Problems The Newspapers Have Failed To See The

Significance Of,  Let Alone Trying To Follow Up."

Our First Visit In Danbridge Was To The Prosecuting Attorney,

Whose Office Was Not Far From The Station On The Main Street.

Craig Had Wired Him,  And He Had Kindly Waited To See Us,  For It

Was Evident That Danbridge Respected Senator Willard And Every One

Connected With Him.

"Would It Be Too Much To Ask Just To See That Note That Was Found

In The Boncour Bungalow?" Asked Craig.

The Prosecutor,  An Energetic Young Man,  Pulled Out Of A Document-

Case A Crumpled Note Which Had Been Pressed Flat Again. On It In

Clear,  Deep Black Letters Were The Words,  Just As Reported:

                 This Will Cure Your Headache.

                          Dr. Dixon.

"How About The Handwriting?" Asked Kennedy.

The Lawyer Pulled Out A Number Of Letters. "I'm Afraid They Will

Have To Admit It," He Said With Reluctance,  As If Down In His

Heart He Hated To Prosecute Dixon. "We Have Lots Of These,  And No

Handwriting Expert Could Successfully Deny The Identity Of The

Writing."

He Stowed Away The Letters Without Letting Kennedy Get A Hint As

To Their Contents. Kennedy Was Examining The Note Carefully.

"May I Count On Having This Note For Further Examination,  Of

Course Always At Such Times And Under Such Conditions As You Agree

To?"

The Attorney Nodded. "I Am Perfectly Willing To Do Anything Not

Illegal To Accommodate The Senator," He Said. "But,  On The Other

Hand,  I Am Here To Do My Duty For The State,  Cost Whom It May."

The Willard House Was In A Virtual State Of Siege. Newspaper

Reporters From Boston And New York Were Actually Encamped At Every

Gate,  Terrible As An Army,  With Cameras. It Was With Some

Difficulty That We Got In,  Even Though We Were Expected,  For Some

Of The More Enterprising Had Already Fooled The Family By Posing

As Officers Of The Law And Messengers From Dr. Dixon.

The House Was A Real,  Old Colonial Mansion With Tall White

Pillars,  A Door With A Glittering Brass Knocker,  Which Gleamed Out

Severely At You As You Approached Through A Hedge Of Faultlessly

Trimmed Boxwoods.

Senator,  Or Rather Former Senator,  Willard Met Us In The Library,

And A Moment Later His Daughter Alma Joined Him. She Was Tall,

Like Her Father,  A Girl Of Poise And Self-Control. Yet Even The

Schooling Of Twenty-Two Years In Rigorous New England Self-

Restraint Could Not Hide The Very Human Pallor Of Her Face After

The Sleepless Nights And Nervous Days Since This Trouble Had

Broken On Her Placid Existence. Yet There Was A Mark Of Strength

And Determination On Her Face That Was Fascinating. The Man Who

Would Trifle With This Girl,  I Felt,  Was Playing Fast And Loose

With Her Very Life. I Thought Then,  And I Said To Kennedy

Afterward: "If This Dr. Dixon Is Guilty,  You Have No Right To Hide

It From That Girl. Anything Less Than The Truth Will Only Blacken

The Hideousness Of The Crime That Has Already Been Committed."

The Senator Greeted Us Gravely,  And I Could Not But Take It As A

Good Omen When,  In His Pride Of Wealth And Family And Tradition,

He Laid Bare Everything To Us,  For The Sake Of Alma Willard. It

Was Clear That In This Family There Was One Word That Stood Above

All Others,  "Duty."

As We Were About To Leave After An Interview Barren Of New Facts,

A Young Man Was Announced,  Mr. Halsey Post. He Bowed Politely To

Us,  But It Was Evident Why He Had Called,  As His Eye Followed Alma

About The Room.

"The Son Of The Late Halsey Post,  Of Post & Vance,  Silversmiths,

Who Have The Large Factory In Town,  Which You Perhaps Noticed,"

Explained The Senator. "My Daughter Has Known Him All Her Life. A

Very Fine Young Man."

Later,  We Learned That The Senator Had Bent Every Effort Toward

Securing Halsey Post As A Son-In-Law,  But His Daughter Had Had

Views Of Her Own On The Subject.

Post Waited Until Alma Had Withdrawn Before He Disclosed The Real

Object Of His Visit. In Almost A Whisper,  Lest She Should Still Be

Listening,  He Said,  "There Is A Story About Town That Vera

Lytton's Former Husband--An Artist Named Thurston--Was Here Just

Before Her Death."

Senator Willard Leaned Forward As If Expecting To Hear Dixon

Immediately Acquitted. None Of Us Was Prepared For The Next

Remark.

"And The Story Goes On To Say That He Threatened To Make A Scene

Over A Wrong He Says He Has Suffered From Dixon. I Don't Know

Anything More About It,  And I Tell You Only Because I Think You

Ought To Know What Danbridge Is Saying Under Its Breath."

We Shook Off The Last Of The Reporters Who Affixed Themselves To

Us,  And For A Moment Kennedy Dropped In At The Little Bungalow To

See Mrs. Boncour. She Was Much Better,  Though She Had Suffered

Much. She Had Taken Only A Pinhead Of The Poison,  But It Had

Proved Very Nearly Fatal.

"Had Miss Lytton Any Enemies Whom You Think Of,  People Who Were

Jealous Of Her Professionally Or Personally?" Asked Craig.

"I Should Not Even Have Said Dr. Dixon Was An Enemy," She Replied

Evasively.

"But This Mr. Thurston," Put In Kennedy Quickly. "One Is Not

Usually Visited In Perfect Friendship By A Husband Who Has Been

Divorced."

She Regarded Him Keenly For A Moment. "Halsey Post Told You That,"

She Said. "No One Else Knew He Was Here. But Halsey Post Was An

Old Friend Of Both Vera And Mr. Thurston Before They Separated. By

Chance He Happened To Drop In The Day Mr. Thurston Was Here,  And

Later In The Day I Gave Him A Letter To Forward To Mr. Thurston,

Which Had Come After The Artist Left. I'm Sure No One Else Knew

The Artist. He Was Here The Morning Of The Day She Died,  And--And-

-That's Every