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

"The First Fire," He Began,  Repeating His Story For My Benefit,

Although Craig Listened Quite As Attentively As If He Had Not

Heard It Already,  "Was At The Big Store Of Jones,  Green Leaders

Have Been Arrested,  But I Can't Say We Have Anything Against Any

Of Them. Still,  Max Bloom,  The Manager Of This Company,  Insists

That The Fire Was Set For Revenge,  And Indeed It Looks As Much

Like A Fire For Revenge As The Jones-Green Fire Does"--Here He

Lowered His Voice Confidentially--"For The Purpose Of Collecting

Insurance.

"Then Came The Fire In The Slawson Building,  A New Loft-Building

That Had Been Erected Just Off Fourth Avenue. Other Than The Fact

That The Stacey Interests Put Up The Money For Financing This

Building There Seemed To Be No Reason For That Fire At All. The

Building Was Reputed To Be Earning A Good Return On The

Investment,  And I Was At A Loss To Account For The Fire. I Have

Made No Arrests For It--Just Set It Down As The Work Of A Pure

Pyromaniac,  A Man Who Burns Buildings For Fun,  A Man With An

Inordinate Desire To Hear The Fire-Engines Screech Through The

Streets And Perhaps Get A Chance To Show A Little Heroism In

'Rescuing' Tenants. However,  The Adjuster For The Insurance

Company,  Lazard,  And The Adjuster For The Insured,  Hartstein,  Have

Reached An Agreement,  And I Believe The Insurance Is To Be Paid."

"But," Interposed Kennedy,  "I See No Evidence Of Organised Arson

So Far."

"Wait," Replied The Fire Marshal. "That Was Only The Beginning,

You Understand. A Little Later Came A Fire That Looked Quite Like

An Attempt To Mask A Robbery By Burning The Building Afterward.

That Was In A Silk-House Near Spring Street. But After A

Controversy The Adjusters Have Reached An Agreement On That Case.

I Mention These Fires Because They Show Practically All The Types

Of Work Of The Various Kinds Of Firebug--Insurance,  Revenge,

Robbery,  And Plain Insanity. But Since The Spring Street Fire,  The

Character Of The Fires Has Been More Uniform. They Have All Been

In Business Places,  Or Nearly All."

Here The Fire Marshal Launched Forth Into A Catalogue Of Fires Of

Suspected Incendiary Origin,  At Least Eight In All. I Took Them

Down Hastily,  Intending To Use The List Some Time In A Box Head

With An Article In The Star. When He Had Finished His List I

Hastily Counted Up The Number Of Killed. There Were Six,  Two Of

Them Firemen,  And Four Employees. The Money Loss Ranged Into The

Millions.

Mccormick Passed His Hand Over His Forehead To Brush Off The

Perspiration. "I Guess This Thing Has Got On My Nerves," He

Muttered Hoarsely. "Everywhere I Go They Talk About Nothing Else.

If I Drop Into The Restaurant For Lunch,  My Waiter Talks Of It. If

I Meet A Newspaper Man,  He Talks Of It. My Barber Talks Of It--

Everybody. Sometimes I Dream Of It; Other Times I Lie Awake

Thinking About It. I Tell You,  Gentlemen,  I've Sweated Blood Over

This Problem."

"But," Insisted Kennedy,  "I Still Can't See Why You Link All These

Fires As Due To One Firebug. I Admit There Is An Epidemic Of

Fires. But What Makes You So Positive That It Is All The Work Of

One Man?"

"I Was Coming To That. For One Thing,  He Isn't Like The Usual

Firebug At All. Ordinarily They Start Their Fires With Excelsior

And Petroleum,  Or They Smear The Wood With Paraffin Or They Use

Gasoline,  Benzine,  Or Something Of That Sort. This Fellow

Apparently Scorns Such Crude Methods. I Can't Say How He Starts

His Fires,  But In Every Case I Have Mentioned We Have Found The

Remains Of A Wire. It Has Something To Do With Electricity--But

What,  I Don't Know. That's One Reason Why I Think These Fires Are

All Connected. Here's Another."

Mccormick Pulled A Dirty Note Out Of His Pocket And Laid It On The

Table. We Read It Eagerly:

Hello,  Chief! Haven't Found The Firebug Yet,  Have You? You Will

Know Who He Is Only When I Am Dead And The Fires Stop. I Don't

Suppose You Even Realise That The Firebug Talks With You Almost

Every Day About Catching The Firebug. That's Me. I Am The Real

Firebug,  That Is Writing This Letter. I Am Going To Tell You Why I

Am Starting These Fires. There's Money In It--An Easy Living. They

Never Caught Me In Chicago Or Anywhere,  So You Might As Well Quit

Looking For Me And Take Your Medicine.

                       A. Spark.

"Humph!" Ejaculated Kennedy,  "He Has A Sense Of Humour,  Anyhow--A.

Spark!"

"Queer Sense Of Humour," Growled Mccormick,  Gritting His Teeth.

"Here's Another I Got To-Day:

Say,  Chief: We Are Going To Get Busy Again And Fire A Big

Department-Store Next. How Does That Suit Your Majesty? Wait Till

The Fun Begins When The Firebug Gets To Work Again.

                       A. Spark.

"Well,  Sir,  When I Got That Letter," Cried Mccormick,  "I Was

Almost Ready To Ring In A Double-Nine Alarm At Once--They Have Me

That Bluffed Out. But I Said To Myself,  'There's Only One Thing To

Do--See This Man Kennedy.' So Here I Am. You See What I Am Driving

At? I Believe That Firebug Is An Artist At The Thing,  Does It For

The Mere Fun Of It And The Ready Money In It. But More Than That,

There Must Be Some One Back Of Him. Who Is The Man Higher Up--We

Must Catch Him. See?"

"A Big Department-Store," Mused Kennedy. "That's Definite--There

Are Only A Score Or So Of Them,  And The Stacey Interests Control

Several. Mac,  I'll Tell You What I'll Do. Let Me Sit Up With You

To-Night At Headquarters Until We Get An Alarm. By George,  I'll

See This Case Through To A Finish!"

The Fire Marshal Leaped To His Feet And Bounded Over To Where

Kennedy Was Seated. With One Hand On Craig's Shoulder And The

Other Grasping Craig's Hand,  He Started To Speak,  But His Voice

Choked.

"Thanks," He Blurted Out Huskily At Last. "My Reputation In The

Department Is At Stake,  My Promotion,  My Position Itself,  My--My

Family--Er--Er--"

"Not A Word,  Sir," Said Kennedy,  His Features Working

Sympathetically. "To-Night At Eight I Will Go On Watch With You.

By The Way,  Leave Me Those A. Spark Notes."

Mccormick Had So Far Regained His Composure As To Say A Hearty

Farewell. He Left The Room As If Ten Years Had Been Lifted Off His

Shoulders. A Moment Later He Stuck His Head In The Door Again.

"I'll Have One Of The Department Machines Call For You,

Gentlemen," He Said.

After The Marshal Had Gone,  We Sat For Several Minutes In Silence.

Kennedy Was Reading And Rereading The Notes,  Scowling To Himself

As If They Presented A Particularly Perplexing Problem. I Said

Nothing,  Though My Mind Was Teeming With Speculations. At Length

He Placed The Notes Very Decisively On The Table And Snapped Out

The Remark,

"Yes,  It Must Be So."

"What?" I Queried,  Still Drumming Away At My Typewriter,  Copying

The List Of Incendiary Fires Against The Moment When The Case

Should Be Complete And The Story "Released For Publication," As It

Were.

"This Note," He Explained,  Picking Up The First One And Speaking

Slowly,  "Was Written By A Woman."

I Swung Around In My Chair Quickly. "Get Out!" I Exclaimed

Sceptically. "No Woman Ever Used Such Phrases."

"I Didn't Say Composed By A Woman--I Said Written By A Woman," He

Replied.

"Oh," I Said,  Rather Chagrined.

"It Is Possible To Determine Sex From Handwriting In Perhaps

Eighty Cases Out Of A Hundred," Kennedy Went On,  Enjoying My

Discomfiture. "Once I Examined Several Hundred Specimens Of

Writing To Decide That Point To My Satisfaction. Just To Test My

Conclusions I Submitted The Specimens To Two Professional

Graphologists. I Found That Our Results Were Slightly Different,

But I Averaged The Thing Up To Four Cases Out Of Five Correct. The

So-Called Sex Signs Are Found To Be Largely Influenced By The

Amount Of Writing Done,  By Age,  And To A Certain Extent By

Practice And Professional Requirements,  As In The Conventional

Writing Of Teachers And The Rapid Hand Of Bookkeepers. Now In This

Case The Person Who Wrote The First Note Was Only An Indifferent

Writer. Therefore The Sex Signs Are Pretty Likely To Be Accurate.

Yes,  I'm Ready To Go On The Stand And Swear That This Note Was

Written By A Woman And The Second By A Man."

"Then There's A Woman In The Case,  And She Wrote The First Note

For The Firebug--Is That What You Mean?" I Asked.

"Exactly. There Nearly Always Is A Woman In The Case,  Somehow Or

Other. This Woman Is Closely Connected With The Firebug. As For

The Firebug,  Whoever It May Be,  He Performs His Crimes With Cold

Premeditation And,  As De Quincey Said,  In A Spirit Of Pure

Artistry. The Lust Of Fire Propels Him,  And He Uses His Art To

Secure Wealth. The Man May Be A Tool In The Hands Of Others,

However. It's Unsafe To Generalise On The Meagre Facts We Now

Have. Oh,  Well,  There Is Nothing We Can Do Just Yet. Let's Take A

Walk,  Get An Early Dinner,  And Be Back Here Before The Automobile

Arrives."

Not A Word More Did Kennedy Say About The Case During Our Stroll

Or Even On The Way Downtown To Fire Headquarters.

We Found Mccormick Anxiously Waiting For Us. High Up In The

Sandstone Tower At Headquarters,  We Sat With Him In The Maze Of

Delicate Machinery With Which The Fire Game Is Played In New York.

In Great Glass Cases Were Glistening Brass And Nickel Machines

With Discs And Levers And Bells,  Tickers,  Sheets Of Paper,  And

Annunciators Without Number. This Was The Fire-Alarm Telegraph,

The "Roulettewheel Of The Fire Demon," As Some One Has Aptly

Called It.

"All The Alarms For Fire From All The Boroughs,  Both From The

Regular Alarm-Boxes And The Auxiliary Systems,  Come Here First

Over The Network Of Three Thousand Miles Or More Of Wire Nerves

That Stretch Out Through The City," Mccormick Was Explaining To

Us.

A Buzzer Hissed.

"Here's An Alarm Now," He Exclaimed,  All Attention.

"Three," "Six," "Seven," The Numbers Appeared On The Annunciator.

The Clerks In The Office Moved As If They Were Part Of The

Mechanism. Twice The Alarm Was Repeated,  Being Sent Out All Over

The City. Mccormick Relapsed From His Air Of Attention.

"That Alarm Was Not In The Shopping District," He Explained,  Much

Relieved. "Now The Fire-Houses In The Particular District Where

That Fire Is Have Received The Alarm Instantly. Four Engines,  Two

Hook-And-Ladders,  A Water-Tower,  The Battalion Chief,  And A Deputy

Are Hurrying To That Fire. Hello,  Here Comes Another."

Again The Buzzer Sounded. "One," "Four," "Five" Showed In The

Annunciator.

Even Before The Clerks Could Respond,  Mccormick Had Dragged Us To

The Door. In Another Instant We Were Wildly Speeding Uptown,  The

Bell On The Front Of The Automobile Clanging Like A Fire-Engine,

The Siren Horn Going Continuously,  The Engine Of The Machine

Throbbing With Energy Until The Water Boiled In The Radiator.

"Let Her Out,  Frank," Called Mccormick To His Chauffeur,  As We

Rounded Into A Broad And Now Almost Deserted Thoroughfare.

Like A Red Streak In The Night We Flew Up That Avenue,  Turned Into