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

Scientific Attack Had Nipped What Might Have Been One Of New

York's Historic Conflagrations.

"Are You Game To Go Inside?" I Heard Mccormick Ask.

For Answer Kennedy Simply Nodded. As For Me,  Where Craig Went I

Went.

The Three Of Us Drove Through The Scorching Door,  Past Twisted

Masses Of Iron Still Glowing Dull Red In The Smoke And Steam,

While The Water Hissed And Spattered And Slopped. The Smoke Was

Still Suffocating,  And Every Once In A While We Were Forced To

Find Air Close To The Floor And Near The Wall. My Hands And Arms

And Legs Felt Like Lead,  Yet On We Drove.

Coughing And Choking,  We Followed Mccormick To What Had Been The

Heart Of The Fire,  The Office. Men With Picks And Axes And All

Manner Of Cunningly Devised Instruments Were Hacking And Tearing

At The Walls And Woodwork,  Putting Out The Last Smouldering Sparks

While A Thousand Gallons Of Water Were Pouring In At Various Parts

Of The Building Where The Fire Still Showed Spirit.

There On The Floor Of The Office Lay A Charred,  Shapeless,

Unrecognisable Mass. What Was That Gruesome Odour In The Room?

Burned Human Flesh? I Recoiled From What Had Once Been The Form Of

A Woman.

Mccormick Uttered A Cry,  And As I Turned My Eyes Away,  I Saw Him

Holding A Wire With The Insulation Burned Off. He Had Picked It Up

From The Wreckage Of The Floor. It Led To A Bent And Blackened

Can--That Had Once Been A Can Of Ether.

My Mind Worked Rapidly,  But Mccormick Blurted Out The Words Before

I Could Form Them,  "Caught In Her Own Trap At Last!"

Kennedy Said Nothing,  But As One Of The Firemen Roughly But

Reverently Covered The Remains With A Rubber Sheet,  He Stooped

Down And Withdrew From The Breast Of The Woman A Long Letter-File.

"Come,  Let Us Go," He Said.

Back In Our Apartment Again We Bathed Our Racking Heads,  Gargled

Our Parched Throats,  And Washed Out Our Bloodshot Eyes,  In

Silence. The Whole Adventure,  Though Still Fresh And Vivid In My

Mind,  Seemed Unreal,  Like A Dream. The Choking Air,  The Hissing

Steam,  The Ghastly Object Under The Tarpaulin--What Did It All

Mean? Who Was She? I Strove To Reason It Out,  But Could Find No

Answer.

It Was Nearly Dawn When The Door Opened And Mccormick Came In And

Dropped Wearily Into A Chair. "Do You Know Who That Woman Was?" He

Gasped. "It Was Miss Wend Herself."

"Who Identified Her?" Asked Kennedy Calmly.

"Oh,  Several People. Stacey Recognised Her At Once. Then

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

For The Company,  Both Of Whom Had Had More Or Less To Do With Her

In Connection With Settling Up For Other Fires,  Recognised Her.

She Was A Very Clever Woman,  Was Miss Wend,  And A Very Important

Cog In The Stacey Enterprises. And To Think She Was The Firebug,

After All. I Can Hardly Believe It."

"Why Believe It?" Asked Kennedy Quietly.

"Why Believe It?" Echoed Mccormick. "Stacey Has Found Shortages In

His Books Due To The Operation Of Her Departments. The Bookkeeper

Who Had Charge Of The Accounts In Her Department,  A Man Named

Douglas,  Is Missing. She Must Have Tried To Cover Up Her

Operations By Fires And Juggling The Accounts. Failing In That She

Tried To Destroy Stacey's Store Itself,  Twice. She Was One Of The

Few That Could Get Into The Office Unobserved. Oh,  It's A Clear

Case Now. To My Mind,  The Heavy Vapours Of Ether--They Are Heavier

Than Air,  You Know--Must Have Escaped Along The Surface Of The

Floor Last Night And Become Ignited At A Considerable Distance

From Where She Expected. She Was Caught In A Back-Draught,  Or

Something Of The Sort. Well,  Thank God,  We've Seen The Last Of

This Firebug Business. What's That?"

Kennedy Had Laid The Letter-File On The Table. "Nothing. Only I

Found This Embedded In Miss Wend's Breast Right Over Her Heart."

"Then She Was Murdered?" Exclaimed Mccormick.

"We Haven't Come To The End Of This Case Yet," Replied Craig

Evasively. "On The Contrary,  We Have Just Got Our First Good Clue.

No,  Mccormick,  Your Theory Will Not Hold Water. The Real Point Is

To Find This Missing Bookkeeper At Any Cost. You Must Persuade Him

To Confess What He Knows. Offer Him Immunity--He Was Only A Pawn

In The Hands Of Those Higher Up."

Mccormick Was Not Hard To Convince. Tired As He Was,  He Grabbed Up

His Hat And Started Off To Put The Final Machinery In Motion To

Wind Up The Long Chase For The Firebug.

"I Must Get A Couple Of Hours' Sleep," He Yawned As He Left Us,

"But First I Want To Start Something Toward Finding Douglas. I

Shall Try To See You About Noon."

I Was Too Exhausted To Go To The Office. In Fact,  I Doubt If I

Could Have Written A Line. But I Telephoned In A Story Of Personal

Experiences At The Stacey Fire And Told Them They Could Fix It Up

As They Chose And Even Sign My Name To It.

About Noon Mccormick Came In Again,  Looking As Fresh As If Nothing

Had Happened. He Was Used To It.

"I Know Where Douglas Is," He Announced Breathlessly.

"Fine," Said Kennedy,  "And Can You Produce Him At Any Time When It

Is Necessary?"

"Let Me Tell You What I Have Done. I Went Down To The District

Attorney From Here--Routed Him Out Of Bed. He Has Promised To Turn

Loose His Accountants To Audit The Reports Of The Adjusters,

Hartstein And Lazard,  As Well As To Make A Cursory Examination Of

What Stacey Books There Are Left. He Says He Will Have A

Preliminary Report Ready To-Night,  But The Detailed Report Will

Take Days,  Of Course.

"It's The Douglas Problem That Is Difficult,  Though. I Haven't

Seen Him,  But One Of The Central-Office Men,  By Shadowing His

Wife,  Has Found That He Is In Hiding Down On The East Side. He's

Safe There; He Can't Make A Move To Get Away Without Being

Arrested. The Trouble Is That If I Arrest Him,  The People Higher

Up Will Know It And Will Escape Before I Can Get His Confession

And The Warrants. I'd Much Rather Have The Whole Thing Done At

Once. Isn't There Some Way We Can Get The Whole Stacey Crowd

Together,  Make The Arrest Of Douglas And Nab The Guilty Ones In

The Case,  All Together Without Giving Them A Chance To Escape Or

To Shield The Real Firebug?"

Kennedy Thought A Moment. "Yes," He Answered Slowly. "There Is. If

You Can Get Them All Together At My Laboratory To-Night At,  Say,

Eight O'clock,  I'll Give You Two Clear Hours To Make The Arrest Of

Douglas,  Get The Confession,  And Swear Out The Warrants. All That

You'll Need To Do Is To Let Me Talk A Few Minutes This Afternoon

With The Judge Who Will Sit In The Night Court To-Night. I Shall

Install A Little Machine On His Desk In The Court,  And We'll Catch

The Real Criminal--He'll Never Get A Chance To Cross The State

Line Or Disappear In Any Way. You See,  My Laboratory Will Be

Neutral Ground. I Think You Can Get Them To Come,  Inasmuch As They

Know The Bookkeeper Is Safe And That Dead Women Tell No Tales."

When Next I Saw Kennedy It Was Late In The Afternoon,  In The

Laboratory. He Was Arranging Something In The Top Drawer Of A

Flat-Top Desk. It Seemed To Be Two Instruments Composed Of Many

Levers And Discs And Magnets,  Each Instrument With A Roll Of Paper

About Five Inches Wide. On One Was A Sort Of Stylus With Two Silk

Cords Attached At Right Angles To Each Other Near The Point. On

The Other Was A Capillary Glass Tube At The Junction Of Two

Aluminum Arms,  Also At Right Angles To Each Other.

It Was Quite Like Old Times To See Kennedy At Work In His

Laboratory Preparing For A "Seance." He Said Nothing As I Watched

Him Curiously,  And I Asked Nothing. Two Sets Of Wires Were

Attached To Each Of The Instruments,  And These He Carefully

Concealed And Led Out The Window. Then He Arranged The Chairs On

The Opposite Side Of The Desk From His Own.

"Walter," He Said,  "When Our Guests Begin To Arrive I Want You To

Be Master Of Ceremonies. Simply Keep Them On The Opposite Side Of

The Desk From Me. Don't Let Them Move Their Chairs Around To The

Right Or Left. And,  Above All,  Leave The Doors Open. I Don't Want

Any One To Be Suspicious Or To Feel That He Is Shut In In Any Way.

Create The Impression That They Are Free To Go And Come When They

Please."

Stacey Arrived First In A Limousine Which He Left Standing At The

Door Of The Chemistry Building. Bloom And Warren Came Together In

The Latter's Car. Lazard Came In A Taxicab Which He Dismissed,  And

Hartstein Came Up By The Subway,  Being The Last To Arrive. Every

One Seemed To Be In Good Humour.

I Seated Them As Kennedy Had Directed. Kennedy Pulled Out The

Extension On The Left Of His Desk And Leaned His Elbow On It As He

Began To Apologise For Taking Up Their Time At Such A Critical

Moment. As Near As I Could Make Out,  He Had Quietly Pulled Out The

Top Drawer Of His Desk On The Right,  The Drawer In Which I Had

Seen Him Place The Complicated Apparatus. But As Nothing Further

Happened I Almost Forgot About It In Listening To Him. He Began By

Referring To The Burned Papers He Had Found In The Office.

"It Is Sometimes Possible," He Continued,  "To Decipher Writing On

Burned Papers If One Is Careful. The Processes Of Colour

Photography Have Recently Been Applied To Obtain A Legible

Photograph Of The Writing On Burned Manuscripts Which Are

Unreadable By Any Other Known Means. As Long As The Sheet Has Not

Been Entirely Disintegrated Positive Results Can Be Obtained Every

Time. The Charred Manuscript Is Carefully Arranged In As Near Its

Original Shape As Possible,  On A Sheet Of Glass And Covered With A

Drying Varnish,  After Which It Is Backed By Another Sheet Of

Glass.

"By Using Carefully Selected Colour Screens And Orthochromatic

Plates A Perfectly Legible Photograph Of The Writing May Be Taken,

Although There May Be No Marks On The Charred Remains That Are

Visible To The Eye. This Is The Only Known Method In Many Cases. I

Have Here Some Burned Fragments Of Paper Which I Gathered Up After

The First Attempt To Fire Your Store,  Mr. Stacey."

Stacey Coughed In Acknowledgment. As For Craig,  He Did Not Mince

Matters In Telling What He Had Found.

"Some Were Notes Given In Favour Of Rebecca Wend And Signed By

Joseph Stacey," He Said Quietly. "They Represent A Large Sum Of

Money In The Aggregate. Others Were Memoranda Of Miss Wend's,  And

Still Others Were Autograph Letters To Miss Wend Of A Very

Incriminating Nature In Connection With The Fires By Another

Person."

Here He Laid The "A. Spark" Letters On The Desk Before Him. "Now,"

He Added "Some One,  In A Spirit Of Bravado,  Sent These Notes To

The Fire Marshal At Various Times. Curiously Enough,  I Find That