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

Disc," He Remarked. "This,  By The Way,  Is An Instrument Known As

The Telegraphone,  Invented By A Dane Named Poulsen. It Records

Conversations Over A Telephone On This Plain Metal Disc By Means

Of Localised,  Minute Electric Charges."

Having Adjusted The Needle To Another Place On The Disc He Tried

Again. "We Have Here A Record Of The Entire Day's Conversations

Over The Telephone,  Preserved On This Disc. I Could Wipe Out The

Whole Thing By Pulling A Magnet Across It,  But,  Needless To Say,  I

Wouldn't Do That--Yet. Listen."

This Time It Was Capps Speaking. "Give Me Mr. Shelton. Oh,

Shelton,  I'm Going Down In The South Tube With Those Men Orton Has

Sent Nosing Around Here. I'll Let You Know When I Start Up Again.

Meanwhile--You Know--Don't Let Anything Happen While I Am There.

Good-Bye."

Capps Sat Looking Defiantly At Kennedy,  As He Stopped The

Telegraphone.

"Now," Continued Kennedy Suavely,  "What Could Happen? I'll Answer

My Own Question By Telling What Actually Did Happen. Oil That Was

Smoky At A Lower Point Than Its Flash Was Being Used In The

Machinery--Not Really Three-Hundred-And-Sixty-Degree Oil. The

Water-Jacket Had Been Tampered With,  Too. More Than That,  There Is

A Joint In The Pipe Leading Down Into The Tunnel,  Where Explosive

Gases Can Collect. It Is A Well-Known Fact In The Use Of

Compressed Air That Such A Condition Is The Best Possible Way To

Secure An Explosion.

"It Would All Seem So Natural,  Even If Discovered," Explained

Kennedy Rapidly. "The Smoking Oil--Smoking Just As An Automobile

Often Does--Is Passed Into The Compressed-Air Pipe. Condensed Oil,

Moisture,  And Gases Collect In The Joint,  And Perhaps They Line

The Whole Distance Of The Pipe. A Spark From The Low-Grade Oil--

And They Are Ignited. What Takes Place Is The Same Thing That

Occurs In The Cylinder Of An Automobile Where The Air Is

Compressed With Gasoline Vapour. Only Here We Have Compressed Air

Charged With Vapour Of Oil. The Flame Proceeds Down The Pipe--

Exploding Through The Pipe,  If It Happens To Be Not Strong Enough.

This Pipe,  However,  Is Strong. Therefore,  The Flame In This Case

Shoots Out At The Open End Of The Pipe,  Down Near The Shield,  And

If The Air In The Tunnel Happens Also To Be Surcharged With Oil-

Vapour,  An Explosion Takes Place In The Tunnel--The River Bottom

Is Blown Out--Then God Help The Sand-Hogs!

"That's How Your Accidents Took Place,  Orton," Concluded Kennedy

In Triumph,  "And That Impure Air--Not Impure From Carbon Dioxide,

But From This Oil-Vapour Mixture--Increased The Liability Of The

Men For The Bends. Capps Knew About It. He Was Careful While He

Was There To See That The Air Was Made As Pure As Possible Under

The Circumstances. He Was So Careful That He Wouldn't Even Let Mr.

Jameson Smoke In The Tunnel. But As Soon As He Went To The

Surface,  The Same Deadly Mixture Was Pumped Down Again--I Caught

Some Of It In This Flask,  And--"

"My God,  Paddy's Down There Now," Cried Orton,  Suddenly Seizing

His Telephone. "Operator,  Give Me The South Tube--Quick--What--

They Don't Answer?"

Out In The River Above The End Of The Heading,  Where A Short Time

Before There Had Been Only A Few Bubbles On The Surface Of The

Water,  I Could See What Looked Like A Huge Geyser Of Water

Spouting Up. I Pulled Craig Over To Me And Pointed.

"A Blow-Out," Cried Kennedy,  As He Rushed To The Door,  Only To Be

Met By A Group Of Blanched-Faced Workers Who Had Come Breathless

To The Office To Deliver The News.

Craig Acted Quickly. "Hold These Men," He Ordered,  Pointing To

Capps And Shelton,  "Until We Come Back. Orton,  While We Are Gone,

Go Over The Entire Day's Record On The Telegraphone. I Suspect You

And Miss Taylor Will Find Something There That Will Interest You."

He Sprang Down The Ladder To The Tunnel Air-Lock,  Not Waiting For

The Elevator. In Front Of The Closed Door Of The Lock,  An Excited

Group Of Men Was Gathered. One Of Them Was Peering Through The

Dim,  Thick,  Glass Porthole In The Door.

"There He Is,  Standin' By The Door With A Club,  An' The Men's

Crowdin' So Fast That They're All Wedged So's None Can Get In At

All. He's Beatin' 'Em Back With The Stick. Now,  He's Got The Door

Clear And Has Dragged One Poor Fellow In. It's Jimmy Rourke,  Him

With The Eight Childer. Now He's Dragged In A Polack. Now He's

Fightin' Back A Big Jamaica Nigger Who's Tryin' To Shove Ahead Of

A Little Italian."

"It's Paddy," Cried Craig. "If He Can Bring Them All Out Safely

Without The Loss Of A Life He'll Save The Day Yet For Orton. And

He'll Do It,  Too,  Walter."

Instantly I Reconstructed In My Mind The Scene In The Tunnel--The

Explosion Of The Oil-Vapour,  The Mad Race Up The Tube,  Perhaps The

Failure Of The Emergency Curtain To Work,  The Frantic Efforts Of

The Men,  In Panic,  All To Crowd Through The Narrow Little Door At

Once; The Rapidly Rising Water--And Above All The Heroic Paddy,

Cool To The Last,  Standing At The Door And Single-Handed Beating

The Men Back With A Club,  So That They Could Go Through One At A

Time.

Only When The Water Had Reached The Level Of The Door Of The Lock,

Did Paddy Bang It Shut As He Dragged The Last Man In. Then

Followed An Interminable Wait For The Air In The Lock To Be

Exhausted. When,  At Last,  The Door At Our End Of The Lock Swung

Open,  The Men With A Cheer Seized Paddy And,  In Spite Of His

Struggles,  Hoisted Him On To Their Shoulders,  And Carried Him Off,

Still Struggling,  In Triumph Up The Construction Elevator To The

Open Air Above.

The Scene In Orton's Office Was Dramatic As The Men Entered With

Paddy. Vivian Taylor Was Standing Defiantly,  With Burning Eyes,

Facing Capps,  Who Stared Sullenly At The Floor Before Him. Shelton

Was Plainly Abashed.

"Kennedy," Cried Orton,  Vainly Trying To Rise,  "Listen. Have You

Still That Place On The Telegraphone Record,  Vivian?"

Miss Taylor Started The Telegraphone,  While We All Crowded Around

Leaning Forward Eagerly.

"Hello. Inter-River? Is This The President's Office? Oh,  Hello.

This Is Capps Talking. How Are You? Oh,  You've Heard About Orton,

Have You? Not So Bad,  Eh? Well,  I'm Arranging With My Man Shelton

Here For The Final Act This Afternoon. After That You Can

Compromise With The Five-Borough On Your Own Terms. I Think I Have

Argued Taylor And Morris Into The Right Frame Of Mind For It,  If

We Have One More Big Accident. What's That? How Is My Love Affair?

Well,  Orton's In The Way Yet,  But You Know Why I Went Into This

Deal. When You Put Me Into His Place After The Compromise,  I Think

I Will Pull Strong With Her. Saw Her Last Night. She Feels Pretty

Bad About Orton,  But She'll Get Over It. Besides,  The Pater Will

Never Let Her Marry A Man Who's Down And Out. By The Way,  You've

Got To Do Something Handsome For Shelton. All Right. I'll See You

To-Night And Tell You Some More. Watch The Papers In The Meantime

For The Grand Finale. Good-Bye."

An Angry Growl Rose From One Or Two Of The More Quick-Witted Men.

Kennedy Reached Over And Pulled Me With Him Quickly Through The

Crowd.

"Hurry,  Walter," He Whispered Hoarsely,  "Hustle Shelton And Capps

Out Quick Before The Rest Of The Men Wake Up To What It's All

About,  Or We Shall Have A Lynching Instead Of An Arrest."

As We Shoved And Pushed Them Out,  I Saw The Rough And Grimy Sand-

Hogs In The Rear Move Quickly Aside,  And Off Came Their Muddy,

Frayed Hats. A Dainty Figure Flitted Among Them Toward Orton. It

Was Vivian Taylor.

"Papa," She Cried,  Grasping Jack By Both Hands And Turning To

Taylor,  Who Followed Her Closely,  "Papa,  I Told You Not To Be Too

Hasty With Jack,"

Kennedy And I Had Just Tossed A Coin To Decide Whether It Should

Be A Comic Opera Or A Good Walk In The Mellow Spring Night Air And

The Opera Had Won,  But We Had Scarcely Begun To Argue The Vital

Point As To Where To Go,  When The Door Buzzer Sounded--A Sure Sign

That Some Box-Office Had Lost Four Dollars.

It Was A Much Agitated Middle-Aged Couple Who Entered As Craig

Threw Open The Door. Of Our Two Visitors,  The Woman Attracted My

Attention First,  For On Her Pale Face The Lines Of Sorrow Were

Almost Visibly Deepening. Her Nervous Manner Interested Me

Greatly,  Though I Took Pains To Conceal The Fact That I Noticed

It. It Was Quickly Accounted For,  However,  By The Card Which The

Man Presented,  Bearing The Name "Mr. George Gilbert" And A Short

Scribble From First Deputy O'connor:

     Mr. And Mrs. Gilbert Desire To Consult You With Regard To The

     Mysterious Disappearance Of Their Daughter,  Georgette. I Am

     Sure I Need Say Nothing Further To Interest You Than That The

     M. P. Squad Is Completely Baffled.

      O'connor.

"H-M," Remarked Kennedy; "Not Strange For The Missing Persons

Squad To Be Baffled--At Least,  At This Case."

"Then You Know Of Our Daughter's Strange--Er--Departure?" Asked

Mr. Gilbert,  Eagerly Scanning Kennedy's Face And Using A Euphemism

That Would Fall Less Harshly On His Wife's Ears Than The Truth.

"Indeed,  Yes," Nodded Craig With Marked Sympathy: "That Is,  I Have

Read Most Of What The Papers Have Said. Let Me Introduce My

Friend,  Mr. Jameson. You Recall We Were Discussing The Georgette

Gilbert Case This Morning,  Walter?"

I Did,  And Perhaps Before