The Treasure-Train Read online

  II

  THE TRUTH DETECTOR

  "You haven't heard--no one outside has heard--of the strange illnessand the robbery of my employer, Mr. Mansfield--'Diamond Jack'Mansfield, you know."

  Our visitor was a slight, very pretty, but extremely nervous girl, whohad given us a card bearing the name Miss Helen Grey.

  "Illness--robbery?" repeated Kennedy, at once interested and turning aquick glance at me.

  I shrugged my shoulders in the negative. Neither the Star nor any ofthe other papers had had a word about it.

  "Why, what's the trouble?" he continued to Miss Grey.

  "You see," she explained, hurrying on, "I'm Mr. Mansfield's privatesecretary, and--oh, Professor Kennedy, I don't know, but I'm afraid itis a case for a detective rather than a doctor." She paused a momentand leaned forward nearer to us. "I think he has been poisoned!"

  The words themselves were startling enough without the evidentperturbation of the girl. Whatever one might think, there was no doubtthat she firmly believed what she professed to fear. More than that, Ifancied I detected a deeper feeling in her tone than merely loyalty toher employer.

  "Diamond Jack" Mansfield was known in Wall Street as a successfulpromoter, on the White Way as an assiduous first-nighter, in thesporting fraternity as a keen plunger. But of all his hobbies, none hadgained him more notoriety than his veritable passion for collectingdiamonds.

  He came by his sobriquet honestly. I remembered once having seen him,and he was, in fact, a walking De Beers mine. For his personaladornment, more than a million dollars' worth of gems did relay duty.He had scores of sets, every one of them fit for a king of diamonds. Itwas a curious hobby for a great, strong man, yet he was not alone inhis love of and sheer affection for things beautiful. Not love ofdisplay or desire to attract notice to himself had prompted him tocollect diamonds, but the mere pleasure of owning them, of associatingwith them. It was a hobby.

  It was not strange, therefore, to suspect that Mansfield might, afterall, have been the victim of some kind of attack. He went about withperfect freedom, in spite of the knowledge that crooks must havepossessed about his hoard.

  "What makes you think he has been poisoned?" asked Kennedy, betrayingno show of doubt that Miss Grey might be right.

  "Oh, it's so strange, so sudden!" she murmured.

  "But how do you think it could have happened?" he persisted.

  "It must have been at the little supper-party he gave at his apartmentlast night," she answered, thoughtfully, then added, more slowly, "andyet, it was not until this morning, eight or ten hours after the party,that he became ill." She shuddered. "Paroxysms of nausea, followed bystupor and such terrible prostration. His valet discovered him and sentfor Doctor Murray--and then for me."

  "How about the robbery?" prompted Kennedy, as it became evident that itwas Mansfield's physical condition more than anything else that was onMiss Grey's mind.

  "Oh yes"--she recalled herself--"I suppose you know something of hisgems? Most people do." Kennedy nodded. "He usually keeps them in asafe-deposit vault downtown, from which he will get whatever set hefeels like wearing. Last night it was the one he calls his sporting-setthat he wore, by far the finest. It cost over a hundred thousanddollars, and is one of the most curious of all the studies in personaladornment that he owns. All the stones are of the purest blue-white andthe set is entirely based on platinum.

  "But what makes it most remarkable is that it contains the famousM-1273, as he calls it. The M stands for Mansfield, and the figuresrepresent the number of stones he had purchased up to the time that heacquired this huge one."

  "How could they have been taken, do you think?" ventured Kennedy. MissGrey shook her head doubtfully.

  "I think the wall safe must have been opened somehow," she returned.

  Kennedy mechanically wrote the number, M-1273, on a piece of paper.

  "It has a weird history," she went on, observing what he had written,"and this mammoth blue-white diamond in the ring is as blue as thefamous Hope diamond that has brought misfortune through half the world.This stone, they say, was pried from the mouth of a dying negro inSouth Africa. He had tried to smuggle it from the mine, and when he wascaught cursed the gem and every one who ever should own it. One ownerin Amsterdam failed; another in Antwerp committed suicide; a Russiannobleman was banished to Siberia, and another went bankrupt and losthis home and family. Now here it is in Mr. Mansfield's life. I--I hateit!" I could not tell whether it was the superstition or the recentevents themselves which weighed most in her mind, but, at any rate, sheresumed, somewhat bitterly, a moment later: "M-1273! M is thethirteenth letter of the alphabet, and 1, 2, 7, 3 add up to thirteen.The first and last numbers make thirteen, and John Mansfield hasthirteen letters in his name. I wish he had never worn the thing--neverbought it!"

  The more I listened to her the more impressed I was with the fact thatthere was something more here than the feeling of a private secretary.

  "Who were in the supper-party?" asked Kennedy.

  "He gave it for Madeline Hargrave--the pretty little actress, you know,who took New York by storm last season in 'The Sport' and is booked,next week, to appear in the new show, 'The Astor Cup.'"

  Miss Grey said it, I thought, with a sort of wistful envy. Mansfield'sgay little bohemian gatherings were well known. Though he was notyoung, he was still somewhat of a Lothario.

  "Who else was there?" asked Kennedy.

  "Then there was Mina Leitch, a member of Miss Hargrave's new company,"she went on. "Another was Fleming Lewis, the Wall Street broker. DoctorMurray and myself completed the party."

  "Doctor Murray is his personal physician?" ventured Craig.

  "Yes. You know when Mr. Mansfield's stomach went back on him last yearit was Doctor Murray who really cured him."

  Kennedy nodded.

  "Might this present trouble be a recurrence of the old trouble?"

  She shook her head. "No; this is entirely different. Oh, I wish thatyou could go with me and see him!" she pleaded.

  "I will," agreed Kennedy.

  A moment later we were speeding in a taxicab over to the apartment.

  "Really," she remarked, nervously, "I feel lost with Mr. Mansfield soill. He has so many interests downtown that require constant attentionthat just the loss of time means a great deal. Of course, I understandmany of them--but, you know, a private secretary can't conduct a man'sbusiness. And just now, when I came up from the office, I couldn'tbelieve that he was too ill to care about things until I actually sawhim."

  We entered the apartment. A mere glance about showed that; even thoughMansfield's hobby was diamonds, he was no mean collector of otherarticles of beauty. In the big living-room, which was almost like astudio, we met a tall, spare, polished-mannered man, whom I quicklyrecognized as Doctor Murray.

  "Is he any better?" blurted out Miss Grey, even before ourintroductions were over. Doctor Murray shook his head gravely.

  "About the same," he answered, though one could find little reassurancein his tone.

  "I should like to see him," hinted Kennedy, "unless there is some realreason why I should not."

  "No," replied the doctor, absently; "on the contrary, it might perhapsrouse him."

  He led the way down the hall, and Kennedy and I followed, while MissGrey attempted to busy herself over some affairs at a huge mahoganytable in the library just off the living-room.

  Mansfield had shown the same love of luxury and the bizarre even in thefurnishing of his bedroom, which was a black-and-white room withfurniture of Chinese lacquer and teakwood.

  Kennedy looked at the veteran plunger long and thoughtfully as he laystretched out, listless, on the handsome bed. Mansfield seemedcompletely indifferent to our presence. There was something uncannyabout him. Already his face was shrunken, his skin dark, and his eyeswere hollow.

  "What do you suppose it is?" asked Kennedy, bending over him, and thenrising and averting his head so that Mansfield could not hear, even ifhis vagrant faculties should be a
ttracted. "His pulse is terribly weakand his heart scarcely makes a sound."

  Doctor Murray's face knit in deep lines.

  "I'm afraid," he said, in a low tone, "that I will have to admit nothaving been able to diagnose the trouble, I was just considering whom Imight call in."

  "What have you done?" asked Kennedy, as the two moved a little fartherout of ear-shot of the patient.

  "Well," replied the doctor, slowly, "when his valet called me in, Imust admit that my first impression was that I had to deal with a caseof diphtheria. I was so impressed that I even took a blood smear andexamined it. It showed the presence of a tox albumin. But it isn'tdiphtheria. The antitoxin has had no effect. No; it isn't diphtheria.But the poison is there. I might have thought it was cholera, only thatseems so impossible here in New York." Doctor Murray looked at Kennedywith no effort to conceal his perplexity. "Over and over I have askedmyself what it could be," he went on. "It seems to me that I havethought over about everything that is possible. Always I get back tothe fact that there is that tox albumin present. In some respects, itseems like the bite of a poisonous animal. There are no marks, ofcourse, and it seems altogether impossible, yet it acts precisely as Ihave seen snake bites affect people. I am that desperate that I wouldtry the Noguchi antivenene, but it would have no more effect than theantitoxin. No; I can only conclude that there is some narcotic irritantwhich especially affects the lungs and heart."

  "Will you let me have one of the blood smears?" asked Kennedy.

  "Certainly," replied the doctor, reaching over and taking a glass slidefrom several lying on a table.

  For some time after we left the sick-room Craig appeared to beconsidering what Doctor Murray had said.

  Seeking to find Miss Grey in the library, we found ourselves in thehandsome, all-wood-paneled dining-room. It still showed evidences ofthe late banquet of the night before.

  Craig paused a moment in doubt which way to go, then picked up from thetable a beautifully decorated menu-card. As he ran his eye down itmechanically, he paused.

  "Champignons," he remarked, thoughtfully. "H-m!--mushrooms."

  Instead of going on toward the library, he turned and passed through aswinging door into the kitchen. There was no one there, but it was in amuch more upset condition than the dining-room.

  "Pardon, monsieur," sounded a voice behind us.

  It was the French chef who had entered from the direction of theservants' quarters, and was now all apologies for the untidy appearanceof the realm over which he presided. The strain of the dinner had beentoo much for his assistants, he hastened to explain.

  "I see that you had mushrooms--creamed," remarked Kennedy.

  "Oui, monsieur," he replied; "some that Miss Hargrave herself sent infrom her mushroom-cellar out in the country."

  As he said it his eye traveled involuntarily toward a pile of ramekinson a table. Kennedy noticed it and deliberately walked over to thetable. Before I knew what he was about he had scooped from them each abit of the contents and placed it in some waxed paper that was lyingnear by. The chef watched him curiously.

  "You would not find my kitchen like this ordinarily," he remarked. "Iwould not like to have Doctor Murray see it, for since last year, whenmonsieur had the bad stomach, I have been very careful."

  The chef seemed to be nervous.

  "You prepared the mushrooms yourself?" asked Kennedy, suddenly.

  "I directed my assistant," came back the wary reply.

  "But you know good mushrooms when you see them?"

  "Certainly," he replied, quickly.

  "There was no one else in the kitchen while you prepared them?"

  "Yes," he answered, hurriedly; "Mr. Mansfield came in, and MissHargrave. Oh, they are very particular! And Doctor Murray, he has givenme special orders ever since last year, when monsieur had the badstomach," he repeated.

  "Was any one else here?"

  "Yes--I think so. You see, I am so excited--a big dinner--suchepicures--everything must be just so--I cannot say."

  There seemed to be little satisfaction in quizzing the chef, andKennedy turned again into the dining-room, making his way back to thelibrary, where Miss Grey was waiting anxiously for us.

  "What do you think?" she asked, eagerly.

  "I don't know what to think," replied Kennedy. "No one else has feltany ill effects from the supper, I suppose?"

  "No," she replied; "at least, I'm sure I would have heard by this timeif they had."

  "Do you recall anything peculiar about the mushrooms?" shot out Kennedy.

  "We talked about them some time, I remember," she said, slowly."Growing mushrooms is one of Miss Hargrave's hobbies out at her placeon Long Island."

  "Yes," persisted Kennedy; "but I mean anything peculiar about thepreparation of them."

  "Why, yes," she said, suddenly; "I believe that Miss Hargrave was tohave superintended them herself. We all went out into the kitchen. Butit was too late. They had been prepared already."

  "You were all in the kitchen?"

  "Yes; I remember. It was before the supper and just after we came infrom the theater-party which Mr. Mansfield gave. You know Mr. Mansfieldis always doing unconventional things like that. If he took a notion,he would go into the kitchen of the Ritz."

  "That is what I was trying to get out of the chef--Francois," remarkedKennedy. "He didn't seem to have a very clear idea of what happened. Ithink I'll see him again--right away."

  We found the chef busily at work, now, cleaning up. As Kennedy askedhim a few inconsequential questions, his eye caught a row of books on ashelf. It was a most complete library of the culinary arts. Craigselected one and turned the pages over rapidly. Then he came back tothe frontispiece, which showed a model dinner-table set for a number ofguests. He placed the picture before Francois, then withdrew it in, Ishould say, about ten seconds. It was a strange and incomprehensibleaction, but I was more surprised when Kennedy added:

  "Now tell me what you saw."

  Francois was quite overwhelming in his desire to please. Just what wasgoing on in his mind I could not guess, nor did he betray it, butquickly he enumerated the objects on the table, gradually slowing up asthe number which he recollected became exhausted.

  "Were there candles?" prompted Craig, as the flow of Francois'sdescription ceased.

  "Oh yes, candles," he agreed, eagerly.

  "Favors at each place?"

  "Yes, sir."

  I could see no sense in the proceeding, yet knew Kennedy too well tosuppose, for an instant, that he had not some purpose.

  The questioning over, Kennedy withdrew, leaving poor Francois moremystified than ever.

  "Well," I exclaimed, as we passed through the dining-room, "what wasall that?"

  "That," he explained, "is what is known to criminologists as the'Aussage test.' Just try it some time when you get a chance. If thereare, say, fifty objects in a picture, normally a person may recallperhaps twenty of them."

  "I see," I interrupted; "a test of memory."

  "More than that," he replied. "You remember that, at the end, Isuggested several things likely to be on the table. They were notthere, as you might have seen if you had had the picture before you.That was a test of the susceptibility to suggestion of the chef.Francois may not mean to lie, but I'm afraid we'll have to get alongwithout him in getting to the bottom of the case. You see, before we goany further we know that he is unreliable--to say the least. It may bethat nothing at all happened in the kitchen to the mushrooms. We'llnever discover it from him. We must get it elsewhere."

  Miss Grey had been trying to straighten out some of the snarls whichMansfield's business affairs had got into as a result of his illness;but it was evident that she had difficulty in keeping her mind on herwork.

  "The next thing I'd like to see," asked Kennedy, when we rejoined her,"is that wall safe." She led the way down the hall and into anante-room to Mansfield's part of the suite. The safe itself was acomparatively simple affair inside a closet. Indeed, I doubt whether ithad been
seriously designed to be burglar-proof. Rather it was merely aprotection against fire.

  "Have you any suspicion about when the robbery took place?" askedKennedy, as we peered into the empty compartment. "I wish I had beencalled in the first thing when it was discovered. There might have beensome chance to discover fingerprints. But now, I suppose, every clue ofthat sort has been obliterated."

  "No," she replied; "I don't know whether it happened before or afterMr. Mansfield was discovered so ill by his valet."

  "But at least you can give me some idea of when the jewels were placedin the safe."

  "It must have been before the supper, right after our return from thetheater."

  "So?" considered Kennedy. "Then that would mean that they might havebeen taken by any one, don't you see? Why did he place them in the safeso soon, instead of wearing them the rest of the evening?"

  "I hadn't thought of that way of looking at it," she admitted. "Why,when we came home from the theater I remember it had been so warm thatMr. Mansfield's collar was wilted and his dress shirt rumpled. Heexcused himself, and when he returned he was not wearing the diamonds.We noticed it, and Miss Hargrave expressed a wish that she might wearthe big diamond at the opening night of 'The Astor Cup.' Mr. Mansfieldpromised that she might and nothing more was said about it."

  "Did you notice anything else at the dinner--no matter how trivial?"asked Kennedy.

  Helen Grey seemed to hesitate, then said, in a low voice, as though thewords were wrung from her:

  "Of course, the party and the supper were given ostensibly to MissHargrave. But--lately--I have thought he was paying quite as muchattention to Mina Leitch."

  It was quite in keeping with what we knew of "Diamond Jack." Perhaps itwas this seeming fickleness which had saved him from many entanglingalliances. Miss Grey said it in such a way that it seemed like anapology for a fault in his character which she would rather havehidden. I could not but fancy that it mitigated somewhat the wistfulenvy I had noticed before when she spoke of Madeline Hargrave.

  While he had been questioning her Kennedy had been examining the wallsafe, particularly with reference to its accessibility from the rest ofthe apartment. There appeared to be no reason why one could not havegot at it from the hallway as well as from Mansfield's room.

  The safe itself seemed to yield no clue, and Kennedy was about to turnaway when he happened to glance down at the dark interior of the closetfloor. He stooped down. When he rose he had something in his hand. Itwas just a little thin piece of something that glittered iridescently.

  "A spangle from a sequin dress," he muttered to himself; then, turningto Miss Grey, "Did any one wear such a dress last night?"

  Helen Grey looked positively frightened. "Miss Hargrave!" she murmured,simply. "Oh, it cannot be--there must be some mistake!"

  Just then we heard voices in the hall.

  "But, Murray, I don't see why I can't see him," said one.

  "What good will it do, Lewis?" returned the other, which I recognizedas that of Doctor Murray.

  "Fleming Lewis," whispered Miss Grey, taking a step out into thehallway.

  A moment later Doctor Murray and Lewis had joined us.

  I could see that there was some feeling between the two men, thoughwhat it was about I could not say. As Miss Grey introduced us, Iglanced hastily out of the corner of my eye at Kennedy. Involuntarilyhis hand which held the telltale sequin had sought his waistcoatpocket, as though to hide it. Then I saw him check the action anddeliberately examine the piece of tinsel between his thumb andforefinger.

  Doctor Murray saw it, too, and his eyes were riveted on it, as thoughinstantly he saw its significance.

  "What do you think--Jack as sick as a dog, and robbed, too, and yetMurray says I oughtn't to see him!" complained Lewis, for the momentoblivious to the fact that all our eyes were riveted on the spanglebetween Kennedy's fingers. And then, slowly it seemed to dawn on himwhat it was. "Madeline's!" he exclaimed, quickly. "So Mina did tear it,after all, when she stepped on the train."

  Kennedy watched the faces before us keenly. No one said anything. Itwas evident that some such incident had happened. But had Lewis, with aquick flash of genius, sought to cover up something, protect somebody?

  Miss Grey was evidently anxious to transfer the scene at least to theliving-room, away from the sick-room, and Kennedy, seeing it, fell inwith the idea.

  "Looks to me as though this robbery was an inside affair," remarkedLewis, as we all stood for a moment in the living-room. "Do you supposeone of the servants could have been 'planted' for the purpose ofpulling it off?"

  The idea was plausible enough. Yet, plausible as the suggestion mightseem, it took no account of the other circumstances of the case. Icould not believe that the illness of Mansfield was merely anunfortunate coincidence.

  Fleming Lewis's unguarded and blunt tendency to blurt out whateverseemed uppermost in his mind soon became a study to me as we talkedtogether in the living-room. I could not quite make out whether it wasstudied and astute or whether it was merely the natural exuberance ofyouth. There was certainly some sort of enmity between him and thedoctor, which the remark about the spangle seemed to fan into a flame.

  Miss Grey manoeuvered tactfully, however, to prevent a scene. And,after an interchange of remarks that threw more heat than light on thematter, Kennedy and I followed Lewis out to the elevator, with aparting promise to keep in touch with Miss Grey.

  "What do you think of the spangle?" I queried of Craig as Lewis bade usa hasty good-by and climbed into his car at the street-entrance. "Is ita clue or a stall?"

  "That remains to be seen," he replied, noncommittally. "Just now thething that interests me most is what I can accomplish at the laboratoryin the way of finding out what is the matter with Mansfield."

  While Kennedy was busy with the various solutions which he made of thecontents of the ramekins that had held the mushrooms, I wandered overto the university library and waded through several volumes on fungiwithout learning anything of value. Finally, knowing that Kennedy wouldprobably be busy for some time, and that all I should get for my painsby questioning him would be monosyllabic grunts until he was quiteconvinced that he was on the trail of something, I determined to runinto the up-town office of the Star and talk over the affair as well asI could without violating what I felt had been given us in confidence.

  I could not, it turned out, have done anything better, for it seemed tobe the gossip of the Broadway cafes and cabarets that Mansfield hadbeen plunging rather deeply lately and had talked many of hisacquaintances into joining him in a pool, either outright or onmargins. It seemed to be a safe bet that not only Lewis and DoctorMurray had joined him, but that Madeline Hargrave and Mina Leitch, whohad had a successful season and some spare thousands to invest, mighthave gone in, too. So far the fortunes of the stock-market had notsmiled on Mansfield's schemes, and, I reflected, it was not impossiblethat what might be merely an incident to a man like Mansfield could bevery serious to the rest of them.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when I returned to the laboratorywith my slender budget of news. Craig was quite interested in what Ihad to say, even pausing for a few moments in his work to listen.

  In several cages I saw that he had a number of little guinea-pigs. Oneof them was plainly in distress, and Kennedy had been watching himintently.

  "It's strange," he remarked. "I had samples of material from sixramekins. Five of them seem to have had no effect whatever. But if thebit that I gave this fellow causes such distress, what would a largerquantity do?"

  "Then one of the ramekins was poisoned?" I questioned.

  "I have discovered in it, as well as in the blood smear, the toxalbumin that Doctor Murray mentioned," he said, simply, pulling out hiswatch. "It isn't late. I think I shall have to take a trip out to MissHargrave's. We ought to do it in an hour and a half in a car."

  Kennedy said very little as we sped out over the Long Island roads thatled to the little colony of actors and actresses at Cedar Grov
e. Heseemed rather to be enjoying the chance to get away from the city andturn over in his mind the various problems which the case presented.

  As for myself, I had by this time convinced myself that, somehow, themushrooms were involved. What Kennedy expected to find I could notguess. But from what I had read I surmised that it must be that one ofthe poisonous varieties had somehow got mixed with the others, one ofthe Amanitas, just as deadly as the venom of the rattler or thecopperhead. I knew that, in some cases, Amanitas had been used tocommit crimes. Was this such a case?

  We had no trouble in finding the estate of Miss Hargrave, and she wasat home.

  Kennedy lost no time introducing himself and coming to the point of hisvisit. Madeline Hargrave was a slender, willowy type of girl,pronouncedly blond, striking, precisely the type I should have imaginedthat Mansfield would have been proud to be seen with.

  "I've just heard of Mr. Mansfield's illness," she said, anxiously. "Mr.Lewis called me up and told me. I don't see why Miss Grey or DoctorMurray didn't let me know sooner."

  She said it with an air of vexation, as though she felt slighted. Inspite of her evident anxiety to know about the tragedy, however, I didnot detect the depth of feeling that Helen Grey had shown. In fact, thethoughtfulness of Fleming Lewis almost led me to believe that it washe, rather than Mansfield, for whom she really cared.

  We chatted a few minutes, as Kennedy told what little we haddiscovered. He said nothing about the spangle.

  "By the way," remarked Craig, at length, "I would very much like tohave a look at that famous mushroom-cellar of yours."

  For the first time she seemed momentarily to lose her poise.

  "I've always had a great interest in mushrooms," she explained,hastily. "You--you do not think it could be the mushrooms--that havecaused Mr. Mansfield's illness, do you?"

  Kennedy passed off the remark as best he could under the circumstances.Though she was not satisfied with his answer, she could not very wellrefuse his request, and a few minutes later we were down in the darkdampness of the cellar back of the house, where Kennedy set to work ona most exhaustive search.

  I could see by the expression on his face, as his search progressed,that he was not finding what he had expected. Clearly, the fungi beforeus were the common edible mushrooms. The upper side of each, as heexamined it, was white, with brownish fibrils, or scales. Underneath,some were a beautiful salmon-pink, changing gradually to almost blackin the older specimens. The stem was colored like the top. But searchas he might for what I knew he was after, in none did he find anythingbut a small or more often no swelling at the base, and no "cup," as itis called.

  As he rose after his thorough search, I saw that he was completelybaffled.

  "I hardly thought you'd find anything," Miss Hargrave remarked,noticing the look on his face. "I've always been very careful of mymushrooms."

  "You have certainly succeeded admirably," he complimented.

  "I hope you will let me know how Mr. Mansfield is," she said, as westarted back toward our car on the road. "I can't tell you how I feel.To think that, after a party which he gave for me, he should be takenill, and not only that but be robbed at the same time! Really, you mustlet me know--or I shall have to come up to the city."

  It seemed gratuitous for Kennedy to promise, for I knew that he was byno means through with her yet; but she thanked him, and we turned backtoward town.

  "Well," I remarked, as we reeled off the miles quickly, "I must saythat that puts me all at sea again. I had convinced myself that it wasa case of mushroom poisoning. What can you do now?"

  "Do?" he echoed. "Why, go on. This puts us a step nearer the truth,that's all."

  Far from being discouraged at what had seemed to me to be a fatal blowto the theory, he now seemed to be actually encouraged. Back in thecity, he lost no time in getting to the laboratory again.

  A package from the botanical department of the university was waitingthere for Kennedy, but before he could open it the telephone buzzedfuriously.

  I could gather from Kennedy's words that it was Helen Grey.

  "I shall be over immediately," he promised, as he hung up the receiverand turned to me. "Mansfield is much worse. While I get together somematerial I must take over there, Walter, I want you to call up MissHargrave and tell her to start for the city right away--meet us atMansfield's. Then get Mina Leitch and Lewis. You'll find their numbersin the book--or else you'll have to get them from Miss Grey."

  While I was delivering the messages as diplomatically as possibleKennedy had taken a vial from a medicine-chest, and then from a cabineta machine which seemed to consist of a number of collars and beltsfastened to black cylinders from which ran tubes. An upright roll ofruled paper supported by a clockwork arrangement for revolving it, anda standard bearing a recording pen, completed the outfit.

  "I should much have preferred not being hurried," he confessed, as wedashed over in the car to Mansfield's again, bearing the severalpackages. "I wanted to have a chance to interview Mina Leitch alone.However, it has now become a matter of life or death."

  Miss Grey was pale and worn as she met us in the living-room.

  "He's had a sinking-spell," she said, tremulously. "Doctor Murraymanaged to bring him around, but he seems so much weaker after it.Another might--" She broke off, unable to finish.

  A glance at Mansfield was enough to convince any one that unlesssomething was done soon the end was not far.

  "Another convulsion and sinking-spell is about all he can stand,"remarked Doctor Murray.

  "May I try something?" asked Kennedy, hardly waiting for the doctor toagree before he had pulled out the little vial which I had seen himplace in his pocket.

  Deftly Kennedy injected some of the contents into Mansfield's side,then stood anxiously watching the effect. The minutes lengthened. Atleast he seemed to be growing no worse.

  In the next room, on a table, Kennedy was now busy setting out thescroll of ruled paper and its clockwork arrangement, and connecting thevarious tubes from the black cylinders in such a way that the recordingpen just barely touched on the scroll.

  He had come back to note the still unchanged condition of the patientwhen the door opened and a handsome woman in the early thirtiesentered, followed by Helen Grey. It was Mina Leitch.

  "Oh, isn't it terrible! I can hardly believe it!" she cried, paying noattention to us as she moved over to Doctor Murray.

  I recalled what Miss Grey had said about Mansfield's attentions. It wasevident that, as far as Mina was concerned, her own attentions weremonopolized by the polished physician. His manner in greeting her toldme that Doctor Murray appreciated it. Just then Fleming Lewis bustledin.

  "I thought Miss Hargrave was here," he said, abruptly, looking about."They told me over the wire she would be."

  "She should be here any moment," returned Kennedy, looking at his watchand finding that considerably over an hour had elapsed since I hadtelephoned.

  What it was I could not say, but there was a coldness toward Lewis thatamounted to more than latent hostility. He tried to appear at ease, butit was a decided effort. There was no mistaking his relief when thetension was broken by the arrival of Madeline Hargrave.

  The circumstances were so strange that none of them seemed to objectwhile Kennedy began to explain, briefly, that, as nearly as he coulddetermine, the illness of Mansfield might be due to something eaten atthe supper. As he attached the bands about the necks and waists of oneafter another of the guests, bringing the little black cylinders thusclose to the middle of their chests, he contrived to convey theimpression that he would like to determine whether any one else hadbeen affected in a lesser degree.

  I watched most intently the two women who had just come in. One wouldcertainly not have detected from their greeting and outward manneranything more than that they were well acquainted. But they were aninteresting study, two quite opposite types. Madeline, with herbaby-blue eyes, was of the type that craved admiration. Mina's blackeyes flashed now and then imperiously, as th
ough she sought to compelwhat the other sought to win.

  As for Fleming Lewis, I could not fail to notice that he was mostattentive to Madeline, though he watched, furtively, but none the lesskeenly, every movement and word of Mina.

  His preparations completed, Kennedy opened the package which had beenleft at the laboratory just before the hasty call from Miss Grey. As hedid so he disclosed several specimens of a mushroom of pale-lemoncolor, with a center of deep orange, the top flecked with white bits.Underneath, the gills were white and the stem had a sort of veil aboutit. But what interested me most, and what I was looking for, was theremains of a sort of dirty, chocolate-colored cup at the base of thestem.

  "I suppose there is scarcely any need of saying," began Kennedy, "thatthe food which I suspect in this case is the mushrooms. Here I havesome which I have fortunately been able to obtain merely to illustratewhat I am going to say. This is the deadly Amanita muscaria, thefly-agaric."

  Madeline Hargrave seemed to be following him with a peculiarfascination.

  "This Amanita," resumed Kennedy, "has a long history, and I may saythat few species are quite so interesting. Macerated in milk, it hasbeen employed for centuries as a fly-poison, hence its name. Its deadlyproperties were known to the ancients, and it is justly celebratedbecause of its long and distinguished list of victims. Agrippina usedit to poison the Emperor Claudius. Among others, the Czar Alexis ofRussia died of eating it.

  "I have heard that some people find it only a narcotic, and it is saidthat in Siberia there are actually Amanita debauchees who go onprolonged tears by eating the thing. It may be that it does not affectsome people as it does others, but in most cases that beautifulgossamer veil which you see about the stem is really a shroud.

  "The worst of it is," he continued, "that this Amanita somewhatresembles the royal agaric, the Amanita caesarea. It is, as you see,strikingly beautiful, and therefore all the more dangerous."

  He ceased a moment, while we looked in a sort of awe at the fatallybeautiful thing.

  "It is not with the fungus that I am so much interested just now,however," Kennedy began again, "but with the poison. Many years agoscientists analyzed its poisonous alkaloids and found what they calledbulbosine. Later it was named muscarin, and now is sometimes known asamanitin, since it is confined to the mushrooms of the Amanita genus.

  "Amanitin is a wonderful and dangerous alkaloid, which is absorbed inthe intestinal canal. It is extremely violent. Three to fiveone-thousandths of a gram, or six one-hundredths of a grain, are verydangerous. More than that, the poisoning differs from most poisons inthe long time that elapses between the taking of it and the firstevidences of its effects.

  "Muscarin," Kennedy concluded, "has been chemically investigated moreoften than any other mushroom poison and a perfect antidote has beendiscovered. Atropin, or belladonna, is such a drug."

  For a moment I looked about at the others in the room. Had it been anaccident, after all? Perhaps, if any of the others had been attacked,one might have suspected that it was. But they had not been affected atall, at least apparently. Yet there could be no doubt that it was thepoisonous muscarin that had affected Mansfield.

  "Did you ever see anything like that?" asked Kennedy, suddenly, holdingup the gilt spangle which he had found on the closet floor near thewall safe.

  Though no one said a word, it was evident that they all recognized it.Lewis was watching Madeline closely. But she betrayed nothing exceptmild surprise at seeing the spangle from her dress. Had it beendeliberately placed there, it flashed over me, in order to compromiseMadeline Hargrave and divert suspicion from some one else?

  I turned to Mina. Behind the defiance of her dark eyes I felt thatthere was something working. Kennedy must have sensed it even before Idid, for he suddenly bent down over the recording needle and the ruledpaper on the table.

  "This," he shot out, "is a pneumograph which shows the actual intensityof the emotions by recording their effects on the heart and lungstogether. The truth can literally be tapped, even where no confessioncan be extracted. A moment's glance at this line, traced here by eachof you, can tell the expert more than words."

  "Then it was a mushroom that poisoned Jack!" interrupted Lewis,suddenly. "Some poisonous Amanita got mixed with the edible mushrooms?"

  Kennedy answered, quickly, without taking his eyes off the line theneedle was tracing:

  "No; this was a case of the deliberate use of the active principleitself, muscarin--with the expectation that the death, if the cause wasever discovered, could easily be blamed on such a mushroom.Somehow--there were many chances--the poison was slipped into theramekin Francois was carefully preparing for Mansfield. The method doesnot interest me so much as the fact--"

  There was a slight noise from the other room where Mansfield lay.Instantly we were all on our feet. Before any of us could reach thedoor Helen Grey had slipped through it.

  "Just a second," commanded Kennedy, extending the sequin toward us toemphasize what he was about to say. "The poisoning and the robbery werethe work of one hand. That sequin is the key that has unlocked thesecret which my pneumograph has recorded. Some one saw that robberycommitted--knew nothing of the contemplated poisoning to cover it. Tosave the reputation of the robber--at any cost--on the spur of themoment the ruse of placing the sequin in the closet occurred."

  Madeline Hargrave turned to Mina, while I recalled Lewis's remark aboutMina's stepping on the train and tearing it. The defiance in her blackeyes flashed from Madeline to Kennedy.

  "Yes," she cried; "I did it! I--"

  As quickly the defiance had faded. Mina Leitch had fainted.

  "Some water--quick!" cried Kennedy.

  I sprang through the door into Mansfield's room. As I passed I caughtsight of Helen Grey supporting the head of Mansfield--both oblivious toactresses, diamonds, everything that had so nearly caused a tragedy.

  "No," I heard Kennedy say to Lewis as I returned; "it was not Mina. Theperson she shielded was wildly in love with her, insanely jealous ofMansfield for even looking at her, and in debt so hopelessly inMansfield's ventures that only the big diamond could save him--DoctorMurray himself!"