The War Terror Page 27

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE LIE DETECTOR

  As the horror of it all dawned on me, I hated Armstrong worse thanever, hated Whitecap, hated the man higher up, whoever he might be, whowas enriching himself out of the defective, as well as the weakling,and the vicious--all three typified by Snowbird, Armstrong and Whitecap.

  Having no other place to go, pending further developments of thepublicity we had given the drug war in the Star, Kennedy and I decidedon a walk home in the bracing night air.

  We had scarcely entered the apartment when the hall boy called to usfrantically: "Some one's been trying to get you all over town,Professor Kennedy. Here's the message. I wrote it down. An attempt hasbeen made to poison Mrs. Sutphen. They said at the other end of theline that you'd know."

  We faced each other aghast.

  "My God!" exclaimed Kennedy. "Has that been the effect of our story,Walter? Instead of smoking out anyone--we've almost killed some one."

  As fast as a cab could whisk us around to Mrs. Sutphen's we hurried.

  "I warned her that if she mixed up in any such fight as this she mightexpect almost anything," remarked Mr. Sutphen nervously, as he met usin the reception room. "She's all right, now, I guess, but if it hadn'tbeen for the prompt work of the ambulance surgeon I sent for, Dr.Coleman says she would have died in fifteen minutes."

  "How did it happen?" asked Craig.

  "Why, she usually drinks a glass of vichy and milk before retiring,"replied Mr. Sutphen. "We don't know yet whether it was the vichy or themilk that was poisoned, but Dr. Coleman thinks it was chloral in one orthe other, and so did the ambulance surgeon. I tell you I was scared. Itried to get Coleman, but he was out on a case, and I happened to thinkof the hospitals as probably the quickest. Dr. Coleman came in just asthe young surgeon was bringing her around. He--oh, here he is now."

  The famous doctor was just coming downstairs. He saw us, but, Isuppose, inasmuch as we did not belong to the Sutphen and Coleman set,ignored us. "Mrs. Sutphen will be all right now," he said reassuringlyas he drew on his gloves. "The nurse has arrived, and I have given herinstructions what to do. And, by the way, my dear Sutphen, I shouldadvise you to deal firmly with her in that matter about which her nameis appearing in the papers. Women nowadays don't seem to realize thedangers they run in mixing in in all these reforms. I have ordered ananalysis of both the milk and vichy, but that will do little goodunless we can find out who poisoned it. And there are so many chancesfor things like that, life is so complex nowadays--"

  He passed out with scarcely a nod at us. Kennedy did not attempt toquestion him. He was thinking rapidly.

  "Walter, we have no time to lose," he exclaimed, seizing a telephonethat stood on a stand near by. "This is the time for action.Hello--Police Headquarters, First Deputy O'Connor, please."

  As Kennedy waited I tried to figure out how it could have happened. Iwondered whether it might not have been Mrs. Garrett. Would she stop atanything if she feared the loss of her favorite drug? But then therewere so many others and so many ways of "getting" anybody whointerfered with the drug traffic that it seemed impossible to figure itout by pure deduction.

  "Hello, O'Connor," I heard Kennedy say; "you read that story in theStar this morning about the drug fiends at that Broadway cabaret? Yes?Well, Jameson and I wrote it. It's part of the drug war that Mrs.Sutphen has been waging. O'Connor, she's been poisoned--oh, no--she'sall right now. But I want you to send out and arrest Whitecap and thatfellow Armstrong immediately. I'm going to put them through ascientific third degree up in the laboratory to-night. Thank you.No--no matter how late it is, bring them up."

  Dr. Coleman had gone long since, Mr. Sutphen had absolutely no interestfurther than the recovery of Mrs. Sutphen just now, and Mrs. Sutphenwas resting quietly and could not be seen. Accordingly Kennedy and Ihastened up to the laboratory to wait until O'Connor could "deliver thegoods."

  It was not long before one of O'Connor's men came in with Whitecap.

  "While we're waiting," said Craig, "I wish you would just try thislittle cut-out puzzle."

  I don't know what Whitecap thought, but I know I looked at Craig'sinvitation to "play blocks" as a joke scarcely higher in order than thenumber repetition of Snowbird. Whitecap did it, however, sullenly, andunder compulsion, in, I should say about two minutes.

  "I have Armstrong here myself," called out the voice of our old friendO'Connor, as he burst into the room.

  "Good!" exclaimed Kennedy. "I shall be ready for him in just a second.Have Whitecap held here in the anteroom while you bring Armstrong intothe laboratory. By the way, Walter, that was another of the Binettests, putting a man at solving puzzles. It involves reflectivejudgment, one of the factors in executive ability. If Whitecap had beendefective, it would have taken him five minutes to do that puzzle, ifat all. So you see he is not in the class with Miss Sawtelle. The testshows him to be shrewd. He doesn't even touch his own dope. Now forArmstrong."

  I knew enough of the underworld to set Whitecap down, however, as a"lobbygow"--an agent for some one higher up, recruiting both the gangsand the ranks of street women.

  Before us, as O'Connor led in Armstrong, was a little machine with abig black cylinder. By means of wires and electrodes Kennedy attachedit to Armstrong's chest.

  "Now, Armstrong," he began in an even tone, "I want you to tell thetruth--the whole truth. You have been getting heroin tablets fromWhitecap."

  "Yes, sir," replied the dope fiend defiantly.

  "To-day you had to get them elsewhere."

  No answer.

  "Never mind," persisted Kennedy, still calm, "I know. Why, Armstrong,you even robbed that girl of twenty-five tablets."

  "I did not," shot out the answer.

  "There were twenty-five short," accused Kennedy.

  The two faced each other. Craig repeated his remark.

  "Yes," replied Armstrong, "I held out the tablets, but it was not formyself, I can get all I want. I did it because I didn't want her to getabove seventy-five a day. I have tried every way to break her of thehabit that has got me--and failed. But seventy-five--is the limit!"

  "A pretty story!" exclaimed O'Connor.

  Craig laid his hand on his arm to check him, as he examined a recordregistered on the cylinder of the machine.

  "By the way, Armstrong, I want you to write me out a note that I canuse to get a hundred heroin tablets. You can write it all but the nameof the place where I can get them."

  Armstrong was on the point of demurring, but the last sentencereassured him. He would reveal nothing by it--yet.

  Still the man was trembling like a leaf. He wrote:

  "Give Whitecap one hundred shocks--A Victim."

  For a moment Kennedy studied the note carefully. "Oh--er--I forgot,Armstrong, but a few days ago an anonymous letter was sent to Mrs.Sutphen, signed 'A Friend.' Do you know anything about it?"

  "A note?" the man repeated. "Mrs. Sutphen? I don't know anything aboutany note, or Mrs. Sutphen either."

  Kennedy was still studying his record. "This," he remarked slowly, "iswhat I call my psychophysical test for falsehood. Lying, when it ispracticed by an expert, is not easily detected by the most carefulscrutiny of the liar's appearance and manner.

  "However, successful means have been developed for the detection offalsehood by the study of experimental psychology. Walter, I think youwill recall the test I used once, the psychophysical factor of thecharacter and rapidity of the mental process known as the associationof ideas?"

  I nodded acquiescence.

  "Well," he resumed, "in criminal jurisprudence, I find an even moresimple and more subjective test which has been recently devised.Professor Stoerring of Bonn has found out that feelings of pleasure andpain produce well-defined changes in respiration. Similar effects areproduced by lying, according to the famous Professor Benussi of Graz.

  "These effects are unerring, unequivocal. The utterance of a falsestatement increases respiration; of a true statement decreases. Theimportance and scope of thes
e discoveries are obvious."

  Craig was figuring rapidly on a piece of paper. "This is a certain andobjective criterion," he continued as he figured, "between truth andfalsehood. Even when a clever liar endeavors to escape detection bybreathing irregularly, it is likely to fail, for Benussi hasinvestigated and found that voluntary changes in respiration don'talter the result. You see, the quotient obtained by dividing the timeof inspiration by the time of expiration gives me the result."

  He looked up suddenly. "Armstrong, you are telling the truth about somethings--downright lies about others. You are a drug fiend--but I willbe lenient with you, for one reason. Contrary to everything that Iwould have expected, you are really trying to save that poorhalf-witted girl whom you love from the terrible habit that has grippedyou. That is why you held out the quarter of the one hundred tablets.That is why you wrote the note to Mrs. Sutphen, hoping that she mightbe treated in some institution."

  Kennedy paused as a look of incredulity passed over Armstrong's face.

  "Another thing you said was true," added Kennedy. "You can get all theheroin you want. Armstrong, you will put the address of that place onthe outside of the note, or both you and Whitecap go to jail. Snowbirdwill be left to her own devices--she can get all the 'snow,' as some ofyou fiends call it, that she wants from those who might exploit her."

  "Please, Mr. Kennedy," pleaded Armstrong.

  "No," interrupted Craig, before the drug fiend could finish. "That isfinal. I must have the name of that place."

  In a shaky hand Armstrong wrote again. Hastily Craig stuffed the noteinto his pocket, and ten minutes later we were mounting the steps of abig brownstone house on a fashionable side street just around thecorner from Fifth Avenue.

  As the door was opened by an obsequious colored servant, Craig handedhim the scrap of paper signed by the password, "A Victim."

  Imitating the cough of a confirmed dope user, Craig was led into alarge waiting room.

  "You're in pretty bad shape, sah," commented the servant.

  Kennedy nudged me and, taking the cue, I coughed myself red in the face.

  "Yes," he said. "Hurry--please."

  The servant knocked at a door, and as it was opened we caught a glimpseof Mrs. Garrett in negligee.

  "What is it, Sam?" she asked.

  "Two gentlemen for some heroin tablets, ma'am."

  "Tell them to go to the chemical works--not to my office, Sam," growleda man's voice inside.

  With a quick motion, Kennedy had Mrs. Garrett by the wrist.

  "I knew it," he ground out. "It was all a fake about how you got thehabit. You wanted to get it, so you could get and hold him. And neitherone of you would stop at anything, not even the murder of your sister,to prevent the ruin of the devilish business you have built up inmanufacturing and marketing the stuff."

  He pulled the note from the hand of the surprised negro. "I had theright address, the place where you sell hundreds of ounces of the stuffa week--but I preferred to come to the doctor's office where I couldfind you both."

  Kennedy had firmly twisted her wrist until, with a little scream ofpain, she let go the door handle. Then he gently pushed her aside, andthe next instant Craig had his hand inside the collar of Dr. Coleman,society physician, proprietor of the Coleman Chemical Works downtown,the real leader of the drug gang that was debauching whole sections ofthe metropolis.