The Poisoned Pen Page 3

  III

  THE GERM OF DEATH

  By this time I was becoming used to Kennedy's strange visitors and, infact, had begun to enjoy keenly the uncertainty of not knowing justwhat to expect from them next. Still, I was hardly prepared one eveningto see a tall, nervous foreigner stalk noiselessly and unannounced intoour apartment and hand his card to Kennedy without saying a word.

  "Dr. Nicholas Kharkoff--hum--er, Jameson, you must have forgotten tolatch the door. Well, Dr. Kharkoff, what can I do for you? It isevident something has upset you."

  The tall Russian put his forefinger to his lips and, taking one of ourgood chairs, placed it by the door. Then he stood on it and peeredcautiously through the transom into the hallway. "I think I eluded himthis time," he exclaimed, as he nervously took a seat. "ProfessorKennedy, I am being followed. Every step that I take somebody shadowsme, from the moment I leave my office until I return. It is enough todrive me mad. But that is only one reason why I have come hereto-night. I believe that I can trust you as a friend of justice--afriend of Russian freedom?"

  He had included me in his earnest but somewhat vague query, so that Idid not withdraw. Somehow, apparently, he had heard of Kennedy's ratherliberal political views.

  "It is about Vassili Saratovsky, the father of the Russian revolution,as we call him, that I have come to consult you," he continued quickly."Just two weeks ago he was taken ill. It came on suddenly, a violentfever which continued for a week. Then he seemed to grow better, afterthe crisis had passed, and even attended a meeting of our centralcommittee the other night. But in the meantime Olga Samarova, thelittle Russian dancer, whom yon have perhaps seen, fell ill in the sameway. Samarova is an ardent revolutionist, you know. This morning theservant at my own home on East Broadway was also stricken, and--whoknows?--perhaps it will be my turn next. For to-night Saratovsky had aneven more violent return of the fever, with intense shivering,excruciating pains in the limbs, and delirious headache. It is not likeanything I ever saw before. Can you look into the case before it growsany worse, Professor?"

  Again the Russian got on the chair and looked over the transom to besure that he was not being overheard.

  "I shall be only too glad to help you in any way I can," returnedKennedy, his manner expressing the genuine interest that he neverfeigned over a particularly knotty problem in science and crime. "I hadthe pleasure of meeting Saratovsky once in London. I shall try to seehim the first thing in the morning."

  Dr. Kharkov's face fell. "I had hoped you would see him to-night. Ifanything should happen----"

  "Is it as urgent as that?"

  "I believe it is," whispered Kharkoff, leaning forward earnestly. "Wecan call a taxicab--it will not take long, sir. Consider, there aremany lives possibly at stake," he pleaded.

  "Very well, I will go," consented Kennedy.

  At the street door Kharkoff stopped short and drew Kennedy back."Look--across the street in the shadow. There is the man. If I starttoward him he will disappear; he is very clever. He followed me fromSaratovsky's here, and has been waiting for me to come out."

  "There are two taxicabs waiting at the stand," suggested Kennedy."Doctor, you jump in the first, and Jameson and I will take the second.Then he can't follow us."

  It was done in a moment, and we were whisked away, to the chagrin ofthe figure, which glided impotently out of the shadow in vain pursuit,too late even to catch the number of the cab.

  "A promising adventure," commented Kennedy, as we bumped along over NewYork's uneven asphalt. "Have you ever met Saratovsky?"

  "No," I replied dubiously. "Will you guarantee that he will not blow usup with a bomb?"

  "Grandmother!" replied Craig. "Why, Walter, he is the most gentle,engaging old philosopher----"

  "That ever cut a throat or scuttled a ship?" I interrupted.

  "On the contrary," insisted Kennedy, somewhat nettled, "he is apatriarch, respected by every faction of the revolutionists, from thefighting organisation to the believers in non-resistance and Tolstoy. Itell you, Walter, the nation that can produce a man such as Saratovskydeserves and some day will win political freedom. I have heard of thisDr. Kharkoff before, too. His life would be a short one if he were inRussia. A remarkable man, who fled after those unfortunate uprisings in1905. Ah, we are on Fifth Avenue. I suspect that he is taking us to aclub on the lower part of the avenue, where a number of the Russianreformers live, patiently waiting and planning for the great'awakening' in their native land."

  Kharkoff's cab had stopped. Our quest had indeed brought us almost toWashington Square. Here we entered an old house of the past generation.As we passed through the wide hall, I noted the high ceilings, theold-fashioned marble mantels stained by time, the long, narrow roomsand dirty-white woodwork, and the threadbare furniture of black walnutand horsehair.

  Upstairs in a small back room we found the venerable Saratovsky,tossing, half-delirious with the fever, on a disordered bed. His was astriking figure in this sordid setting, with a high intellectualforehead and deep-set, glowing coals of eyes which gave a hint at thethings which had made his life one of the strangest among all therevolutionists of Russia and the works he had done among the mostdaring. The brown dye was scarcely yet out of his flowing whitebeard--a relic of his last trip back to his fatherland, where he hadeluded the secret police in the disguise of a German gymnasiumprofessor.

  Saratovsky extended a thin, hot, emaciated hand to us, and we remainedstanding. Kennedy said nothing for the moment. The sick man motionedfeebly to us to come closer.

  "Professor Kennedy," he whispered, "there is some deviltry afoot. TheRussian autocracy would stop at nothing. Kharkoff has probably told youof it. I am so weak----"

  He groaned and sank back, overcome by a chill that seemed to rack hispoor gaunt form.

  "Kazanovitch can tell Professor Kennedy something, Doctor. I am tooweak to talk, even at this critical time. Take him to see Boris andEkaterina."

  Almost reverently we withdrew, and Kharkoff led us down the hall toanother room. The door was ajar, and a light disclosed a man in aRussian peasant's blouse, bending laboriously over a writing-desk. Soabsorbed was he that not until Kharkoff spoke did he look up. Hisfigure was somewhat slight and his face pointed and of an ascetic mould.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed. "You have recalled me from a dream. I fancied I wason the old mir with Ivan, one of my characters. Welcome, comrades."

  It flashed over me at once that this was the famous Russian novelist,Boris Kazanovitch. I had not at first connected the name with that ofthe author of those gloomy tales of peasant life. Kazanovitch stoodwith his hands tucked under his blouse.

  "Night is my favourite time for writing," he explained. "It is thenthat the imagination works at its best."

  I gazed curiously about the room. There seemed to be a marked touch ofa woman's hand here and there; it was unmistakable. At last my eyerested on a careless heap of dainty wearing apparel on a chair in thecorner. "Where is Nevsky?" asked Dr. Kharkoff, apparently missing theperson who owned the garments.

  "Ekaterina has gone to a rehearsal of the little play of Gershuni'sescape from Siberia and betrayal by Rosenberg. She will stay withfriends on East Broadway to-night. She has deserted me, and here I amall alone, finishing a story for one of the American magazines."

  "Ah, Professor Kennedy, that is unfortunate," commented Kharkoff. "Abrilliant woman is Mademoiselle Nevsky--devoted to the cause. I knowonly one who equals her, and that is my patient downstairs, the littledancer, Samarova."

  "Samarova is faithful--Nevsky is a genius," put in Kazanovitch.Kharkoff said nothing for a time, though it was easy to see he regardedthe actress highly.

  "Samarova," he said at length to us, "was arrested for her part in theassassination of Grand Duke Sergius and thrown into solitaryconfinement in the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul. They torturedher, the beasts--burned her body with their cigarettes. It wasunspeakable. But she would not confess, and finally they had to let hergo. Nevsky, who was a student of biology at the Univers
ity of St.Petersburg when Von Plehve was assassinated, was arrested, but herrelatives had sufficient influence to secure her release. They met inParis, and Nevsky persuaded Olga to go on the stage and come to NewYork."

  "Next to Ekaterina's devotion to the cause is her devotion to science,"said Kazanovitch, opening a door to a little room. Then he added: "Ifshe were not a woman, or if your universities were less prejudiced, shewould be welcome anywhere as a professor. See, here is her laboratory.It is the best we--she can afford. Organic chemistry, as you call it inEnglish, interests me too, but of course I am not a trainedscientist--I am a novelist."

  The laboratory was simple, almost bare. Photographs of Koch, Ehrlich,Metchnikoff, and a number of other scientists adorned the walls. Thedeeply stained deal table was littered with beakers and test-tubes.

  "How is Saratovsky?" asked the writer of the doctor, aside, as we gazedcuriously about.

  Kharkoff shook his head gravely. "We have just come from his room. Hewas too weak to talk, but he asked that you tell Mr. Kennedy anythingthat it is necessary he should know about our suspicions."

  "It is that we are living with the sword of Damocles constantlydangling over our heads, gentlemen," cried Kazanovitch passionately,turning toward us. "You will excuse me if I get some cigarettesdownstairs? Over them I will tell you what we fear."

  A call from Saratovsky took the doctor away also at the same moment,and we were left alone.

  "A queer situation, Craig," I remarked, glancing involuntarily at theheap of feminine finery on the chair, as I sat down beforeKazanovitch's desk.

  "Queer for New York; not for St. Petersburg," was his laconic reply, ashe looked around for another chair. Everything was littered with books,and papers, and at last he leaned over and lifted the dress from thechair to place it on the bed, as the easiest way of securing a seat inthe scantily furnished room.

  A pocketbook and a letter fell to the floor from the folds of thedress. He stooped to pick them up, and I saw a strange look of surpriseon his face. Without a moment's hesitation he shoved the letter intohis pocket and replaced the other things as he had found them.

  A moment later Kazanovitch returned with a large box of Russiancigarettes. "Be seated, sir," he said to Kennedy, sweeping a mass ofbooks and papers off a large divan. "When Nevsky is not here the roomgets sadly disarranged. I have no genius for order."

  Amid the clouds of fragrant light smoke we waited for Kazanovitch tobreak the silence.

  "Perhaps you think that the iron hand of the Russian prime minister hasbroken the backbone of revolution in Russia," he began at length. "Butbecause the Duma is subservient, it does not mean that all is over. Notat all. We are not asleep. Revolution is smouldering, ready to breakforth at any moment. The agents of the government know it. They aredesperate. There is no means they would not use to crush us. Their longarm reaches even to New York, in this land of freedom."

  He rose and excitedly paced the room. Somehow or other, this man didnot prepossess me. Was it that I was prejudiced by a puritanicaldisapproval of the things that pass current in Old World morality? Orwas it merely that I found the great writer of fiction seeking thedramatic effect always at the cost of sincerity?

  "Just what is it that you suspect?" asked Craig, anxious to dispensewith the rhetoric and to get down to facts. "Surely, when three personsare stricken, you must suspect something."

  "Poison," replied Kazanovitch quickly. "Poison, and of a kind that eventhe poison doctors of St. Petersburg have never employed. Dr. Kharkoffis completely baffled. Your American doctors--two were called in to seeSaratovsky--say it is the typhus fever. But Kharkoff knows better.There is no typhus rash. Besides"--and he leaned forward to emphasisehis words--"one does not get over typhus in a week and have it again asSaratovsky has."

  I could see that Kennedy was growing impatient. An idea had occurred tohim, and only politeness kept him listening to Kazanovitch longer.

  "Doctor," he said, as Kharkoff entered the room again, "do you supposeyou could get some perfectly clean test-tubes and sterile bouillon fromMiss Nevsky's laboratory? I think I saw a rack of tubes on the table."

  "Surely," answered Kharkoff.

  "You will excuse us, Mr. Kazanovitch," apologised Kennedy briskly, "butI feel that I am going to have a hard day to-morrow and--by the way,would you be so kind as to come up to my laboratory some time duringthe day, and continue your story."

  On the way out Craig took the doctor aside for a moment, and theytalked earnestly. At last Craig motioned to me.

  "Walter," he explained, "Dr. Kharkoff is going to prepare some culturesin the test-tubes to-night so that I can make a microscopic examinationof the blood of Saratovsky, Samarova, and later of his servant. Thetubes will be ready early in the morning, and I have arranged with thedoctor for you to call and get them if you have no objection."

  I assented, and we started downstairs. As we passed a door on thesecond floor, a woman's voice called out, "Is that you, Boris?"

  "No, Olga, this is Nicholas," replied the doctor. "It is Samarova," hesaid to us as he entered.

  In a few moments he rejoined us. "She is no better," he continued, aswe again started away. "I may as well tell you, Professor Kennedy, justhow matters stand here. Samarova is head over heels in love withKazanovitch--you heard her call for him just now? Before they leftParis, Kazanovitch showed some partiality for Olga, but now Nevsky hascaptured him. She is indeed a fascinating woman, but as for me, if Olgawould consent to become Madame Kharkoff, it should be done tomorrow,and she need worry no longer over her broken contract with the Americantheatre managers. But women are not that way. She prefers the hopelesslove. Ah, well, I shall let you know if anything new happens.Good-night, and a thou-sand thanks for your help, gentlemen."

  Nothing was said by either of us on our journey uptown, for it was lateand I, at least, was tired.

  But Kennedy had no intention of going to bed, I found. Instead, he satdown in his easy chair and shaded his eyes, apparently in deep thought.As I stood by the table to fill my pipe for a last smoke, I saw that hewas carefully regarding the letter he had picked up, turning it overand over, and apparently debating with himself what to do with it.

  "Some kinds of paper can be steamed open without leaving any trace," heremarked in answer to my unspoken question, laying the letter downbefore me.

  I read the address: "M. Alexander Alexandrovitch Orloff,--Rue de----,Paris, France."

  "Letter-opening has been raised to a fine art by the secret serviceagents of foreign countries," he continued. "Why not take a chance? Thesimple operation of steaming a letter open is followed by reburnishingthe flap with a bone instrument, and no trace is left. I can't do that,for this letter is sealed with wax. One way would be to take a matrixof the seal before breaking the wax and then replace a duplicate of it.No, I won't risk it. I'll try a scientific way."

  Between two pieces of smooth wood, Craig laid the letter flat, so thatthe edges projected about a thirty-second of an inch. He flattened theprojecting edge of the envelope, then roughened it, and finally slit itopen.

  "You see, Walter, later I will place the letter back, apply a hair lineof strong white gum, and unite the edges of the envelope underpressure. Let us see what we have here."

  He drew out what seemed to be a manuscript on very thin paper, andspread it out flat on the table before us. Apparently it was ascientific paper on a rather unusual subject, "Spontaneous Generationof Life." It was in longhand and read:

  Many thanks for the copy of the paper by Prof. Betaillon of Dijon onthe artificial fertilization of the eggs of frogs. I consider it a mostimportant advance in the artificial generation of life.

  I will not attempt to reproduce in facsimile the entire manuscript, forit is unnecessary, and, in fact, I merely set down part of its contentshere because it seemed so utterly valueless to me at the time. It wenton to say:

  While Betaillon punctured the eggs with a platinum needle and developedthem by means of electric discharges, Loeb in America placed eggs ofth
e sea-urchin in a strong solution of sea water, then in a bath wherethey were subjected to the action of butyric acid. Finally they wereplaced in ordinary sea water again, where they developed in the naturalmanner. Delage at Roscorf used a liquid containing salts of magnesiaand tannate of ammonia to produce the same result.

  In his latest book on the Origin of Life Dr. Charlton Bastian tells ofusing two solutions. One consisted of two or three drops of dilutesodium silicate with eight drops of liquor ferri pernitratis to oneounce of distilled water. The other was composed of the same amount ofthe silicate with six drops of dilute phosphoric acid and six grains ofammonium phosphate. He filled sterilised tubes, sealed themhermetically, and heated them to 125 or 145 degrees, Centigrade,although 60 or 70 degrees would have killed any bacteria remaining inthem.

  Next he exposed them to sunlight in a south window for from two to fourmonths. When the tubes were opened Dr. Bastian found organisms in themwhich differed in no way from real bacteria. They grew and multiplied.He contends that he has proved the possibility of spontaneousgeneration of life.

  Then there were the experiments of John Butler Burke of Cambridge, whoclaimed that he had developed "radiobes" in tubes of sterilisedbouillon by means of radium emanations. Daniel Berthelot in France lastyear announced that he had used the ultra-violet rays to duplicatenature's own process of chlorophyll assimilation. He has broken upcarbon dioxide and water-vapour in the air in precisely the same waythat the green cells of plants do it.

  Leduc at Nantes has made crystals grow from an artificial "egg"composed of certain chemicals. These crystals show all the apparentvital phenomena without being actually alive. His work is interesting,for it shows the physical forces that probably control minute lifecells, once they are created.

  "What do you make of it?" asked Kennedy, noting the puzzled look on myface as I finished reading.

  "Well, recent research in the problem of the origin of life may be veryinteresting," I replied. "There are a good many chemicals mentionedhere--I wonder if any of them is poisonous? But I am of the opinionthat there is something more to this manuscript than a mere scientificpaper."

  "Exactly, Walter," said Kennedy in half raillery. "What I wanted toknow was how you would suggest getting at that something."

  Study as I might, I could make nothing out of it. Meanwhile Craig wasbusily figuring with a piece of paper and a pencil.

  "I give it up, Craig," I said at last. "It is late. Perhaps we hadbetter both turn in, and we may have some ideas on it in the morning."

  For answer he merely shook his head and continued to scribble andfigure on the paper. With a reluctant good-night I shut my door,determined to be up early in the morning and go for the tubes thatKharkoff was to prepare.

  But in the morning Kennedy was gone. I dressed hastily, and was justabout to go out when he hurried in, showing plainly the effects ofhaving spent a sleepless night. He flung an early edition of anewspaper on the table.

  "Too late," he exclaimed. "I tried to reach Kharkoff, but it was toolate."

  "Another East Side Bomb Outrage," I read. "While returning at a latehour last night from a patient, Dr. Nicholas Kharkoff, of--EastBroadway, was severely injured by a bomb which had been placed in hishallway earlier in the evening. Dr. Kharkoff, who is a well-knownphysician on the East Side, states that he has been constantly shadowedby some one unknown for the past week or two. He attributes his escapewith his life to the fact that since he was shadowed he has observedextreme caution. Yesterday his cook was poisoned and is now dangerouslyill. Dr. Kharkoff stands high in the Russian community, and it isthought by the police that the bomb was placed by a Russian politicalagent, as Kharkoff has been active in the ranks of the revolutionists."

  "But what made you anticipate it?" I asked of Kennedy, considerablymystified.

  "The manuscript," he replied.

  "The manuscript? How? Where is it?"

  "After I found that it was too late to save Kharkoff and that he waswell cared for at the hospital, I hurried to Saratovsky's. Kharkoff hadfortunately left the tubes there, and I got them. Here they are. As forthe manuscript in the letter, I was going to ask you to slip upstairsby some strategy and return it where I found it, when you went for thetubes this morning. Kazanovitch was out, and I have returned it myself,so you need not go, now."

  "He's coming to see you today, isn't he?"

  "I hope so. I left a note asking him to bring Miss Nevsky, if possible,too. Come, let us breakfast and go over to the laboratory. They mayarrive at any moment. Besides, I'm interested to see what the tubesdisclose."

  Instead of Kazanovitch awaiting us at the laboratory, however, we foundMiss Nevsky, haggard and worn. She was a tall, striking girl with moreof the Gaul than the Slav in her appearance. There was a slightlysensuous curve to her mouth, but on the whole her face was striking andintellectual. I felt that if she chose she could fascinate a man sothat he would dare anything. I never before understood why the Russianpolice feared the women revolutionists so much. It was because theywere themselves, plus every man they could influence.

  Nevsky appeared very excited. She talked rapidly, and fire flashed fromher grey eyes. "They tell me at the club," she began, "that you areinvestigating the terrible things that are happening to us. Oh,Professor Kennedy, it is awful! Last night I was staying with somefriends on East Broadway. Suddenly we heard a terrific explosion up thestreet. It was in front of Dr. Kharkoff's house. Thank Heaven, he isstill alive I But I was so unnerved I could not sleep. I fancied Imight be the next to go.

  "Early this morning I hastened to return to Fifth Avenue. As I enteredthe door of my room I could not help thinking of the horrible fate ofDr. Kharkoff. For some unknown reason, just as I was about to push thedoor farther open, I hesitated and looked--I almost fainted. Therestood another bomb just inside. If I had moved the door a fraction ofan inch it would have exploded. I screamed, and Olga, sick as she was,ran to my assistance--or perhaps she thought something had happened toBoris. It is standing there yet. None of us dares touch it. Oh,Professor Kennedy, it is dreadful, dreadful. And I cannot findBoris--Mr. Kazanovitch, I mean. Saratovsky, who is like a father to usall, is scarcely able to speak. Dr. Kharkoff is helpless in thehospital. Oh, what are we to do, what are we to do?"

  She stood trembling before us, imploring.

  "Calm yourself, Miss Nevsky," said Kennedy in a reassuring tone. "Sitdown and let us plan. I take it that it was a chemical bomb and not onewith a fuse, or you would have a different story to tell. First of all,we must remove it. That is easily done."

  He called up a near-by garage and ordered an automobile. "I will driveit myself," he ordered, "only send a man around with it immediately."

  "No, no, no," she cried, running toward him, "you must not risk it. Itis bad enough that we should risk our lives. But strangers must not.Think, Professor Kennedy. Suppose the bomb should explode at a touch!Had we not better call the police and let them take the risk, even ifit does get into the papers?"

  "No," replied Kennedy firmly. "Miss Nevsky, I am quite willing to takethe risk. Besides, here comes the automobile."

  "You are too kind," she exclaimed. "Kazanovitch himself could do nomore. How am I ever to thank you?"

  On the back of the automobile Kennedy placed a peculiar oblong box,swung on two concentric rings balanced on pivots, like a most delicatecompass.

  We rode quickly downtown, and Kennedy hurried into the house, biddingus stand back. With a long pair of tongs he seized the bomb firmly. Itwas a tense moment. Suppose his hand should unnecessarily tremble, orhe should tip it just a bit--it might explode and blow him to atoms.Keeping it perfectly horizontal he carried it carefully out to thewaiting automobile and placed it gingerly in the box.

  "Wouldn't it be a good thing to fill the box with water?" I suggested,having read somewhere that that was the usual way of opening a bomb,under water.

  "No," he replied, as he closed the lid, "that wouldn't do any good witha bomb of this sort. It would explode under water just as well as
inair. This is a safety bomb-carrier. It is known as the Cardansuspension. It was invented by Professor Cardono, an Italian. You see,it is always held in a perfectly horizontal position, no matter how youjar it. I am now going to take the bomb to some safe and convenientplace where I can examine it at my leisure. Meanwhile, Miss Nevsky, Iwill leave you in charge of Mr. Jameson."

  "Thank you so much," she said. "I feel better now. I didn't dare gointo my own room with that bomb at the door. If Mr. Jameson can onlyfind out what has become of Mr. Kazanovitch, that is all I want. Whatdo you suppose has happened to him? Is he, too, hurt or ill?"

  "Very well, then," Craig replied. "I will commission you, Walter, tofind Kazanovitch. I shall be back again shortly before noon to examinethe wreck of Kharkoff's office. Meet me there. Goodbye, Miss Nevsky."

  It was not the first time that I had had a roving commission to findsome one who had disappeared in New York. I started by inquiring forevery possible place that he might be found. No one at the Fifth Avenuehouse could tell me anything definite, though they were able to give mea number of places where he was known. I consumed practically the wholemorning going from one place to another on the East Side. Some of thepicturesque haunts of the revolutionists would have furnished materialfor a story in themselves. But nowhere had they any word ofKazanovitch, until I visited a Polish artist who was illustrating hisstories. He had been there, looking very worn and tired, and had talkedvacantly about the sketches which the artist had showed him. After thatI lost all trace of him again. It was nearly noon as I hurried to meetCraig at Kharkoff's.

  Imagine my surprise to see Kazanovitch already there, seated in thewrecked office, furiously smoking cigarettes and showing evident signsof having something very disturbing on his mind. The moment he caughtsight of me, he hurried forward.

  "Is Professor Kennedy coming soon?" he inquired eagerly. "I was goingup to his laboratory, but I called up Nevsky, and she said he would behere at noon." Then he put his hand up to my ear and whispered, "I havefound out who it was who shadowed Kharkoff."

  "Who?" I asked, saying nothing of my long search of the morning.

  "His name is Revalenko--Feodor Revalenko. I saw him standing across thestreet in front of the house last night after you had gone. WhenKharkoff left, he followed him. I hurried out quietly and followed bothof them. Then the explosion came. This man slipped down a narrow streetas soon as he saw Kharkoff fall. As people were running to Kharkoff'sassistance, I did the same. He saw me following him and ran, and I ran,too, and overtook him. Mr. Jameson, when I looked into his face I couldnot believe it. Revalenko--he is one of the most ardent members of ourorganisation. He would not tell me why he had followed Kharkoff. Icould make him confess nothing. But I am sure he is an agentprovocateur of the Russian government, that he is secretly giving awaythe plans that we are making, everything. We have a plot onnow--perhaps he has informed them of that. Of course he denied settingthe bomb or trying to poison any of us, but he was very frightened. Ishall denounce him at the first opportunity."

  I said nothing. Kazanovitch regarded me keenly to see what impressionthe story made on me, but I did not let my looks betray anything,except proper surprise, and he seemed satisfied.

  It might be true, after all, I reasoned, the more I thought of it. Ihad heard that the Russian consul-general had a very extensive spysystem in the city. In fact, even that morning I had had pointed out tome some spies at work in the public libraries, watching what youngRussians were reading. I did not doubt that there were spies in thevery inner circle of the revolutionists themselves.

  At last Kennedy appeared. While Kazanovitch poured forth his story,with here and there, I fancied, an elaboration of a particularlydramatic point, Kennedy quickly examined the walls and floor of thewrecked office with his magnifying-glass. When he had concluded hissearch, he turned to Kazanovitch.

  "Would it be possible," he asked, "to let this Revalenko believe thathe could trust you, that it would be safe for him to visit you to-nightat Saratovsky's? Surely you can find some way of reassuring him."

  "Yes, I think that can be arranged," said Kazanovitch. "I will go tohim, will make him think I have misunderstood him, that I have not lostfaith in him, provided he can explain all. He will come. Trust me."

  "Very well, then. To-night at eight I shall be there," promisedKennedy, as the novelist and he shook hands.

  "What do you think of the Revalenko story?" I asked of Craig, as westarted uptown again.

  "Anything is possible in this case," he answered sententiously.

  "Well," I exclaimed, "this all is truly Russian. For intrigue they arecertainly the leaders of the world to-day. There is only one personthat I have any real confidence in, and that is old Saratovsky himself.Somebody is playing traitor, Craig. Who is it?"

  "That is what science will tell us to-night," was his brief reply.There was no getting anything out of Craig until he was absolutely surethat his proofs had piled up irresistibly.

  Promptly at eight we met at the old house on Fifth Avenue. Kharkoff'swounds had proved less severe than had at first been suspected, and,having recovered from the shock, he insisted on being transferred fromthe hospital in a private ambulance so that he could be near hisfriends. Saratovsky, in spite of his high fever, ordered that the doorto his room be left open and his bed moved so that he could hear andsee what passed in the room down the hall. Nevsky was there andKazanovitch, and even brave Olga Samarova, her pretty face burning withthe fever, would not be content until she was carried upstairs,although Dr. Kharkoff protested vigorously that it might have fatalconsequences. Revalenko, an enigma of a man, sat stolidly. The onlything I noticed about him was an occasional look of malignity at Nevskyand Kazanovitch when he thought he was unobserved.

  It was indeed a strange gathering, the like of which the old house hadnever before harboured in all its varied history. Every one was on thequi vive, as Kennedy placed on the table a small wire basket containingsome test-tubes, each tube corked with a small wadding of cotton. Therewas also a receptacle holding a dozen glass-handled platinum wires, amicroscope, and a number of slides. The bomb, now rendered innocuous byhaving been crushed in a huge hydraulic press, lay in fragments in thebox.

  "First, I want you to consider the evidence of the bomb," beganKennedy. "No crime, I firmly believe, is ever perpetrated withoutleaving some clue. The slightest trace, even a drop of blood no largerthan a pin-head, may suffice to convict a murderer. The impression madeon a cartridge by the hammer of a pistol, or a single hair found on theclothing of a suspected person, may serve as valid proof of crime.

  "Until lately, however, science was powerless against the bomb-thrower.A bomb explodes into a thousand parts, and its contents suddenly becomegaseous. You can't collect and investigate the gases. Still, thebomb-thrower is sadly deceived if he believes the bomb leaves no tracefor the scientific detective. It is difficult for the chemist to findout the secrets of a shattered bomb. But it can be done.

  "I examined the walls of Dr. Kharkoff's house, and fortunately was ableto pick out a few small fragments of the contents of the bomb which hadbeen thrown out before the flame ignited them. I have analysed them,and find them to be a peculiar species of blasting-gelatine. It is madeat only one factory in this country, and I have a list of purchasersfor some time back. One name, or rather the description of an assumedname, in the list agrees with other evidence I have been able tocollect. Moreover, the explosive was placed in a lead tube. Lead tubesare common enough. However, there is no need of further evidence."

  He paused, and the revolutionists stared fixedly at the fragments ofthe now harmless bomb before them.

  "The exploded bomb," concluded Craig, "was composed of the samematerials as this, which I found unexploded at the door of MissNevsky's room--the same sort of lead tube, the same blasting-gelatine.The fuse, a long cord saturated in sulphur, was merely a blind. Thereal method of explosion was by means of a chemical contained in aglass tube which was inserted after the bomb was put in place. Theleast jar, suc
h as opening a door, which would tip the bomb ever solittle out of the horizontal, was all that was necessary to explode it.The exploded bomb and the unexploded were in all respectsidentical--the same hand set both."

  A gasp of astonishment ran through the circle. Could it be that one oftheir own number was playing false? In at least this instance in thewarfare of the chemist and the dynamiter the chemist had come out ahead.

  "But," Kennedy hurried along, "the thing that interests me most aboutthis case is not the evidence of the bombs. Bombs are common enoughweapons, after all. It is the evidence of almost diabolical cunningthat has been shown in the effort to get rid of the father of therevolution, as you like to call him."

  Craig cleared his throat and played with our feelings as a cat doeswith a mouse. "Strange to say, the most deadly, the most insidious, themost elusive agency for committing murder is one that can be obtainedand distributed with practically no legal restrictions. Any doctor canpurchase disease germs in quantities sufficient to cause thousands andthousands of deaths without giving any adequate explanation for whatpurpose he requires them. More than that, any person claiming to be ascientist or having some acquaintance with science and scientists canusually obtain germs without difficulty. Every pathological laboratorycontains stores of disease germs, neatly sealed up in test-tubes,sufficient to depopulate whole cities and even nations. With almost noeffort, I myself have actually cultivated enough germs to kill everyperson within a radius of a mile of the Washington Arch down thestreet. They are here in these test-tubes."

  We scarcely breathed. Suppose Kennedy should let loose this deadly foe,these germs of death, whatever they were? Yet that was precisely whatsome fiend incarnate had done, and that fiend was sitting in the roomwith us.

  "Here I have one of the most modern dark-field microscopes," heresumed. "On this slide I have placed a little pin-point of a culturemade from the blood of Saratovsky. I will stain the culture.Now--er--Walter, look through the microscope under this powerful lightand tell us what you see on the slide."

  I bent over. "In the darkened field I see a number of germs likedancing points of coloured light," I said. "They are wriggling aboutwith a peculiar twisting motion."

  "Like a corkscrew," interrupted Kennedy, impatient to go on. "They areof the species known as Spirilla. Here is another slide, a culture fromthe blood of Samarova."

  "I see them there, too," I exclaimed.

  Every one was now crowding about for a glimpse, as I raised my head.

  "What is this germ?" asked a hollow voice from the doorway.

  We looked, startled. There stood Saratovsky, more like a ghost than aliving being. Kennedy sprang forward and caught him as he swayed, and Imoved up an armchair for him.

  "It is the spirillum Obermeieri," said Kennedy, "the germ of therelapsing fever, but of the most virulent Asiatic strain. Obermeyer,who discovered it, caught the disease and died of it, a martyr toscience."

  A shriek of consternation rang forth from Samarova. The rest of uspaled, but repressed our feelings.

  "One moment," added Kennedy hastily. "Don't be unnecessarily alarmed. Ihave something more to say. Be calm for a moment longer."

  He unrolled a blue-print and placed it on the table.

  "This," he continued, "is the photographic copy of a message which, Isuppose, is now on its way to the Russian minister to France in Paris.Some one in this room besides Mr. Jameson and myself has seen thisletter before. I will hold it up as I pass around and let each one seeit."

  In intense silence Kennedy passed before each of us, holding up theblue-print and searchingly scanning the faces. No one betrayed by anysign that he recognised it. At last it came to Revalenko himself.

  "The checkerboard, the checkerboard!" he cried, his eyes half startingfrom their sockets as he gazed at it.

  "Yes," said Kennedy in a low tone, "the checkerboard. It took me sometime to figure it out. It is a cipher that would have baffled Poe. Infact, there is no means of deciphering it unless you chance to know itssecret. I happened to have heard of it a long time ago abroad, yet myrecollection was vague, and I had to reconstruct it with muchdifficulty. It took me all night to do it. It is a cipher, however,that is well known among the official classes of Russia.

  "Fortunately I remember the crucial point, without which I should stillbe puzzling over it. It is that a perfectly innocent message, on itsface, may be used to carry a secret, hidden message. The letters whichcompose the words, instead of being written continuously along, as weordinarily write, have, as you will observe if you look twice, breaks,here and there. These breaks in the letters stand for numbers.

  "Thus the first words are 'Many thanks.' The first break is at the endof the letter 'n,' between it and the 'y.' There are three lettersbefore this break. That stands for the number 3.

  "When you come to the end of a word, if the stroke is down at the endof the last letter, that means no break; if it is up, it means a break.The stroke at the end of the 'y' is plainly down. Therefore there is nobreak until after the 't.' That gives us the number 2. So we get 1next, and again 1, and still again 1; then 5; then 5; then 1; and so on.

  "Now, take these numbers in pairs, thus 3-2; 1-1; 1-5; 5-1. Byconsulting this table you can arrive at the hidden message."

  He held up a cardboard bearing the following arrangement of the lettersof the alphabet:

  1 2 3 4 5 1 A B C D E 2 F G H IJ K 3 L M N O P 4 Q R S T U 5 V W X Y Z

  "Thus," he continued, "3-2 means the third column and second line. Thatis 'H.' Then 1-1 is 'A '; 1-5 is 'V '; 5-1 is 'E'--and we get the word'Have.'"

  Not a soul stirred as Kennedy unfolded the cipher. What was theterrible secret in that scientific essay I had puzzled sounsuccessfully over, the night before?

  "Even this can be complicated by choosing a series of fixed numbers tobe added to the real numbers over and over again. Or the order of thealphabet can be changed. However, we have the straight cipher only todeal with here."

  "And what for Heaven's sake does it reveal?" asked Saratovsky, leaningforward, forgetful of the fever that was consuming him.

  Kennedy pulled out a piece of paper on which he had written the hiddenmessage and read:

  "Have successfully inoculated S. with fever. Public opinion Americawould condemn violence. Think best death should appear natural.Samarova infected also. Cook unfortunately took dose in food intendedKharkoff. Now have three cases. Shall stop there at present. Dangerousexcite further suspicion health authorities."

  Rapidly I eliminated in my mind the persons mentioned, as Craig read.Saratovsky of course was not guilty, for the plot had centred abouthim. Nor was little Samarova, nor Dr. Kharkoff. I noted Revalenko andKazanovitch glaring at each other and hastily tried to decide which Imore strongly suspected.

  "Will get K.," continued Kennedy. "Think bomb perhaps all right. K.case different from S. No public sentiment."

  "So Kharkoff had been marked for slaughter," I thought. Or was "K."Kazanovitch? I regarded Revalenko more closely. He was suspiciouslysullen.

  "Must have more money. Cable ten thousand rubles at once Russianconsul-general. Will advise you plot against Czar as details perfectedhere. Expect break up New York band with death of S."

  If Kennedy himself had thrown a bomb or scattered broadcast thecontents of the test-tubes, the effect could not have been morestartling than his last quiet sentence--and sentence it was in twosenses.

  "Signed," he said, folding the paper up deliberately, "EkaterinaNevsky."

  It was as if a cable had snapped and a weight had fallen. Revalenkosprang up and grasped Kazanovitch by the hand. "Forgive me, comrade,for ever suspecting you," he cried.

  "And forgive me for suspecting you," replied Kazanovitch, "but how didyou come to shadow Kharkoff?"

  "I ordered him to follow Kharkoff secretly and protect him," explainedSaratovsky.

  Olga and Ekaterina faced each other fiercely. Olga was trembling withemotion. Nevsky stood coldly, defiantly. If ever there was a consumma
teactress it was she, who had put the bomb at her own door and had rushedoff to start Kennedy on a blind trail.

  "You traitress," cried Olga passionately, forgetting all in heroutraged love. "You won his affections from me by your falsebeauty--yet all the time you would have killed him like a dog for theCzar's gold. At last you are unmasked--you Azeff in skirts. Falsefriend--you would have killed us all--Saratovsky, Kharkoff--"

  "Be still, little fool," exclaimed Nevsky contemptuously. "The spirillafever has affected your brains. Bah! I will not stay with those who areso ready to suspect an old comrade on the mere word of a charlatan.Boris Kazanovitch, do you stand there SILENT and let this insult beheaped upon me?"

  For answer, Kazanovitch deliberately turned his back on his lover of amoment ago and crossed the room. "Olga," he pleaded, "I have been afool. Some day I may be worthy of your love. Fever or not, I must begyour forgiveness."

  With a cry of delight the actress flung her arms about Boris, as heimprinted a penitent kiss on her warm lips.

  "Simpleton," hissed Nevsky with curling lips. "Now you, too, will die."

  "One moment, Ekaterina Nevsky," interposed Kennedy, as he picked upsome vacuum tubes full of a golden-yellow powder, that lay on thetable. "The spirilla, as scientists now know, belong to the same familyas those which cause what we call, euphemistically, the 'black plague.'It is the same species as that of the African sleeping sickness and thePhilippine yaws. Last year a famous doctor whose photograph I see inthe next room, Dr. Ehrlich of Frankfort, discovered a cure for allthese diseases. It will rid the blood of your victims of the Asiaticrelapsing fever germs in forty-eight hours. In these tubes I have thenow famous salvarsan."

  With a piercing shriek of rage at seeing her deadly work so quickly andcompletely undone, Nevsky flung herself into the little laboratorybehind her and bolted the door.

  Her face still wore the same cold, contemptuous smile, as Kennedygently withdrew a sharp scalpel from her breast.

  "Perhaps it is best this way, after all," he said simply.