It was early in the afternoon that the telephone rang and I answered it. It was Chase calling Kennedy. I heard only half the conversation and there was not much of that, but I knew that something was about to happen. Craig hastily summoned a cab, then in rapid succession called up Doctor Aitken and Leslie, for whom we stopped as our driver shot us over to the Forum Apartments.
There was no ceremony or unnecessary explanation about our presence, as Kennedy entered and directed Miss Langdale to bring her patients into the little office-study of Doctor Wardlaw.
Miss Langdale obeyed reluctantly. When she returned I felt that it was appreciable that a change had taken place. Mrs. Wardlaw, at least, was improved. She was still ill, but she seemed to take a more lively interest in what was going on about her. As for Doctor Wardlaw, however, I could not see that there had been any improvement in him. His nervousness had not abated. Kato, whom Kennedy summoned at the same time, preserved his usual imperturbable exterior. Miss Langdale, in spite of the incident of the morning, was quite as solicitous as ever of her charges.
We had not long to wait for Doctor Aitken. He arrived, inquiring anxiously what had happened, although Kennedy gave none of us any satisfaction immediately as to the cause of his quick action. Aitken fidgeted uneasily, glancing from Kennedy to Leslie, then to Miss Langdale, and back to Kennedy, without reading any explanation in the faces. I knew that Craig was secretly taking his time both for its effect on those present and to give Chase a chance.
“Our poisons and our drugs,” he began, leisurely, at length, “are in many instances the close relatives of harmless compounds that represent the intermediate steps in the daily process of metabolism. There is much that I might say about protein poisons. However, that is not exactly what I want to talk about—at least first.”
He stopped to make sure that he had the attention of us all. As a matter of fact, his manner was such that he attracted even the vagrant interest of the Wardlaws.
“I do not know how much of his suspicions Commissioner Leslie has communicated to you,” he resumed, “but I believe that you have all heard of the disease beriberi so common in the Far East and known to the Japanese as kakke. It is a form of polyneuritis and, as you doubtless know, is now known to be caused, at least in the Orient, by the removal of the pericarp in the polishing of rice. Our milling of flour is, in a minor degree, analogous. To be brief, the disease arises from the lack in diet of certain substances or bodies which modern scientists call vitamines. Small quantities of these vital principles are absolutely essential to normal growth and health and even to life itself. They are nitrogenous compounds and their absence gives rise to a class of serious disorders in which the muscles surrender their store of nitrogen first. The nerves seems to be the preferred creditors, so to speak. They are affected only after the muscles begin to waste. It is an abstruse subject and it is not necessary for me to go deeper into it now.”
I controlled my own interest in order to watch those about me. Kato, for one, was listening attentively, I saw.
“In my studies of the diet of this household,” continued Kennedy, “I have found that substances have been used in preparing food which kill vitamines. In short, the food has been denatured. Valuable elements, necessary elements, have been taken away.”
“I, sir, not always in kitchen, sir,” interrupted Kato, still deferential. “I not always know—”
With a peremptory wave of his hand Kennedy silenced the Jap.
“It has long been a question,” he hurried on, “whether these vitamines are tangible bodies or just special arrangements of molecules. Recently government investigators have discovered that they are bodies that can be isolated by a special process from the filtrate of brewer’s yeast by Lloyd’s reagent. Five grams of this”—he held up some of the tablets he had made—“for a sixty-kilogram person each day are sufficient. Unknown to you, I have introduced some of this substance into the food already deficient in vitamines. I fancy that even now I can detect a change,” he nodded toward Mrs. Wardlaw.
There was a murmur of surprise in the room, but before Craig could continue further the door opened and Mrs. Wardlaw uttered a nervous exclamation. There stood Chase with a woman. I recognized her immediately from Kennedy’s description as Miss Hackstaff.
Chase walked deliberately over to Kennedy and handed him something, while the nurse glanced calmly, almost with pity, at Mrs. Wardlaw, ignoring Wardlaw, then fixing her gaze venomously on Miss Langdale. Recalling the incident of the morning, I was ready to prevent, if necessary, a repetition now. Neither moved. But it was a thrilling, if silent, drama as the two women glared at each other.
Kennedy was hastily comparing the anonymous note he had received with something Chase had brought.
“Some one,” he shot out, suddenly, looking up and facing us, “has, as I have intimated, been removing or destroying the vital principle in the food—these vitamines. Clearly the purpose was to make this case look like an epidemic of beriberi, polyneuritis. That part has been clear to me for some time. It has been the source of this devilish plot which has been obscure. Just a moment, Kato, I will do the talking. My detective, Chase, has been doing some shadowing for me, as well as some turning over of past history. He has found a woman, a nurse, more than a nurse, a secret lover, cast off in favor of another. Miss Hackstaff—you wrote that letter—it is your hand—for revenge—on Miss Langdale and—”
“You shan’t have him!” almost hissed Helen Hackstaff. “If I cannot—no one shall!”
Natalie Langdale faced her, defiant. “You are a jealous, suspicious person,” she cried. “Doctor Aitken knows—”
“One moment,” interrupted Craig. “Mrs. Marbury is gone. Mrs. Wardlaw is weakened. Yet all who are affected with nerve troubles are not necessarily suffering from polyneuritis. Some one here has been dilettanting with death. It is of no use,” he thundered, turning suddenly on a cowering figure. “You stood to win most, with the money and your unholy love. But Miss Hackstaff, cast off, has proved your Nemesis. Your nervousness is the nervousness not of polyneuritis, but of guilt, Doctor Wardlaw!”
IX
THE RUBBER DAGGER
“Hypnotism can’t begin to accomplish what Karatoff claims. He’s a fake, Kennedy, a fake.”
Professor Leslie Gaines of the Department of Experimental Psychology at the university paced excitedly up and down Craig’s laboratory.
“There have been complaints to the County Medical Society,” he went on, without stopping, “and they have taken the case up and arranged a demonstration for this afternoon. I’ve been delegated to attend it and report.”
I fancied from his tone and manner that there was just a bit more than professional excitement involved. We did not know Gaines intimately, though of course Kennedy knew of him and he of Kennedy. Some years before, I recollected, he had married Miss Edith Ashmore, whose family was quite prominent socially, and the marriage had attracted a great deal of attention at the time, for she had been a student in one of his courses when he was only an assistant professor.
“Who is Karatoff, anyhow?” asked Kennedy. “What is known about him?”
“Dr. Galen Karatoff—a Russian, I believe,” returned Gaines. “He claims to be able to treat disease by hypnotism-suggestion, he calls it, though it is really something more than that. As nearly as I can make out it must almost amount to thought transference, telepathy, or some such thing. Oh, he has a large following; in fact, some very well-known people in the smart set are going to him. Why,” he added, facing us, “Edith—my wife—has become interested in his hypnotic clinics, as he calls them. I tell her it is more than half sham, but she won’t believe it.”
Gaines paused and it was evident that he hesitated over asking something.
“When