The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) - Arthur B. Reeve (best detective novels of all time TXT) 📗

Scanning The Faces. No One Betrayed

By Any Sign That He Recognised It. At Last It Came To Revalenko

Himself.

 

"The Checkerboard,  The Checkerboard!" He Cried,  His Eyes Half

Starting From Their Sockets As He Gazed At It.

 

"Yes," Said Kennedy In A Low Tone,  "The Checkerboard. It Took Me

Some Time To Figure It Out. It Is A Cipher That Would Have Baffled

Poe. In Fact,  There Is No Means Of Deciphering It Unless You

Chance To Know Its Secret. I Happened To Have Heard Of It A Long

Time Ago Abroad,  Yet My Recollection Was Vague,  And I Had To

Reconstruct It With Much Difficulty. 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

Still Be Puzzling Over It. It Is That A Perfectly Innocent

Message,  On Its Face,  May Be Used To Carry A Secret,  Hidden

Message. The Letters Which Compose The Words,  Instead Of Being

Written Continuously Along,  As We Ordinarily 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

End Of The Letter 'N,' Between It And The 'Y.' There Are Three

Letters Before This Break. That Stands For The Number 3.

 

"When You Come To The End Of A Word,  If The Stroke Is Down At The

End Of 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 No Break Until After The 'T.' That Gives Us The

Number 2. So We Get 1 Next,  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. By

Consulting This Table You Can Arrive At The Hidden Message."

 

He Held Up A Cardboard Bearing The Following Arrangement Of The

Letters Of 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.

That Is 'H.' Then 1-1 Is 'A '; 1-5 Is 'V '; 5-1 Is 'E'--And We Get

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 32

The Word 'Have.'"

 

Not A Soul Stirred As Kennedy Unfolded The Cipher. What Was The

Terrible Secret In That Scientific Essay I Had Puzzled So

Unsuccessfully Over,  The Night Before?

 

"Even This Can Be Complicated By Choosing A Series Of Fixed

Numbers To Be Added To The Real Numbers Over And Over Again. Or

The Order Of The Alphabet Can Be Changed. However,  We Have The

Straight Cipher Only To Deal With Here."

 

"And What For Heaven's Sake Does It Reveal?" Asked Saratovsky,

Leaning Forward,  Forgetful Of The Fever That Was Consuming Him.

 

Kennedy Pulled Out A Piece Of Paper On Which He Had Written The

Hidden Message And Read:

 

"Have Successfully Inoculated S. With Fever. Public Opinion

America Would Condemn Violence. Think Best Death Should Appear

Natural. Samarova Infected Also. Cook Unfortunately Took Dose In

Food Intended Kharkoff. Now Have Three Cases. Shall Stop There At

Present. Dangerous Excite 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 About Him. Nor Was Little Samarova,  Nor Dr. Kharkoff. I

Noted Revalenko And Kazanovitch Glaring At Each Other And Hastily

Tried To Decide Which I More 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

Suspiciously Sullen.

 

"Must Have More Money. Cable Ten Thousand Rubles At Once Russian

Consul-General. Will Advise You Plot Against Czar As Details

Perfected Here. Expect Break Up New York Band With Death Of S."

 

If Kennedy Himself Had Thrown A Bomb Or Scattered Broadcast The

Contents Of The Test-Tubes,  The Effect Could Not Have Been More

Startling Than His Last Quiet Sentence--And Sentence It Was In Two

Senses.

 

"Signed," He Said,  Folding The Paper Up Deliberately,  "Ekaterina

Nevsky."

 

It Was As If A Cable Had Snapped And A Weight Had Fallen.

Revalenko Sprang 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

Did You Come To Shadow Kharkoff?"

 

"I Ordered Him To Follow Kharkoff Secretly And Protect Him,"

Explained Saratovsky.

 

Olga And Ekaterina Faced Each Other Fiercely. Olga Was Trembling

With Emotion. Nevsky Stood Coldly,  Defiantly. If Ever There Was A

Consummate Actress It Was She,  Who Had Put The Bomb At Her Own

Door And Had Rushed Off To Start Kennedy On A Blind Trail.

 

"You Traitress," Cried Olga Passionately,  Forgetting All In Her

Outraged Love. "You Won His Affections From Me By Your False

Beauty--Yet All The Time You Would Have Killed Him Like A Dog For

The Czar's Gold. At Last You Are Unmasked--You Azeff In Skirts.

False Friend--You Would Have Killed Us All--Saratovsky,  Kharkoff--

"

 

"Be Still,  Little Fool," Exclaimed Nevsky Contemptuously. "The

Part 3 Chapter 3 (The Germ Of Death) Pg 33

Spirilla Fever Has Affected Your Brains. Bah! I Will Not Stay With

Those Who Are So Ready To Suspect An Old Comrade On The Mere Word

Of A Charlatan. Boris Kazanovitch,  Do You Stand There Silent And

Let This Insult Be Heaped Upon Me?"

 

For Answer,  Kazanovitch Deliberately Turned His Back On His Lover

Of A Moment Ago And Crossed The Room. "Olga," He Pleaded,  "I Have

Been A Fool. Some Day I May Be Worthy Of Your Love. Fever Or Not,

I Must Beg Your Forgiveness."

 

With A Cry Of Delight The Actress Flung Her Arms About Boris,  As

He Imprinted 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

Up Some Vacuum Tubes Full Of A Golden-Yellow Powder,  That Lay On

The Table. "The Spirilla,  As Scientists Now Know,  Belong To The

Same Family As Those Which Cause What We Call,  Euphemistically,

The 'Black Plague.' It Is The Same Species As That Of The African

Sleeping Sickness And The Philippine Yaws. Last Year A Famous

Doctor Whose Photograph I See In The Next Room,  Dr. Ehrlich Of

Frankfort,  Discovered A Cure For All These Diseases. It Will Rid

The Blood Of Your Victims Of The Asiatic Relapsing Fever Germs In

Forty-Eight Hours. In These Tubes I Have The Now Famous

Salvarsan."

 

With A Piercing Shriek Of Rage At Seeing Her Deadly Work So

Quickly And Completely Undone,  Nevsky Flung Herself Into The

Little Laboratory Behind Her And Bolted The Door.

 

Her Face Still Wore The Same Cold,  Contemptuous Smile,  As Kennedy

Gently Withdrew A Sharp Scalpel From Her Breast.

 

"Perhaps It Is Best This Way,  After All," He Said Simply.

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 34

 

A Big,  Powerful,  Red Touring-Car,  With A Shining Brass Bell On The

Front Of It,  Was Standing At The Curb Before Our Apartment Late

One Afternoon As I Entered. It Was Such A Machine As One

Frequently Sees Threading Its Reckless Course In And Out Among The

Trucks And Street-Cars,  Breaking All Rules And Regulations,

Stopping At Nothing,  The Bell Clanging With Excitement,  Policemen

Holding Back Traffic Instead Of Trying To Arrest The Driver--In

Other Words,  A Fire Department Automobile.

 

I Regarded It Curiously For A Moment,  For Everything Connected

With Modern Fire-Fighting Is Interesting. Then I Forgot About It

As I Was Whisked Up In The Elevator,  Only To Have It Recalled

Sharply By The Sight Of A Strongly Built,  Grizzled Man In A Blue

Uniform With Red Lining. He Was Leaning Forward,  Earnestly Pouring

Forth A Story Into Kennedy's Ear.

 

"And Back Of The Whole Thing,  Sir," I Heard Him Say As He Brought

His Large Fist Down On The Table,  "Is A Firebug--Mark My Words."

 

Before I Could Close The Door,  Craig Caught My Eye,  And I Read In

His Look That He Had A New Case--One That Interested Him Greatly.

"Walter," He Cried,  "This Is Fire Marshal Mccormick. It's All

Right,  Mccormick. Mr. Jameson Is An Accessory Both Before And

After The Fact In My Detective Cases."

 

A Firebug!--One Of The Most Dangerous Of Criminals. The Word

Excited My Imagination At Once,  For The Newspapers Had Lately Been

Making Much Of The Strange And Appalling Succession Of Apparently

Incendiary Fires That Had Terrorised The Business Section Of The

City.

 

"Just What Makes You Think That There Is A Firebug--One Firebug,  I

Mean--Back Of This Curious Epidemic Of Fires?" Asked Kennedy,

Leaning Back In His Morrischair With His Finger-Tips Together And

His Eyes Half Closed As If Expecting A Revelation From Some

Subconscious Train Of Thought While The Fire Marshal Presented His

Case.

 

"Well,  Usually There Is No Rhyme Or Reason About The Firebug,"

Replied Mccormick,  Measuring His Words,  "But This Time I Think

There Is Some Method In His Madness. You Know The Stacey

Department-Stores And Their Allied Dry-Goods And Garment-Trade

Interests?"

 

Craig Nodded. Of Course We Knew Of The Gigantic Dry-Goods

Combination. It Had Been The Talk Of The Press At The Time Of Its

Formation,  A Few Months Ago,  Especially As It Included Among Its

Organisers One Very Clever Business Woman,  Miss Rebecca Wend.

There Had Been Considerable Opposition To The Combination In The

Trade,  But Stacey Had Shattered It By The Sheer Force Of His

Personality.

 

Mccormick Leaned Forward And,  Shaking His Forefinger To Emphasise

His Point,  Replied Slowly,  "Practically Every One Of These Fires

Has Been Directed Against A Stacey Subsidiary Or A Corporation

Controlled By Them."

 

"But If It Has Gone As Far As That," Put In Kennedy,  "Surely The

Regular Police Ought To Be Of More Assistance To You Than I."

 

"I Have Called In The Police," Answered Mccormick Wearily,  "But

They Haven't Even Made Up Their Minds Whether It Is A Single

Firebug Or A Gang. And In The Meantime,  My God,  Kennedy,  The

Firebug May Start A Fire That Will Get Beyond Control!"

 

"You Say The Police Haven't A Single Clue To Any One Who Might Be

Responsible For The Fires?" I Asked,  Hoping That Perhaps The

Marshal Might Talk More Freely Of His Suspicions To Us Than He Had

Already Expressed Himself In The Newspaper Interviews I Had Read.

 

"Absolutely Not A Clue--Except Such As Are Ridiculous," Replied

Mccormick,  Twisting His Cap Viciously.

 

No One Spoke.