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

Sarcey In

Paris Eluded The Police Very Successfully Until Dr. Charcot

Exposed Him And Showed How He Changed The Arch Of His Eyebrows And

The Wrinkles Of His Face. Much Is Possible To-Day That Would Make

Frankenstein And Dr. Moreau Look Clumsy And Antiquated."

 

A Sharp Feminine Voice Interrupted. It Was The Woman,  Who Had Kept

Silent Up To This Time. "But I Have Read In One Of The Papers This

Morning That A Mr. Williams Was Found Dead In An Automobile

Accident Up The Hudson Yesterday. I Remember Reading It,  Because I

Am Afraid Of Accidents Myself."

 

All Eyes Were Now Fixed On Kennedy. "That Body," He Answered

Quickly,  "Was A Body Purchased By You At A Medical School,  Brought

In Your Car To Riverwood,  Dressed In Williams's Clothes With A

Watch That Would Show He Was Forbes,  Placed On The Track In Front

Of The Auto,  While You Two Watched The Buffalo Express Run It

Down,  And Screamed. It Was A Clever Scheme That You Concocted,  But

These Facts Do Not Agree."

 

He Laid The Measurements Of The Corpse Obtained By Burke And Those

From The London Police Card Side By Side. Only In The Roughest Way

Did They Approximate Each Other.

 

"Your Honour,  I Appeal To Your Sense Of Justice," Cried Our

Prisoner Impatiently. "Hasn't This Farce Been Allowed To Go Far

Enough? Is There Any Reason Why This Fake Detective Should Make

Fools Out Of Us All And Keep My Wife Longer In This Court? I'm Not

Disposed To Let The Matter Drop. I Wish To Enter A Charge Against

Him Of False Arrest And Malicious Prosecution. I Shall Turn The

Whole Thing Over To My Attorney This Afternoon. The Deuce With The

Races--I'll Have Justice."

Part 3 Chapter 5 (The Confidence King) Pg 57

 

The Man Had By This Time Raised Himself To A High Pitch Of

Apparently Righteous Wrath. He Advanced Menacingly Toward Kennedy,

Who Stood With His Shoulders Thrown Back,  And His Hands Deep In

His Pockets,  And A Half Amused Look On His Face.

 

"As For You,  Mr. Detective," Added The Man,  "For Eleven Cents I'd

Lick You To Within An Inch Of Your Life. 'Portrait Parle,' Indeed!

It's A Fine Scientific System That Has To Deny Its Own Main

Principles In Order To Vindicate Itself. Bah! Take That,  You

Scoundrel!"

 

Harriet Wollstone Threw Her Arms About Him,  But He Broke Away. His

Fist Shot Out Straight. Kennedy Was Too Quick For Him,  However. I

Had Seen Craig Do It Dozens Of Times With The Best Boxers In The

"Gym." He Simply Jerked His Head To One Side,  And The Blow Passed

Just A Fraction Of An Inch From His Jaw,  But Passed It As Cleanly

As If It Had Been A Yard Away.

 

The Man Lost His Balance,  And As He Fell Forward And Caught

Himself,  Kennedy Calmly And Deliberately Slapped Him On The Nose.

 

It Was An Intensely Serious Instant,  Yet I Actually Laughed. The

Man's Nose Was Quite Out Of Joint,  Even From Such A Slight Blow.

It Was Twisted Over On His Face In The Most Ludicrous Position

Imaginable.

 

"The Next Time You Try That,  Forbes," Remarked Kennedy,  As He

Pulled The Piece Of Paraffin From His Pocket And Laid It On The

Table With The Other Exhibits,  "Don't Forget That A Concave Nose

Built Out To Hook-Nose Convexity By Injections Of Paraffin,  Such

As The Beauty-Doctors Everywhere Advertise,  Is A Poor Thing For A

White Hope."

 

Both Burke And O'connor Had Seized Forbes,  But Kennedy Had Turned

His Attention To The Larger Of Forbes's Grips,  Which The Wollstone

Woman Vociferously Claimed As Her Own. Quickly He Wrenched It

Open.

 

As He Turned It Up On The Table My Eyes Fairly Bulged At The

Sight. Forbes' Suit-Case Might Have Been That Of A Travelling

Salesman For The Kimberley,  The Klondike,  And The Bureau Of

Engraving,  All In One. Craig Dumped The Wealth Out On The Table--

Stacks Of Genuine Bills,  Gold Coins Of Two Realms,  Diamonds,

Pearls,  Everything Portable And Tangible All Heaped Up And Topped

Off With Piles Of Counterfeits Awaiting The Magic Touch Of This

Midas To Turn Them Into Real Gold.

 

"Forbes,  You Have Failed In Your Get-Away," Said Craig

Triumphantly. "Gentlemen,  You Have Here A Master Counterfeiter,

Surely--A Master Counterfeiter Of Features And Fingers As Well As

Of Currency."

 

 

 

 

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 58

 

"Interesting Story,  This Fight Between The Five-Borough And The

Inter-River Transit," I Remarked To Kennedy As I Sketched Out The

Draft Of An Expose Of High Finance For The Sunday Star.

 

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 59

"Then That Will Interest You,  Also," Said He,  Throwing A Letter

Down On My Desk. He Had Just Come In And Was Looking Over His

Mail.

 

The Letterhead Bore The Name Of The Five-Borough Company. It Was

From Jack Orton,  One Of Our Intimates At College,  Who Was In

Charge Of The Construction Of A New Tunnel Under The River. It Was

Brief,  As Jack's Letters Always Were. "I Have A Case Here At The

Tunnel That I Am Sure Will Appeal To You,  My Own Case,  Too," It

Read. "You Can Go As Far As You Like With It,  But Get To The

Bottom Of The Thing,  No Matter Whom It Hits. There Is Some

Deviltry Afoot,  And Apparently No One Is Safe. Don't Say A Word To

Anybody About It,  But Drop Over To See Me As Soon As You Possibly

Can."

 

"Yes," I Agreed,  "That Does Interest Me. When Are You Going Over?"

 

"Now," Replied Kennedy,  Who Had Not Taken Off His Hat. "Can You

Come Along?"

 

As We Sped Across The City In A Taxicab,  Craig Remarked: "I Wonder

What Is The Trouble? Did You See In The Society News This Morning

The Announcement Of Jack's Engagement To Vivian Taylor,  The

Daughter Of The President Of The Five-Borough?"

 

I Had Seen It,  But Could Not Connect It With The Trouble,  Whatever

It Was,  At The Tunnel,  Though I Did Try To Connect The Tunnel

Mystery With My Expose.

 

We Pulled Up At The Construction Works,  And A Strapping Irishman

Met Us. "Is This Professor Kennedy?" He Asked Of Craig.

 

"It Is. Where Is Mr. Orton's Office?"

 

"I'm Afraid,  Sir,  It Will Be A Long Time Before Mr. Orton Is In

His Office Again,  Sir. The Doctor Have Just Took Him Out Of The

Medical Lock,  An' He Said If You Was To Come Before They Took Him

To The 'Orspital I Was To Bring You Right Up To The Lock."

 

"Good Heavens,  Man,  What Has Happened?" Exclaimed Kennedy. "Take

Us Up To Him Quick."

 

Without Waiting To Answer,  The Irishman Led The Way Up And Across

A Rough Board Platform Until At Last We Came To What Looked Like A

Huge Steel Cylinder,  Lying Horizontally,  In Which Was A Floor With

A Cot And Some Strange Paraphernalia. On The Cot Lay Jack Orton,

Drawn And Contorted,  So Changed That Even His Own Mother Would

Scarcely Have Recognised Him. A Doctor Was Bending Over Him,

Massaging The Joints Of His Legs And His Side.

 

"Thank You,  Doctor,  I Feel A Little Better," He Groaned. "No,  I

Don't Want To Go Back Into The Lock Again,  Not Unless The Pain

Gets Worse."

 

His Eyes Were Closed,  But Hearing Us He Opened Them And Nodded.

 

"Yes,  Craig," He Murmured With Difficulty,  "This Is Jack Orton.

What Do You Think Of Me? I'm A Pretty Sight. How Are You? And How

Are You,  Walter? Not Too Vigorous With The Hand-Shakes,  Fellows.

Sorry You Couldn't Get Over Before This Happened."

 

"What's The Matter?" We Asked,  Glancing Blankly From Orton To The

Doctor.

 

Orton Forced A Half Smile. "Just A Touch Of The 'Bends' From

Working In Compressed Air," He Explained.

 

We Looked At Him,  But Could Say Nothing. I,  At Least,  Was Thinking

Of His Engagement.

 

"Yes," He Added Bitterly,  "I Know What You Are Thinking About,

Part 3 Chapter 6 (The Sand-Hog) Pg 60

Fellows. Look At Me! Do You Think Such A Wreck As I Am Now Has Any

Right To Be Engaged To The Dearest Girl In The World?"

 

"Mr. Orton," Interposed The Doctor,  "I Think You'll Feel Better If

You'll Keep Quiet. You Can See Your Friends In The Hospital To-

Night,  But For A Few Hours I Think You Had Better Rest. Gentlemen,

If You Will Be So Good As To Postpone Your Conversation With Mr.

Orton Until Later It Would Be Much Better."

 

"Then I'll See You To-Night," Said Orton To Us Feebly. Turning To

A Tall,  Spare,  Wiry Chap,  Of Just The Build For Tunnel Work,  Where

Fat Is Fatal,  He Added: "This Is Mr. Capps,  My First Assistant. He

Will Show You The Way Down To The Street Again."

 

"Confound It!" Exclaimed Craig,  After We Had Left Capps. "What Do

You Think Of This? Even Before We Can Get To Him Something Has

Happened. The Plot Thickens Before We Are Well Into It. I Think

I'll Not Take A Cab,  Or A Car Either. How Are You For A Walk Until

We Can See Orton Again?"

 

I Could See That Craig Was Very Much Affected By The Sudden

Accident That Had Happened To Our Friend,  So I Fell Into His Mood,

And We Walked Block After Block Scarcely Exchanging A Word. His

Only Remark,  I Recall,  Was,  "Walter,  I Can't Think It Was An

Accident,  Coming So Close After That Letter." As For Me,  I

Scarcely Knew What To Think.

 

At Last Our Walk Brought Us Around To The Private Hospital Where

Orton Was. As We Were About To Enter,  A Very Handsome Girl Was

Leaving. Evidently She Had Been Visiting Some One Of Whom She

Thought A Great Deal. Her Long Fur Coat Was Flying Carelessly,

Unfastened In The Cold Night Air; Her Features Were Pale,  And Her

Eyes Had The Fixed Look Of One Who Saw Nothing But