The jacques futrelle meg.., p.35
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack, page 35
“A monkey?” suggested Hatch.
“An orangutan,” nodded The Thinking Machine.
“An orangutan?” gasped Hatch, and he shuddered a little. “I see now why you were positive the child was dead.”
“An orangutan is the only living thing within the knowledge of man which could have done all these things—therefore an orangutan did them,” said the other emphatically. “Remember a full-sized orangutan is nearly as tall as a man, has a reach relatively a third longer than a very tall man would have, and a strength which is enormous. It could have made the leaps and probably would have made them rather than step in the snow. They despise snow, being from the tropics themselves, and will not step in it unless they are compelled to. The leap of fifteen feet to the swing rope from the clothes line would have been comparatively easy, even with a child in its arms.
“Where could it have come from? I don’t know. Possibly escaped from a ship, because sailors have strange pets; might have gotten away from a menagerie somewhere, or a circus. I only knew that an orangutan was the actual abductor. The difficulties of a man climbing the fire escape where the baby was found were nothing to an orangutan. There it would have merely been a leap up of five feet.”
The Thinking Machine stopped as if he had finished. Hatch respected this silence for a moment, but he had questions yet to be answered.
“Who wrote the kidnapping letters demanding money?” was the first.
“You found him—Charles Gates,” was the reply.
“And the letter written after the abduction demanding twenty-five thousand dollars?”
“Was written by him, of course—but this was a bluff. This poor deluded fool imagined that someone would actually go out and toss $25,000 on a trash-heap where he could find it, and then he could escape. That was his purpose. He knew nothing of the whereabouts of the baby. He beat his wife when he found, instead of money, I had put some good advice in the newspaper bundle for him.”
“But the stocking in his room, and your question to Miss Barton?”
“This man did write a letter threatening kidnapping before the baby disappeared. It was perfectly possible that after the kidnapping he stole the little stocking and two or three other things from the laundry, for Miss Barton noticed they were missing, or got someone to do so for him. And, the baby being gone, he was intending to send these to the mother, one at a time, I imagine, to make her believe he had the child. That is transparent. I asked Miss Barton the question about giving them to Gates to see if she did—her manner would have told me. I instantly saw she did not—had never even heard of him, as a matter of fact. I also dropped that remark about there being $25,000 in the package to see what effect it would have on her.”
“And the facts you had about the baby’s fortune going to relatives of Mrs. Blake in the event of the baby’s death?”
“I got from her, by a casual question as to the succession of the estate. There was still a possibility that the baby was in their hands despite the manner of its disappearance. As it transpired they had nothing whatever to do with it. The advertisement I put in the paper was a palpable trick—but it had the desired effect. It touched a guilty conscience. The guilty conscience feared it was trapped and acted accordingly.”
“It seems perfectly incomprehensible that the baby should have come out of it alive,” mused Hatch. “I had always imagined orangutans to be extremely ferocious.”
“Read up on them a bit, Mr. Hatch,” said The Thinking Machine. “You will find they are of strangely contradictory and mischievous natures. Where this child was permitted to escape safely others might have been torn limb from limb.”
There was silence for a time. Hatch considered the matter all explained, until suddenly the picture book occurred to him.
“You telephoned me to see the picture book and tell you what’s in it,” he said. “Why?”
“Suppose there was a picture of a monkey in it,” rejoined the other. “I merely wanted to know if the baby would know a monkey, in other words an orangutan, if it saw one. Why? Because if the baby knew one it would not necessarily be afraid of one in the flesh, and would not of necessity cry out when the orangutan picked it up. As a matter of fact no one heard it scream when taken away.”
“Oh, I see,” said Hatch. “There was a picture of a monkey in the book. I told you.” He took out the book and looked at it. “Here,” and he extended it to the scientist who glanced at it casually, and nodded.
“If you want to prove this just as I have told it,” said The Thinking Machine, “go to the Blake home tomorrow, put your finger on that picture and show it to Baby Blake. He will prove it.”
It came to pass that Hatch did this very thing.
“Pitty monkey,” said Baby Blake. “Doe, doe.”
“He means he wants to go,” Miss Barton exclaimed to Hatch.
Hatch was satisfied.
* * * *
Two days later the Boston American carried a dispatch from a village near Lynn stating that a semi-tame orangutan had been killed by a policeman. It had belonged to a sailor, from whose vessel it had escaped more than two weeks before.
PROBLEM OF THE LOST RADIUM
One ounce of radium! Within his open palm Professor Dexter held practically the world’s entire supply of that singular and seemingly inexhaustible force which was, and is, one of the greatest of all scientific riddles. So far as known there were only a few more grains in existence—four in the Curie laboratory in Paris, two in Berlin, two in St. Petersburg, one at Leland Stanford University and one in London. All the remainder was here—here in the Yarvard laboratory, a tiny mass lumped on a small piece of steel.
Gazing at this vast concentrated power Professor Dexter was a little awed and a little appalled at the responsibility which had suddenly devolved upon him, naturally enough with this culmination of a project which he had cherished for months. Briefly this had been to gather into one cohesive whole the many particles of the precious substance scattered over the world for the purpose of elaborate experiments as to its motive power practicability. Now here it was.
Its value, based on scarcity of supply, was incalculable. Millions of dollars would not replace it. Minute portions had come from the four quarters of the globe, in each case by special messenger, and each separate grain had been heavily insured by Lloyd’s at a staggering premium. It was only after months of labour, backed by the influence of the great university of Yarvard in which he held the chair of physics, that Professor Dexter had been able to accomplish his purpose.
At least one famous name had been loaned to the proposed experiments, that of the distinguished scientist and logician, Professor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen—so called The Thinking Machine. The interest of this master mind in the work was a triumph for Professor Dexter, who was young and comparatively unknown. The elder scientist—The Thinking Machine—was a court of last appeal in the sciences and from the moment his connection with Professor Dexter’s plans was announced his fellows all over the world had been anxiously awaiting a first word.
Naturally the task of gathering so great a quantity of radium had not been accomplished without extensive, and sometimes sensational, newspaper comment all over the United States and Europe. It was not astonishing, therefore that news of the receipt of the final portion of the radium at Yarvard had been known in the daily press and with it a statement that Professors Van Dusen and Dexter would immediately begin their experiments.
The work was to be done in the immense laboratory at Yarvard a high-ceilinged room with roof partially of glass, and with windows set high in the walls far above the reach of curious eyes. Full preparations had been made;—the two men were to work together, and a guard was to be stationed at the single door. This door led into a smaller room, a sort of reception hall, which in turn connected with the main hallway of the building.
Now Professor Dexter was alone in the laboratory, waiting impatiently for The Thinking Machine and turning over in his mind the preliminary steps in the labour he had undertaken. Every instrument was in place, all else was put aside for these experiments, which were either to revolutionize the motive power of the world or else demonstrate the utter uselessness of radium as a practical force.
Professor Dexter’s line of thought was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Bowen, one of the instructors of the University.
“A lady to see you, Professor,” he said as he handed him a card. “She said it was a matter of great importance to you.”
Professor Dexter glanced at the card as Mr. Bowen turned and went out through the small room into the main hallway. The name, Mme. Therese du Chastaigny, was wholly unfamiliar. Puzzled a little and perhaps impatient too, he carefully laid the steel with its burden of radium on the long table, and started out into the reception room. Almost in the door he stumbled against something, recovered his equilibrium with an effort and brought up with an undignified jerk.
The colour mounted to his modest ears as he heard a woman laugh—a pleasant, musical, throaty sort of ripple that under other circumstances would have been agreeable. Now, being directed at his own discomfiture, it was irritating, and the Professor’s face tingled a little as a tall woman arose and came towards him.
“Please pardon me,” she said contritely, but there was still a flicker of a smile upon her red lips. “It was my carelessness. I should not have placed my suit case in the door.” She lifted it easily and replaced it in that identical position. “Or perhaps,” she suggested, inquiringly, “someone else coming out might stumble as you did?”
“No,” replied the Professor, and he smiled a little through his blushes. “There is no one else in there.”
As Mme. du Chastaigny straightened up, with a rustle of skirts, to greet him Professor Dexter was somewhat surprised at her height and at the splendid lines of her figure. She was apparently of thirty years and seemed from a casual glance, to be five feet nine or ten inches tall. In addition to a certain striking indefinable beauty she was of remarkable physical power if one might judge from her poise and manner. Professor Dexter glanced at her and then at the card inquiringly.
“I have a letter of introduction to you from Mme. Curie of France,” she explained as she produced it from a tiny chatelaine bag. “Shall we go over here where the light is better?”
She handed the letter to him and together they seated themselves under one of the windows near the door into the outer hallway. Professor Dexter pulled up a light chair facing her and opened the letter. He glanced through it and then looked up with a newly kindled interest in his eyes.
“I should not have disturbed you,” Mme. du Chastaigny explained pleasantly, “had I not known it was a matter of the greatest possible interest to you.”
“Yes?” Professor Dexter nodded.
“It’s radium,” she continued. “It just happens that I have in my possession practically an ounce of radium of which the world of science has never heard.”
“An ounce of radium!” repeated Professor Dexter, incredulously. “Why, Madame, you astonish, amaze me. An ounce of radium?”
He leaned further forward in his chair and waited expectantly while Mme. du Chastaigny coughed violently. The paroxysm passed after a moment.
“That is my punishment for laughing,” she explained, smilingly. “I trust you will pardon me. I have a bad throat—and it was quick retribution.”
“Yes, yes,” said the other courteously, “but this other—it’s most interesting. Please tell me about it.”
Mme. du Chastaigny made herself comfortable in the chair, cleared her throat, and began.
“It’s rather an unusual story,” she said apologetically, “but the radium came into my possession in quite a natural manner. I am English, so I speak the language, but my husband was French as my name indicates, and, he, like you, was a scientist. He was little known to the world at large, however, as he was not connected with any institution. His experiments were undertaken for amusement and gradually led to a complete absorption of his interest. We were not wealthy as Americans count it, but we were comfortably well off.
“That much for my affairs. The letter I gave you from Mme. Curie will tell you the rest as to who I am. Now when the discovery of radium was made by M. and Mme. Curie my husband began some investigations along the same line and they proved to be remarkably successful. His efforts were first directed towards producing radium, with what object, I was not aware at that time. In the course of months he made grain after grain by some process unlike that of the Curies’, and incidentally he spent practically all our little fortune. Finally he had nearly an ounce.”
“Most interesting!” commented Professor Dexter. “Please go on.”
“It happened that during the production of the last quarter of an ounce, my husband contracted an illness which later proved fatal,” Mme. du Chastaigny resumed after a slight pause, and her voice dropped. “I did not know the purpose of his experiments; I only knew what they had been and their comparative cost. On his death bed he revealed this purpose to me. Strangely enough it was identical with yours as the newspapers have announced it—that is, the practicability of radium as a motive power. He was at work on plans looking to the utilization of its power when he died but these plans were not perfected and unfortunately were in such shape as to be unintelligible to another.”
She paused and sat silent for a moment. Professor Dexter watching her face, traced a shadow of grief and sorrow there and his own big heart prompted a ready sympathy.
“And what,” he asked, “was your purpose in coming to me now?”
“I know of the efforts you have made and the difficulties you have encountered in gathering enough radium for the experiments you have in mind,” Mme. du Chastaigny continued, “and it occurred to me that what I have, which is of no possible use to me, might be sold to you or to the university. As I said, there is nearly an ounce of it. It is where I can put my hands on it, and you of course are to make the tests to prove it is what it should be.”
“Sell it?” gasped Professor Dexter. “Why, Madame, it’s impossible. The funds of the college are not so plentiful that the vast fortune necessary to purchase such a quantity would be forth-coming.”
A certain hopeful light in the face of the young woman passed and there was a quick gesture of her hands which indicated disappointment.
“You speak of a vast fortune,” she said at last. “I could not hope, of course, to realize anything like the actual value of the substance—a million perhaps? Only a few hundred thousands? Something to convert into available funds for me the fortune which has been sunk.”
There was almost an appeal in her limpid voice and Professor Dexter considered the matter deeply for several minutes as he stared out the window.
“Or perhaps,” the woman hurried on after a moment, “it might be that you need more radium for the experiments you have in hand now, and there might be some sum paid me for the use of what I have? A sort of royalty? I am willing to do anything within reason.”
Again there was a long pause. Ahead of him, with this hitherto unheard of quantity of radium available, Professor Dexter saw rosy possibilities in his chosen work. The thought gripped him more firmly as he considered it. He could see little chance of a purchase—but the use of the substance during his experiments! That might be arranged.
“Madame,” he said at last, “I want to thank you deeply for coming to me. While I can promise nothing definite I can promise that I will take up the matter with certain persons who may be able to do something for you. It’s perfectly astounding. Yes, I may say that I will do something, but I shall perhaps, require several days to bring it about. Will you grant me that time?”
Mme. du Chastaigny smiled.
“I must of course,” she said, and again she went off into a paroxysm of coughing, a distressing, hacking outburst which seemed to shake her whole body. “Of course,” she added, when the spasm passed, “I can only hope that you can do something either in purchasing or using it.”
“Could you fix a definite price for the quantity you have—that is a sale price—and another price merely for its use?” asked Professor Dexter.
“I can’t do that offhand of course, but here is my address on this card—Hotel Teutonic. I expect to remain there for a few days and you may reach me any time. Please, now please,” and again there was a pleading note in her voice, and she laid one hand on his arm, “don’t hesitate to make any offer to me. I shall be only too glad to accept it if I can.”
She arose and Professor Dexter stood beside her.
“For your information,” she went on, “I will explain that I only arrived in this country yesterday by steamer from Liverpool and my need is such that within another six months I shall be absolutely dependent upon what I may realize from the radium.”
She crossed the room, picked up the suit case and again she smiled, evidently at the recollection of Professor Dexter’s awkward stumble. Then with her burden she turned to go.
“Permit me, Madame,” suggested Professor Dexter, quickly as he reached for the bag.
“Oh no, it is quite light,” she responded easily.
There were a few commonplaces and then she went out. Gazing through the window after her Professor Dexter noted, with certain admiration in his eyes the graceful strong lines of her figure as she entered a carriage and was driven away. He stood deeply thoughtful for a minute considering the possibilities arising from her casual announcement of the existence of this unknown radium.
“If I only had that too,” he muttered as he turned and re-entered his work room.
An instant later, a cry—a wild amazed shriek—came from the laboratory and Professor Dexter, with pallid face, rushed out through the reception room and flung open the door into the main hallway. Half a dozen students gathered about him and from across the hall Mr. Bowen, the instructor, appeared with startled eyes.
“The radium is gone—stolen!” gasped Professor Dexter.
The members of the little group stared at one another blankly while Professor Dexter raved impotently and ran his fingers through his hair. There were questions and conjectures; a babble was raging about him when a new figure loomed up in the picture. It was that of a small man with an enormous yellow head and an eternal petulant droop to the corners of his mouth. He had just turned a corner in the hall.
