THE RADIOGRAPH WITNESS
It was apparent that quick action was necessary if the mystery was ever
to be solved. Kennedy evidently thought so, too, for he did not wait
even until he returned to his laboratory to set in motion, through our
old friend, Commissioner O'Connor, the machinery that would result in
warrants to compel the attendance at the laboratory of all those
interested in the case. Then he called up Dr. Leslie and finally Dr.
Blythe himself.
Back again in the laboratory, Kennedy employed the time in developing
some plates of the pictures he had taken, and by early evening, after a
brief study of them, his manner indicated that he was ready.
Dr. Leslie, whom he had asked to come a little before the rest, arrived
early, and a few moments later Dr. Blythe, very much excited by the
message he had received.
"Have you found anything?" he asked eagerly. "I've been trying all sorts
of tests myself, and I can't prove the presence of a thing--not a
thing."
"Not ergot?" asked Kennedy quietly.
"No," he cried, "you can't prove anything--you can't prove that she was
poisoned by ergot."
Dr. Leslie looked helplessly at Kennedy, but said nothing.
"Not until recently, perhaps, could I have proved anything," returned
Kennedy calmly. "Evidently you didn't know, Dr. Blythe, that the first
successful isolation of an alkaloid of ergot from the organs in a case
of acute ergotism had been made by two Pittsburgh scientists. True, up
to the present toxicologists had to rely on the physical properties of
this fungus of rye for its identification. That may have made it seem
like a safe poison to someone. But I have succeeded in isolating
ergotinin from the sample of the contents of the organs of the poor
girl."
Without pausing, he picked up a beaker. "Here I have the residue left
from an acid solution of an extract of the organs, treated with
chloroform. It is, as you see, crystalline."
In his other hand he held up another beaker. "Next I got the residue
obtained by extraction of the acid aqueous liquid with ether. That, too,
is crystalline."
Kennedy displayed something in the shape of long needles, the sides of
which were not quite parallel and the ends replaced by a pair of faces.
Quickly he dissolved some of the crystals in sulphuric acid. Then he
added another chemical from a bottle labeled ferro chlorid. The liquid,
as we bent over it, changed quickly to a brilliant orange, then a
crimson, next a green, and finally became a deep blue.
"What he has derived from the body responds to all the chemical tests
for ergotinin itself," remarked Dr. Leslie, looking quickly across at
Dr. Blythe.
Dr. Blythe said nothing.
I smelt of the stuff. Odors with me, as, I suppose, with other people,
have a psychological effect, calling up scenes associated with them.
This odor recalled something. I strove to recollect what it was. At
last it came with a rush.
"The meat sauce!" I exclaimed involuntarily.
"Exactly," replied Kennedy. "I have obtained that bottle. There was
ergot in it, cleverly concealed by the natural smell and taste of the
sauce. But who put it there? Who had the knowledge that would suggest
using such a poison? Who had the motive? Who had been dining with her
that fatal evening?"
Kennedy had no chance to answer his questions, even if he had intended
to do so.
The door of the laboratory opened and Rita Tourville, in charge of one
of O'Connor's men, who looked as if he might have enjoyed it better if
the lady had not been so angry, entered. Evidently O'Connor had timed
the arrival closely to what Craig had asked, for scarcely a moment later
Faber came whirling up in one of his own cars. Not a word passed between
him and Rita, yet I felt sure that they had some understanding of each
other. Leila arrived shortly, and it was noticeable that Rita avoided
her, though for what reason I could not guess. Finally came Jacot,
blustering, but, having made the officer the safety-valve of his
mercurial feelings, quickly subsiding before us. Dr. Blythe appeared
amazed at the quickness with which Kennedy moved now.
"In ordinary times," began Kennedy, noting as he spoke the outward
attitude of our guests toward each other, "the world would have stood
aghast at the disappearance of such a masterpiece as the Fete by
Watteau. It would have ranked with the theft of Gainesborough's Duchess
of Devonshire, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, the brown-skinned Madonna of the
Mexican convent, Millet's Goose-girl, and the Shepherd and Flock, the
portrait of Saskia by Rembrandt, and other stolen masterpieces.
"But today the vicissitudes of works of art in war time pass almost
unnoticed. Still there is a fascination exercised over the human mind by
works of art and other objects of historic interest, the more so because
the taking of art treasures seems to have become epidemic in northern
Europe."
He laid down what looked more like two rough sketches than photographs,
yet they were photographs, though the relative brightness of color in
photographs was quite different. Outlines were displaced, also. Ugly
spots and bands marred the general effect. They were peculiar.
"They are X-ray images or radiographs of two oil paintings, both claimed
to be copies of Watteau's famous Fete," explained Kennedy, picking up
one of them.
"In a radiograph of the body," he continued, "the difference of
brightness that distinguishes the heart from the lungs, bones from
flesh, is due to the different densities of tissues. In these pictures
the same effect is produced by the different densities of the pigments,
especially of their principal and heaviest elements."
He paused and laid down a chart. "For anyone who doubts what I am about
to prove, I have made a scale of oil colors arranged in accordance to
their transparency to Roentgen rays by applying standard pigments to
canvas in patches of equal thickness.
"I think you can see what I am driving at. For instance, a design drawn
in a heavy pigment will show through a layer of a less dense pigment,
under the influence of the X-ray--just as bones show through flesh. In
other words, an ordinary photograph reproduces only the surface of a
painting. A radiograph represents all the pigments underneath, also
producing effects in proportion to their densities.
"Let me show you the practical result of all this in studying such
radiographs, as worked out by a German student. I have made several very
interesting and conclusive discoveries which these radiographs I have
taken illustrate."
He paused a moment, for the sake of emphasis. "You will notice," he
resumed carefully, "the lace frill above the bodice on the figure of
Madame de Montespan, in this radiograph. In the painting the frill is
sharply defined and can be clearly distinguished from the bodice. But
look at this radiograph. It appears tattered. It overflows the bodice.
"That led me to suspect that the bodice was widened as an
afterthought--perhaps to diminish the area of white. That is the reason
why the white shows through the bodice in the radiograph. But in this
other one the bodice and the frill are substantially as they must be in
the original."
Again he paused, as if taking up a new point. "This radiograph,--number
one, I may call it--shows a broad light band on the right hand of the
figure, of which not a trace is to be found either in the other
radiograph or the painting itself. It represents the first rough sketch
of an arm and hand.
"Again, in this first radiograph the ring and little fingers are close
together and a sixth finger appears between the index and middle
fingers. From that I infer that the hand hung limp with the fingers
nearly in contact in the first sketch and that the fingers were
afterward separated. But in this second radiograph the arm, hand and
fingers are perfect."
It was fascinating to listen to Kennedy as he delved down into the
invisible beneath the very oils and dug out their hidden mystery.
"Take the head and shoulder," he continued. "Radiograph number one
clearly shows flaking of the painting which has been painted over to
conceal it. Ordinary light reveals no trace, either, of a long crack on
the shoulder which evidently was filled with a thick mass of pigment
containing too little white lead to obliterate the crack in the
radiograph. White spots above the ear, in the radiograph, probably
indicate an excess of white lead used in retouching. At any rate,
radiograph number two contains no such defects."
Kennedy paused before drawing the conclusion. "The radiograph of an
original picture reveals changes made by the artist in the course of his
work. The counterfeiter, like other copyists, reproduces as accurately
as possible the final result. That is all he can see. He makes errors
and corrections, but of a different kind. There are no serious changes.
"So, a radiograph of even a part of a picture shows the layers of
pigment that are hidden from the eye and the changes made during the
composition of the work. One can easily distinguish the genuine from the
spurious copies, for it is absolutely impossible for an imitator to make
a copy that will stand the X-ray test.
"You see," he went on enthusiastically, "the most striking feature of
these radiographs is their revelation of details of the first sketch,
which have been altered in the finished picture. We actually obtain an
insight into the methods of an artist--" he paused, adding--"who has
been dead for centuries."
It was wonderful what Kennedy was getting out of those, to us, blurred
and indistinct skiagraphs. I studied the faces before me. None seemed to
indicate any disposition to break down. Kennedy saw it, too, and
evidently determined to go to the bitter end in hammering out the truth
of the mystery.
"One moment more, please," he resumed. "The radiograph shows even more
than that. It shows the possibility of detecting a signature that has
been painted over, in order to disarm suspicion. The detection is easier
in proportion to the density of the pigment used for the signature and
the lack of density of the superposed coat."
He had laid the radiographs on the table before him, with a finger on
the corner of each, as he faced us.
"At the bottom of each of the paintings in question," he shot out,
leaning forward, "you will find nothing in the way of a signature. But
here, in radiograph number two, for instance, barely discernible, are
the words, "R. Fleming," quite invisible to the eye, but visible to the
X-ray. These words have been painted over. Why? Was it to prevent anyone
from thinking that the owner had ever had any connection with Rhoda
Fleming?"
I was following Kennedy, but not so closely that I missed a fearful
glance of Rita from Faber to Jacot. What it meant, I did not know. The
others were too intent on Kennedy's exposure to notice. I wondered
whether someone had sought to conceal the fact that he had a copy of the
famous Watteau, made by Miss Fleming?
"Look at the bottom of the other radiograph, number one, further toward
the left," pursued Kennedy resistlessly. "There you will discover traces
of an 'A' and a 'W,' which do not appear on the painting. Between these
two are marks which can also be deciphered by the X-ray--'Antoine
Watteau.' Perhaps it was painted over lightly so that an original could
be smuggled in as a copy. More likely it was done so that a thief and
murderer could not be traced."
As Kennedy's voice rang out, more and more accusatory, Rita Tourville
became more and more uncontrollably nervous.
"It was suggested," modulated Kennedy, playing with his little audience
as a cat might with a mouse, "that someone murdered Rhoda Fleming with
the little-understood poison, ergot, because of an infatuation for the
picture itself. But the modern crook has an eye for pictures, just as
for other valuables. The spread of the taste for art has taught these
fellows that such things as old masters are worth money, and they will
even murder now to get them. No, that radiograph which I have labeled
number one is not a copy. It is of the genuine old master--the real
Watteau.
"Someone, closely associated with Miss Fleming, had found out that she
had the original. That person, in order to get it, went even so far as
to--"
Rita Tourville jumped up, wildly, facing Craig and crying out, "No,
no--his _is_ the copy--the copy by Miss Fleming. It was I who told him
to paint over the signature. It was I who called him away--both
nights--on a pretext--when he was dining with her--alone--called him
because--I--I loved him and I knew--"
Faber was on his feet beside her in a moment, his face plainly showing
his feelings toward her. As he laid his hand on her arm to restrain her,
she turned and caught a penetrating glance from Jacot's hypnotic eye.
Slowly she collapsed into her chair, covering her face with her hands,
sobbing. For a moment a look of intense scorn and hatred blazed in
Leila's face, then was checked.
Craig waved the radiograph of the real Watteau as he emphasized his last
words.
"In spite of Rita Tourville's unexpected love for Faber, winning him
from your victim, and with the aid of your wife, Leila, in the role of
maid, the third member of your unique gang of art thieves, you are
convicted infallibly by my X-ray detective," thundered Craig as he
pointed his finger at the now cowering Jacot.