THE EXTENSION.
A few minutes later, Sturgis, apparently absorbed in the contemplation
of the paintings which hung in the hall, heard the door of Murdock's
study open softly. Although the reporter did not turn his head, he at
once became conscious that the chemist's piercing eyes were fixed upon
him. The observation lasted so long that Sturgis, self-possessed as was
his wont, was beginning to feel a trifle nervous, when at last Doctor
Murdock broke the silence.
"I have to apologize for leaving you standing in the hall, Mr. Sturgis.
I was under the impression that I had invited you to step into the
parlor."
The words, courteous in themselves, conveyed to the hearer an
impression of biting sarcasm.
"I found the parlor already occupied; I hesitated to disturb a
tête-à-tête," replied Sturgis quietly.
Murdock eyed him narrowly for a moment, and then invited him into the
study.
The chemist's study was a spacious room, plainly but luxuriously
furnished, and containing every convenience and comfort calculated to
lighten the labor of a busy man. The table, littered with books and
papers, stood near a small safe and almost directly opposite the hall
door. Speaking-tubes and electric call buttons were within reach of the
occupant of the easy chair, and probably placed him in communication
with the various portions of the household; while a telephone on one
side and a typewriter on the other showed that the chemist kept in
touch also with the outside world.
Murdock's interlocutor, whoever he had been, had disappeared. But how?
The question interested Sturgis, and his mind at once began to seek an
answer to it.
There were three doors leading from the study. One of these was the one
by which Murdock and Sturgis had just entered from the hall. No one
could have passed out that way without meeting them.
Then there were the folding-doors leading into the library; but, as the
door leading from the library to the hall had remained slightly ajar,
Sturgis felt sure that he would have heard the man had he gone out by
that way.
The third door led to a small extension.
"He must have gone into the extension," thought Sturgis.
The only alternative was an exit through the windows. This in itself
would not have presented any special difficulty; for the distance to
the flagging below was hardly more than twelve or thirteen feet. But
the yard, which was of diminutive size on account of the space allotted
to the garden on the street, was inclosed by an unusually high fence
protected by a row of sharp and closely set spikes. These looked so
formidable that the thought of any one attempting to scale the fence
instantly suggested visions of impaled wretches writhing in Oriental
tortures. The only possible exit from the yard, therefore, seemed to
be through the basement; that is to say, past the kitchen and the
servants' department.
All these thoughts flashed through the reporter's brain in a small
fraction of the time which is required to record them. They occurred
to him unbidden, while his conscious efforts were centered upon
discovering how Chatham had managed to escape from the rear of the
Manhattan Chemical Company's building.
This Sturgis recognized without much difficulty. It was directly in
line with the house in which he now was, and its yard did not differ
from the neighboring ones, the fences of which could be scaled without
much trouble. Chatham evidently might have passed into any one of
several buildings which lacked the protection of the formidable spikes
that so effectually guarded the approach to Murdock's house from the
rear.
One point, however, was puzzling. Why should Chatham take the trouble
and the risk of scaling fences in broad daylight, only to return a few
hours later by the street door under the very noses of the detectives
from whom he had presumably wished to escape? There seemed to be no
plausible answer to this question.
But Sturgis was not given much time in which to consider it; for
Murdock, who had waited for him to broach the subject of his interview,
now coldly remarked:
"Perhaps, Mr. Sturgis, you will be good enough to inform me to what I
owe the honor of this visit?"
Sturgis took as a pretext the first subject which came into his mind.
"Doctor," said he, "I have been told that you were engaged in a series
of brilliant chemical researches; that you had proved, or were on the
point of proving, that several, at least, of the so-called elementary
metals are compounds; thus ushering in the realization of the dream of
the alchemists--the transmutation of metals----"
"You have not come here to interview me on the subject of my chemical
researches?" laughed Murdock.
"Why not?"
"Because I gave you credit for possessing the scientific spirit. A
man spends years in making a series of exhaustive experiments, and
refrains from advancing any theory until he has built up an elaborate
monument of cold facts; and you ask him to make a premature report to
be spread broadcast in a sensational sheet, with all the embellishments
which an unbridled reportorial imagination can add to it. No sir, my
report, when it is ready, will be made through the proper channels. I
am surprised that one who passes for a man of science should be willing
to make such a request."
If Murdock intended to gall the reporter, he succeeded; for, modest as
he was, Sturgis prided himself above all things upon the scientific
value of his work in all its aspects. He manifested no external sign of
annoyance, however, as he answered with a smile:
"I am not a man of science now, but only a reporter."
"In that case," replied Murdock, "let us talk of something else. I
should be pleased to discuss my chemical researches with Mr. Sturgis,
the scientist; but with Mr. Sturgis, the reporter, I should prefer to
talk about something in his line of knowledge; let me see, shall we say
the Knickerbocker Bank Mystery, for instance?"
The reporter's ear detected the venomous sarcasm to which he was now
accustomed from this strange man. He raised his eyes to those of the
chemist, and for the space of a few seconds the two men looked steadily
into each other's souls.
Then a sudden light flashed across Sturgis's brain, and he started
perceptibly. At the same time, he thought he saw a shadow cross
Murdock's impassive features; but in this he might have been mistaken,
for when he looked again, the chemist was regarding him with an air of
mild curiosity.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. Sturgis?" he asked.
"Only a sudden thought," carelessly replied Sturgis, who, to all
appearances, had completely recovered from the momentary shock produced
by the suddenness of the suspicion which had crossed his mind. "Your
mention of the Knickerbocker Bank Mystery reminded me of something,
that is all."
"Ever since Sprague's dinner," said Murdock, "I have been devoting all
my spare time to the reading of the _Tempest_, in the hope of finding
there a sensational account, with glaring headlines, of the brilliant
work of our 'distinguished reporter, Mr. Sturgis.'"
Sturgis made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon the typewriter which
stood near Murdock's desk.
"Up to the present time," continued Murdock, "I have not seen anything
to cause me to worry about my stakes."
"I have still twenty-eight days in which to complete my case," said
Sturgis.
"True," replied Murdock. "Well, I wish you luck. If I can render you
any assistance in your investigations, I hope you will call upon me.
In the cause of science I would willingly jeopardize my stakes. For
instance, if you need to consult any works of reference, my library is
at your disposal. I am told that, at least on the subjects in which you
are interested, it is quite complete."
He observed the reporter narrowly, as if to mark the effect of his
words.
"It is," replied Sturgis, after an almost imperceptible hesitation; "I
have already admired it."
"Indeed?" said Murdock, arching his brows in mild surprise.
"Yes; I stepped into the library for a few minutes while I was waiting
for you."
"Ah! yes; I see."
Murdock gave the reporter another searching look. Then he leant back in
his easy chair with half-closed eyes and silently puffed away at his
cigar for a few minutes.
Had Sturgis been able to read the sinister thoughts which were passing
through the mind of this impassive man as he sat apparently in lazy
enjoyment of his fragrant Havana, it is probable that he might have
lost some of the interest which he seemed suddenly to have developed
in the typewriter. But he was busy with his own train of thought and
therefore was not paying any particular attention to Murdock.
Presently the chemist spoke again.
"On second thoughts, Mr. Sturgis, if you will step into my laboratory,
I shall be pleased to show you those of the results of my recent
researches which are ready for publication."
The reporter was surprised at this sudden change of front, and perhaps
a trifle suspicious, for he was beginning to weld together many
hitherto isolated facts into a strong chain which was leading him from
the Knickerbocker bank and Chatham, through the Manhattan Chemical
Company, to the emotionless man in whose presence he now stood. Some
important links were missing, however, and Sturgis could not afford to
lose any chance of making the chain complete.
He therefore accepted Murdock's invitation, in the hope of making some
discovery which would throw positive light upon the somewhat hazy
situation.
"Very well," said Murdock; "wait for me just one minute while I open
the ventilators of the laboratory. It becomes pretty close in there
when the place has been shut up for some time."
So saying, Murdock turned a crank which projected from the wall. A
grating sound was heard, as of the rasping of metal upon metal. Then he
returned to his desk, where he busied himself for a few minutes under
pretext of looking for some notes of his experiments. When apparently
he had found what he was seeking, he went toward the door of the
extension. This was of massive hard wood. Before turning the knob,
the chemist stooped as though to examine the lower hinge. Sturgis was
not consciously following Murdock's movements. His mind was bent upon
accomplishing a certain object; and, with that end in view, he was
gradually drawing nearer to the typewriter. But so accustomed was he to
receiving detailed impressions of all that occurred before his eyes,
that the chemist's actions, unimportant as they seemed at the time,
were unconsciously recorded upon the reporter's brain.
Murdock opened the door of the extension and passed out of the room.
Sturgis, watching his chance, snatched up a sheet of paper from the
table, inserted it in the typewriter, and rattled off something as fast
as he could. Looking up when he had finished, he saw that Murdock had
returned and was observing him with a sardonic grin.
"More happy thoughts?" he inquired.
"Yes," answered Sturgis, calmly folding the paper and slipping it into
the pocket of his coat.
Murdock chuckled to himself, as if enjoying a quiet joke.
"Well," said he, "if you will do me the honor, we can step down into
the laboratory."
Sturgis nodded and went toward the door which Murdock held open. As he
passed the chemist, the reporter caught his eye, and, in a flash, read
there some sinister purpose, which caused him to hesitate, on his guard.
At that moment there came a knock upon the hall door.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Murdock, "here comes an interruption, I suppose.
Please step down stairs; I shall be with you directly."
With these words, he quietly but firmly shoved the reporter into the
extension, and, with a rapid motion, pushed forward the door.
Sturgis almost lost his balance, but instinctively put out his foot
between the door and the jamb. He felt a strong pressure from the
outside; but he knew he was master of the situation and patiently bided
his time. Presently the pressure ceased, and he was able to open the
door.
Murdock wore an air of pained surprise.
"What is it?" he inquired.
"I have just remembered an important engagement," said Sturgis
unruffled. "I fear, after all, that I shall be unable to visit your
laboratory at present. I hope, however, that the pleasure is only
postponed for a short time."
"I hope so," replied Murdock, calmly meeting his steady gaze.
All this had happened in the space of a few seconds. Meanwhile the
knocking at the door was renewed.
"Come in," said Murdock, moving toward his easy chair.
The door opened and a servant appeared.
"Plaze, sur, Miss Agnes wud loike ter know kin yer resave her sum toime
this afthernoon?"
"Yes, Mary; tell Miss Agnes I shall be in all the rest of the
afternoon, and that I shall be at her disposal at any time."
Sturgis, picking up his hat and coat, hurried from the house.
"Why did he want to shut me in the extension?" he asked himself over
and over, and he could find no satisfactory answer to the question.
Then he took from his pocket the lines he had written on Murdock's
typewriter, and compared them carefully with those on the sheet which
he had laboriously pieced together in the Knickerbocker bank on the
previous day.
The result of the examination was apparently satisfactory; for, when
Sturgis returned the papers to his pocket, his face wore an expression
of calm but unmistakable triumph.