Hutchinson Hatch remained with The Thinking Machine for more than an
hour, and when he left his head was spinning with the multitude of
instructions which had been heaped upon him.
"Meet me at noon in Detective Mallory's office at police headquarters,"
The Thinking Machine had said in conclusion. "Mr. Randolph and Miss
Meredith will be there."
"Miss Meredith?" Hatch repeated. "She hasn't been arrested, you know,
and I doubt if she will come."
"She will come," the scientist had replied, as if that settled it.
Next day the Supreme Intelligence was sitting in his private office. He
had eaten the canary; mingled triumph and gratification beamed upon his
countenance. The smile remained, but to it was added the quality of
curiosity when the door opened and The Thinking Machine, accompanied by
Dollie Meredith and Stuyvesant Randolph, entered.
"Mr. Hatch called yet?" inquired the scientist.
"No," responded the detective.
"Dear me!" grumbled the other. "It's one minute after twelve o'clock
now. What could have delayed him?"
His answer was the clattering rush of a cab and the appearance of Hatch
in person a moment later. He came into the room headlong, glanced
around, then paused.
"Did you get it?" inquired The Thinking Machine.
"Yes, I got it, but----" began the reporter.
"Nothing else now," commanded the other.
There was a little pause as The Thinking Machine selected a chair. The
others also sat down.
"Well?" inquired the Supreme Intelligence at last.
"I would like to ask, Mr. Mallory," the scientist said, "if it would be
possible for me to convince you of Mr. Herbert's innocence of the
charges against him?"
"It would not," replied the detective promptly. "It would not while the
facts are before me, supplemented by the statement of Miss Meredith
here--her confession."
Dollie coloured exquisitely and her lips trembled slightly.
"Would it be possible, Miss Meredith," the even voice went on, "to
convince _you_ of Mr. Herbert's innocence?"
"I--I don't think so," she faltered. "I--I _know_."
Tears which had been restrained with difficulty gushed forth suddenly,
and The Thinking Machine squinted at her in pained surprise.
"Don't do that," he commanded. "It's--it's exceedingly irritating." He
paused a moment, then turned suddenly to Mr. Randolph. "And you?" he
asked.
Mr. Randolph shrugged his shoulders.
The Thinking Machine receded still further into his chair and stared
dreamily upward with his long, slender fingers pressed tip to tip.
Hatch knew the attitude; something was going to happen. He waited
anxiously. Detective Mallory knew it, too, and wriggled uncomfortably.
"Suppose," the scientist began, "just suppose that we turn a little
human intelligence on this problem for a change and see if we can't get
the truth out of the blundering muddle that the police have helped to
bring about. Let's use logic, inevitable logic, to show, simply enough,
that instead of being guilty, Mr. Herbert is innocent."
Dolly Meredith suddenly leaned forward in her chair with flushed face,
eyes widely opened and lips slightly parted. Detective Mallory also
leaned forward in his chair, but there was a different expression on his
face--oh, so different.
"Miss Meredith, we know you were in the automobile with the Burglar who
stole the plate," The Thinking Machine went on. "You probably knew that
he was wounded and possibly either aided in dressing the wound--as any
woman would--or else saw him dress it himself?"
"I bound my handkerchief on it," replied the Girl. Her voice was low,
almost a whisper.
"Where was the wound?"
"In the right shoulder," she replied.
"Back or front?" insisted the scientist.
"Back," she replied. "Very near the arm, an inch or so below the level
of the shoulder."
Except for The Thinking Machine himself Hatch was the only person in the
room to whom this statement meant anything, and he restrained a shout
with difficulty.
"Now, Mr. Mallory," the scientist went on calmly, "do you happen to know
Dr. Clarence Walpole?"
"I know of him, yes," replied the detective. "He is a man of
considerable reputation."
"Would you believe him under oath?"
"Why, certainly, of course."
The Supreme Intelligence tugged at his bristly moustache.
"If Doctor Walpole should dress a wound and should later, under oath,
point out its exact location, you would believe him?"
"Why, I'd have to, of course."
"Very well," commented The Thinking Machine tersely. "Now I will state
an incontrovertible scientific fact for your further enlightenment. You
may verify it anyway you choose. This is, briefly, that the blood
corpuscles in man average one-thirty-three hundredths of an inch in
diameter. Remember that, please: one-thirty-three hundredths of an inch.
The system of measurement has reached a state of perfection almost
incomprehensible to the man who does not understand."
He paused for so long that Detective Mallory began to wriggle again. The
others were leaning forward, listening with widely varied expressions on
their faces.
"Now, Mr. Mallory," continued The Thinking Machine at last, "one of your
men shot twice at the Burglar in the automobile, as I understand it?"
"Yes--two shots."
"Mr. Cunningham?"
"Yes, Detective Cunningham."
"Is he here now?"
The detective pressed a button on his desk and a uniformed man appeared.
Instructions were given, and a moment later Detective Cunningham stood
before them wonderingly.
"I suppose you can prove beyond any shadow of a doubt," resumed the
scientist, still addressing Mr. Mallory, "that two shots--_and only
two_--were fired?"
"I can prove it by twenty witnesses," was the reply.
"Good, very good," exclaimed the scientist, and he turned to Cunningham.
"You _know_ that only two shots were fired?"
"I know it, yes," replied Cunningham. "I fired 'em."
"May I see your revolver?"
Cunningham produced the weapon and handed it over. The Thinking Machine
merely glanced at it.
"This is the revolver you used?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then," remarked the scientist quietly, "on that statement
alone Mr. Herbert is proven innocent of the charge against him."
There was an astonished gasp all around. Hatch was beginning to see what
The Thinking Machine meant, and curiously watched the bewitchingly
sorrowful face of Dollie Meredith. He saw all sorts of strange things
there.
"Proven innocent?" snorted Detective Mallory. "Why, you've convicted him
out of hand so far as I can see."
"Corpuscles in human blood average, as I said, one-thirty-three
hundredths of an inch in diameter," resumed the scientist. "They vary
slightly each way, of course. Now, the corpuscles of the Burglar in the
automobile measured just one-thirty-one-forty-seven hundredths of an
inch. Mr. Herbert's corpuscles, tested the same way, with the same
instruments, measure precisely one-thirty-five-sixty hundredths." He
stopped as if that were all.
"By George!" exclaimed Mr. Randolph. "By George!"
"That's all tommy-rot," Detective Mallory burst out. "That's nothing to
a jury or to any other man with common sense."
"That difference in measurement proves beyond question that Mr. Herbert
was not wounded while in the automobile," went on The Thinking Machine
as if there had been no interruption. "Now, Mr. Cunningham, may I ask if
the Burglar's back was toward you when you fired?"
"Yes. He was going away from me."
"Well, that statement agrees with the statement of Miss Meredith to show
that the Burglar was wounded in the back. Doctor Walpole dressed Mr.
Herbert's wound between two and three o'clock Friday morning following
the masked ball. Mr. Herbert had been shot, but the wound was in the
_front_ of his right shoulder."
Delighted amazement radiated from Dollie Meredith's face; she clapped
her hands involuntarily as she would have applauded a stage incident.
Detective Mallory started to say something, then thought better of it
and glared at Cunningham instead.
"Now, Mr. Cunningham says that he shot the Burglar with this revolver."
The Thinking Machine waved the weapon under Detective Mallory's nose.
"This is the usual police weapon. Its calibre is thirty-eight. Mr.
Herbert was shot with a _thirty-two_ calibre. Here is the bullet." And
he tossed it on the desk.