The Radium Appears
How true it is that time, in retrospect, is measured by the events
occurring therein. By which I mean, of course, that while the whole
sequence of mysterious and shocking events that so deeply troubled us
there at St. Ann’s really occurred during a period of only a few days,
when I look back at the affair it seems to have extended over weeks.
It was true, too, that every day seemed to bring its problems and
those before yesterday’s problems were solved. In fact these problems
so crowded each other that the only way in which I can recall their
exact sequence is by referring to the days on which they took place.
For instance, I see that in my account book where I have an orderly
habit of noting certain things such as birthdays of relatives, dates
when my insurance falls due, and such matters, I have noted several
items under Wednesday, June 13th:
Higgins killed in Eighteen during second watch, last night. No clue
so far as I know. Wish J.G. would go on about his bridge building.
Whole hospital much upset; several nurses threatening to leave.
Police underfoot everywhere and suppose it means the whole thing
over again. Sent laundry this A.M. Am getting nervous about second
watch. Twelve pearl buttons. Wish this affair were safely over.
The “twelve pearl buttons” entry, of course, referred to the fact that
I had forgotten to take them out of one of my uniforms before it went
to the laundry and must remember to telephone the laundry about them.
It was owing to these buttons, however, that one of the most singular
and troublesome facts of the whole week came to my attention.
If the second watch of the previous night had seemed like a repetition
of a bad dream, then that day, Wednesday, was its continuation. The
directors, irate and fussy and hysterically horrified, descended upon
St. Ann’s. There were the police, O’Leary, and newspaper men just as
it had been before. The only difference was that this last development
seemed more terrible than that other—if that were possible. There was
a rather grisly fear stalking through the hushed hospital corridors:
Who would be the next victim?
The inquest was held at once, that very morning. It was a brief and
formal affair, held in the main office with only a few present.
Nothing was proved beyond the immediate fact of Higgins’s death and
nothing was mentioned that I did not already know. It was evident that
O’Leary regarded Higgins’s death as another piece in the puzzle that
confronted him and not as an isolated crime.
Shortly after lunch Lance O’Leary called me into the office.
“Why did you not tell me that the key to the south door disappeared
last night?” he began abruptly.
“I forgot it. I ordered a new key to be made for that lock and will
have it before night. But of course I had to leave the south door
unlocked last night.”
“It seems to me you forget rather important things.” He spoke sharply.
“I have certain duties to think of,” I responded as sharply. “And
anyway you didn’t ask me.”
The tightness around his eyes relaxed somewhat but he did not smile.
He rose, went to the door, and after a dissatisfied glance into the
main hall he beckoned me into the inner office, shut the door and sat
down at the desk. For a moment he sat there silently, his face in his
hands.
“Sit down, Miss Keate,” he said presently, motioning toward Dr.
Balman’s cot, and as I did so he swung around in the swivel chair to
face me. “Hope nobody wants to use this room for a few moments,” he
said wearily. “I’ve got to think. Look here, was that key gone when
you came on duty last night at twelve o’clock?”
“Yes. Olma Flynn, who has first watch, could not find it. She told me
of its disappearance as soon as I came on duty.”
He nodded slowly.
“Thus providing an easy way into St. Ann’s. . . . Into the south
wing——” he murmured, and broke off, staring into space, his eyes
clouded and far away.
Then all at once he began to talk, leaned back in the chair, and
linked his hands together.
“In the first place,” he began, “I am convinced that the three crimes
are all linked together and that the possession of the radium is the
guiding motive. Other motives, such as protection or fear, may enter
into the affair but the radium is the main thing. If the radium was
actually placed in that loud speaker, it is now in the hands of the
person who killed Higgins. To secure the radium was the reason for his
entrance into the south wing and into Room 18 last night. We can’t
know why Higgins was there—unless—unless—— You say that he knew where
the radium was hidden; he may have tried to take it himself into his
own hands.”
He paused as if to consider that possibility; it did not appear to
convince him, for he made an impatient gesture.
“Dr. Hajek,” he resumed, “has flatly denied that he was out last
night; the mud has been brushed off his trousers and off the window
sill and it is my word against his. Why is he lying? Then, too, there
was someone from the Letheny cottage about the grounds last night.
Huldah says that someone left the house about midnight; she heard
footsteps on the stairs, and the front door squeaks. She did not know
whether it was Gainsay or Miss Letheny, but she is certain that
someone went out of that house about midnight and returned probably an
hour later.”
“Huldah tells the truth always——” I began, but checked myself. If he
was willing to talk I was more than willing to listen.
However, I had interrupted him; he looked at me directly and began to
speak more briskly and less as if he were thinking aloud.
“You see, Miss Keate, it is all simmering down to the same group, the
same circle of those in and about St. Ann’s. No one else could have
stolen the key to the south door. And as I say, I am inclined to
believe that all three crimes had the same motive, if not the same
motivating force.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that in the first two crimes we find several means of death.
This leads me to believe that there was a definite plan to steal the
radium, possibly on the part of more than one person. In fact, I am
quite sure that more than one person had determined to get hold of
that radium. But the radium was left in the room. Hidden, but still in
Room 18. Why? There is only one possible reason. The thief was
interrupted, was forced to hide it there in order to return for it
later. But why did the radium remain for so long in the speaker? Why
did not the thief return for it earlier in the game? It all points to
there being several people interested in that radium, which means, of
course, that we may be trying to discover three murderers instead of
only one.”
“_Three!_”
“There were three murders,” he said, laconically cool in the face of
my horror. “And Higgins’s statement seems to make it sure that the
first two murders were not committed by the same man.”
“I am positive that the radium was concealed in the loud speaker,” he
continued after a short pause. “There was no place else for it to be
and it must have been in Room 18, for otherwise we would not have had
such a series of disturbances in and about that room. Yes, it is
evident that several people were convinced that the radium was still
in the room and were searching for it. The thing that bothers me is
the failure of the—er—original thief to return and remove the radium
before anyone else found it.”
“Perhaps it was he last night,” I suggested.
O’Leary did not appear to hear me.
“There is only one reason and that—if true—is amazing.” He reached
absently for the shabby little stub of pencil and began twisting it in
his fingers, which convinced me that he was on his feet again, so to
speak.
Whatever the “amazing” speculation was that had occurred to him, he
said nothing more of it.
“I have eliminated certain factors. The first thing to do, you know is
to narrow the field of investigation. I find that Mr. Jackson’s
relatives, who might be supposed to have an interest in his death,
have iron-clad alibis.”
“Oh.” I spoke none too brightly as I had never given a thought to Mr.
Jackson’s relatives.
“Likewise I am gradually eliminating the unknown factor—I mean by that
the possibility of an outsider, a hobo, perhaps, or professional thief
acting on the spur of the moment, or following out a planned course of
action. It seems more and more certain that those guilty of these
crimes are people who are in and about St. Ann’s. But since that phase
of the matter is so distasteful to you. . . .” His voice trailed away
into nothing, he dropped the pencil, adjusted his tie, looked at his
watch, ran a hand through his hair and reached for the pencil again.
“There are a few matters of which I’ve been wanting to talk with you,
Miss Keate. This—” he lowered his voice—“this Hajek. Somehow I have
got the impression that he and Miss Letheny see a good deal of each
other. Different people have mentioned seeing them together. Huldah
says he is a frequent caller. What do you think?”
“Why, yes—now that I think of it, it does seem to me that they have a
sort of——” At loss for a word I stopped. O’Leary completed the
sentence.
“Understanding?”
“Well, yes. And yet I have seen nothing definite. It is just a feeling
that I have. And of course, the fact that he has been up at the
Letheny cottage a great deal. I’ve seen him there often.”
He twisted the pencil up and down; I wondered that there was any shred
of paint remaining on the shabby thing.
“Another thing,” he began rather hesitantly. “They say—don’t ask me
who says, for it is a sort of drifting gossip that we detectives have
to encourage—they say that Dr. Letheny admired the pretty nurse.”
“The pretty nurse. Who?”
“I thought you’d guess,” he said quietly. “I mean Miss Day.”
“If he did admire her, I never knew it,” I said with vigour.
“You never even surmised it?” he persisted gently.
“No,” I said bluntly. “Certainly not.” And then recalled certain
things. That last dinner—Dr. Letheny’s smouldering eyes on Maida—the
gesture with which he took her wrap—those burning, restless eyes
seeking her in the corridor of the south wing before he turned away
through the door and I caught my last glimpse of Dr. Letheny alive.
“That is—perhaps—yes,” I amended in a smaller voice.
“Did Miss Day return his—interest?”
“No. I’m sure that she did not. Quite the contrary.”
“Quite the contrary?”
“I mean that I believe she disliked him particularly. I do not know
why.”
He lifted his eyes from the pencil. They were clear now and very gray.
“You would likely know,” he said casually. “You possess the strangest
aura of—integrity. One feels you are a respecter of confidences. I
presume you are the repository of many secrets.”
“I’m sure I don’t know any secrets,” I replied hastily. The man
needn’t think he could worm things out of me. “I wish,” I added, “I
wish that you had talked to Higgins.”
His expression became serious at once.
“I wish so too,” he said soberly. “Though as far as that goes I did
talk to Higgins, but couldn’t get a thing out of him. He must have
been desperately afraid of getting into trouble.” He eyed the stub of
pencil solicitously. “. . . getting into trouble,” he repeated
musingly.
“If I had only known the danger he was in,” I said regretfully. “But
somehow we never know until it is too late.”
“About this matter of the lights going out last night. It seems to
coincide too strangely with the affair of Thursday night. The lights
being out at that time was, of course, an accident, but one is
inclined to think that someone profited by that accident to such an
extent that he decided to repeat the fortuitous circumstances. But it
was actually no accident this time; the switch plug had been purposely
pulled out. Now then, the switch box is in the basement, on the wall
next to the grade door that leads out just below the main entrance.”
I nodded as his keen, serious eyes rose to mine.
“That grade door was locked and the key inside the lock as it should
be. Was there time, Miss Keate, between the lights going out and the
sound of the shot for someone to come from that grade door around the
corner of the hospital, enter the south door in the darkness, go into
Eighteen, which is right next to the south door, take the radium from
the loud speaker and—and that is as far as we know. We can only
surmise, now, how Higgins came into it.”
“The intruder might have been Higgins, himself.” I was suddenly struck
by the thought. “He would have access to the basement, could have
stolen the key from the chart desk that would open the south door if
it were locked. Perhaps he was taking the radium out of the speaker;
he told me, you know, that he knew where it was hidden.”
“All the circumstances point to what we call an inside job,” admitted
O’Leary slowly. “But someone besides Higgins was in Room 18.”
“The window?” I suggested.
“No. He could not have come through the window for it was still
bolted. How about it, Miss Keate?” He returned to his inquiry. “How
long a time elapsed between the lights going out and the sound of the
shot?”
“It seemed a long time,” I said hesitantly. “You see, it was so still
and dark and I was a little frightened. I waited for a few moments,
thinking that the lights would come on again. Yes, I think there was
time enough for—for all that you think took place. While I waited I
felt a current of air on my shoulders.”
He looked up quickly.
“That was the door opening, then. You are sure about the length of
time? You see it is rather important that we settle that point
definitely for if there was not time for all that to go on, it would
indicate that there were two people, _besides Higgins_, who were
interested in getting into Room 18 last night. And that one of them
managed the business of turning off the lights and the other came into
Room 18 with the results of which we know. Confound it!” He broke off
suddenly. “I wish I needn’t have to figure on more than one or two
ways of getting in and out of this old hospital. Don’t you _ever_ have
thieves in a hospital! Don’t you ever have to safeguard yourselves!”
“Only the third and fourth floor windows,” I said absently.
He snorted.
“The third and fourth floor windows! That does me a lot of good!”
“On account of delirious patients,” I said rebukingly. “And as for
there being two people trying to get the radium, I think there must be
at least that many. I don’t believe that one person, alone and
unaided, could make so much trouble.”
He grinned faintly at that, and then frowned.
“The chief of police wants to arrest the whole outfit at once. He is
convinced that you are all in a conspiracy and that Gainsay is the
leader. Of course, I don’t want to make such a wholesale cleaning.
Especially since I—I believe that I’m getting warm. But I don’t want
any arrests yet. I don’t want to put anybody on guard.”
“Mr. O’Leary,” I said eagerly, emboldened by his half-confidence. “I
have heard things of you, of course—what wonderful success you have
and all that. What methods do you use?”
He thrust his hands into his pockets, leaned back in the chair and
sighed.
“Methods? I don’t have any methods. And as to success—wait a few
days.”
“You don’t have any methods?”
“The moment when I’m feeling most useless and most like a failure is
not the moment to ask me to tell of my successes. Or my methods. I
don’t have methods. I take what the Lord sends and am thankful.
Sometimes it is a matter of luck. Mostly it is a matter of drudgery
and hard work. Always it is a matter of thinking, thinking, thinking.
Of eating, living, sleeping with problems for days and nights.
Usually, just about the time you have decided that none of the pieces
of the puzzle can possibly fit, all at once something happens
and—Click! Things clarify. There is a reason for everything. Nothing
just happens. Nothing is an isolated fact. If you have a fact, you
know that certain circumstances had to combine to bring it about. It
is just logic, reason, the physical, material quality of cause and
effect. There isn’t anything mysterious about it. It is just the—the
arithmetic of analysis. I don’t mean that I am infallible. I have to
reconsider and revise and correct mistakes, just like anybody else.
I’m human—and young. But when you _know_ that there is a solution, to
the most puzzling problem, all there is to do is worry it out. I
suppose the subconscious mind helps.”
“That is rather abstract,” I said slowly.
“I suppose it sounds that way. Well—here is one definite and concrete
trick. As a rule, given enough rope a man can hang himself. Often I
find that there will be one little circumstance that only the guilty
man knows. Sooner or later he lets it out. Sometimes I have to trap
the man I suspect into such an admission.”
I’m sure my eyes were popping out.
“Then that is why you made that extraordinary request of me at the
first inquest!” I exclaimed. “I could not understand it. The thing you
mentioned seemed so insignificant.”
It was remarkable that his eyes could be so clear and so unfathomable
at the same time.
“I trust you are discreet,” he said evenly.
“Oh, I shan’t tell, if that is what you mean,” I promised hastily. “I
am as interested in solving this mystery as you are. Indeed, I think I
may say that I am far more deeply interested.”
“Well, keep your eyes and ears open,” he said, smiling and rising to
open the door for me, and I found myself out in the main hall before I
knew it.
It was only a few moments later that I saw him leave; I remember
standing at the window beside the main entrance, and watching his long
gray roadster swoop silently and swiftly around the curve of the main
driveway and into the road. He was seated at the wheel, a slight gray
figure, intent only on the muddy highway ahead of him. There was a
suggestion of power, of invincibility, in the very repose and economy
of motion with which he controlled the long-nosed roadster.
As I turned away I met Maida.
“Such a day!” she murmured with a sigh. “Have you been able to sleep?”
“I haven’t tried,” I said. “I knew it would be no use.”
“Miss Dotty is still upset,” went on Maida. “And the training nurses
are following their own devices, and everybody is afraid of her own
shadow. I wish this business was all settled and forgotten about.”
“You don’t wish it any more than I do,” I agreed fervently. “But I do
think that O’Leary is doing everything within his power.”
“I suppose so,” said Maida, without much conviction. She was looking
pale and rather ill. “Wasn’t that Mr. O’Leary driving away a moment
ago?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that he was here at St. Ann’s. He hasn’t seen fit to
question me yet”—she smiled rather ruefully—“as to poor Higgins.
Except, of course, as he did at the inquest and that was so little. I
felt he was reserving his inquiry, didn’t you? But I thought Mr.
O’Leary had gone back to town long ago.”
“No. He just left.” I paused to yawn. “I’m going to try to get some
sleep. Better do likewise.” But she shook her head, murmuring
something about work, and I went to my room.
Luckily I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. It was when I had
awakened that I found I possessed but one remaining clean uniform and
it was of a style that demanded the buttons I had sent to the laundry.
Recalling the fact that Maida had an extra set, I went to her room to
borrow. She was not there but I went boldly into the room.
And I found the radium!
It was in the pin-cushion, a pretty trifle of mauve taffeta ruffles
that I picked up idly to examine more closely. When I felt the shape
under the taffeta, when my fingers outlined it, I could not have
resisted tearing it apart. The cotton stuffing had been removed and
the small box that held the radium was there instead.
I don’t know how long I stood as if frozen to the spot. I remember
noting that the neat sewing had been torn out as if hastily, and that
wide hurried stitches held the seam together. And I remember hearing
the voices of several girls passing in the hall outside and thinking
that Maida would be coming to her room.
O’Leary had said: “The person who has the radium is the one that
killed Higgins.”
I could not face Maida with this thing in my hand.
And I could not leave the radium where it was.
In another moment I found myself back in my room, the radium,
pin-cushion and all, locked away, the key securely hidden and my mind
made up. Painful though it was I should have to tell O’Leary
immediately of this thing. I do not hold friendship lightly and the
shock of finding the stolen radium in Maida’s possession almost
unnerved me.
I had forgotten about the buttons and it was something of an
anti-climax to catch myself starting down to dinner in a black silk
kimono. I had to go to the bottom of my trunk for an old uniform that
I had cast aside as being too tight. It was still too tight and very
uncomfortable, being made with a Bishop collar which is high and stiff
and scratched the lobes of my ears.
There was no need to telephone to O’Leary, for as I neared the general
office I caught a glimpse of his smooth brown head bent over some
papers on the long table. I entered.
“I have found the radium,” I said quietly.
He looked up, jumped to his feet. I did not need to repeat my words.
“Where is it?”
“In my room. Shall I bring it to you?”
He hesitated, his eyes travelling around the office with its several
doors and windows.
“This is too public. Someone would be sure to see it. Where did you
find it?”
I swallowed.
“In—Miss Day’s room.”
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
“You must tell me about it later. First I must have the radium.”
Our voices had dropped to whispers and my heart was pounding.
“Shall we put it in the safe?” I motioned toward the inner office
which holds a great steel safe, in a prepared compartment of which the
radium is usually kept.
“No.” O’Leary shook his head decisively. “No. I must put it in the
hands of the chief of police at once. Look here, Miss Keate; in three
minutes I shall walk slowly across the main hall with this bundle of
newspapers under my arm. At the foot of the stairway I shall pass you
just descending. It is rather dark there by the stairs. Hand me the
box and keep right on going. Don’t stop. Later I shall see you and
hear how you found it.”
I followed his bidding. As I came slowly down the last flight of
stairs he walked carelessly across the hall. There was no one about
and I was sure that the transfer was effected without anyone’s
knowledge.
With a casual nod I went on around the turn and followed the basement
stairs down to the dining room. I ate what was set before me and kept
my eyes from Maida.
It must have been about twenty minutes later that I ascended the
stairs again and paused in the main hall. There was a light in the
general office, excited voices, and Dr. Hajek and Dr. Balman were
bending over something that lay on the long table.
I entered.
Lance O’Leary was stretched on the table, his face lead-gray, his eyes
closed. Dr. Balman had out his stethoscope and was listening intently
and Dr. Hajek was forcing aromatic ammonia through O’Leary’s pale
lips.
There was a rapidly swelling lump back of O’Leary’s right ear and the
small box that was so precious was not to be seen.
At a glance I understood.
“Is he—alive, Dr. Balman?”
Dr. Balman nodded, detaching the stethoscope with long hands that
shook.
“Dr. Hajek and I were starting down to dinner,” he explained. His
voice sounded hoarse and his anxious eyes were fixed upon O’Leary. “We
found him like this. All huddled on the floor there near the
stairway.”