and hold them up from the floor."
For a moment he seemed to hesitate as if at loss what to do next.
Should he open the door and let this highly inflammable gas out or
should he wait patiently until the natural ventilation of the little
office had dispelled it?
While he was debating he happened to glance out of the window and
catch sight of a drug-store across the street.
"Walter," he said to me, "hurry across there and get all the
saltpeter and sulphur the man has in the shop.
I lost no time in doing so. Kennedy dumped the two chemicals into
a pan in the middle of the main office, about three-fifths saltpeter
and two-fifths sulphur, I should say. Then he lighted it. The
mass burned with a bright flame but without explosion. We could
smell the suffocating fumes from it, and we retreated. For a moment
or two we watched it curiously at a distance.
"That's very good extinguishing-powder," explained Craig as we
sniffed at the odour. "It yields a large amount of carbon dioxide
and sulphur dioxide. Now - before it gets any worse - I guess
it's safe to open the door and let the ether out. You see this is
as good a way as any to render safe a room full of inflammable
vapour. Come, we'll wait outside the main office for a few minutes
until the gases mix.
It seemed hours before Kennedy deemed it safe to enter the office
again with a light. When we did so, we made a rush for the little
cubby-hole of an office at the other end. On the floor was a little
can of ether, evaporated of course, and beside it a small apparatus
apparently used for producing electric sparks.
"So, that's how he does it," mused Kennedy, fingering the can
contemplatively. "He lets the ether evaporate in a room for a while
and then causes an explosion from a safe distance with this little
electric spark. There's where your wire comes in, McCormick. Say,
my man, you can switch on the lights from downstairs, now."
As we waited for the watchman to turn on the lights I exclaimed,
"He failed this time because the electricity was shut off."
Precisely, Walter," assented Kennedy.
"But the flames which the night watchman saw, what of them?" put in
McCormick, considerably mystified. "He must have seen something."
Just then the lights winked up.
"Oh, that was before the fellow tried to touch off the ether vapour,"
explained Kennedy. "He had to make sure of his work of destruction
first - and, judging by the charred papers about, he did it well.
See, he tore leaves from the ledgers and lighted them on the floor.
There was an object in all that. What was it? Hello! Look at this
mass of charred paper in the corner."
He bent down and examined it carefully. "Memoranda of some kind, I
guess. I'll save this burnt paper and look it over later. Don't
disturb it. I'll take it away myself."
Search as we might, we could find no other trace of the firebug, and
at last we left. Kennedy carried the charred paper carefully in a
large hat-box.
"There'll be no more fires to-night, McCormick," he said. "But I'll
watch with you every night until we get this incendiary. Meanwhile
I'll see what I can decipher, if anything, in this burnt paper."
Next day McCormick dropped in to see us again. This time he had
another note, a disguised scrawl which read:
Chief I'm not through. Watch me get another store yet.
I won't fall down this time.
Craig scowled as he read the note and handed it to me. "The man's
A. SPARK.
writing this time - like the second note," was all he said.
"McCormick, since we know where the lightning is going to strike,
don't you think it would be wiser to make our headquarters in one
of the engine-houses in that district?"
The fire marshal agreed, and that night saw us watching at the
fire-house nearest the department-store region.
Kennedy and I were assigned to places on the hose-cart and engine,
respectively, Kennedy being in the hose-cart so that he could be
with McCormick. We were taught to descend one of the four brass
poles hand under elbow, from the dormitory on the second floor.
They showed us how to jump into the "turn-outs" - a pair of trousers
opened out over the high top boots. We were given helmets which
we placed in regulation fashion on our rubber coats, turned inside
out with the right armhole up. Thus it came about that Craig and I
joined the Fire Department temporarily. It was a novel experience
for us both.
"Now, Walter," said Kennedy, "as long as we have gone so far, we'll
'roll' to every fire, just like the regulars. We won't take any
chances of missing the firebug at any time of night or day."
It proved to be a remarkably quiet evening with only one little
blaze in a candy-shop on Seventh Avenue. Most of the time we sat
around trying to draw the men out about their thrilling experiences
at fires. But if there is one thing the fireman doesn't know it is
the English language when talking about himself. It was quite late
when we turned into the neat white cots upstairs.
We had scarcely fallen into a half doze in our strange surroundings
when the gong downstairs sounded. It was our signal.
We could hear the rapid clatter of the horses' hoofs as they were
automatically released from their stalls and the collars and
harness mechanically locked about them. All was stir, and motion,
and shouts. Craig and I had bounded awkwardly into our
paraphernalia at the first sound. We slid ungracefully down the
pole and were pushed and shoved into our places, for scientific
management in a New York fire-house has reached one hundred per
cent efficiency, and we were not to be allowed to delay the game.
The oil-torch had been applied to the engine, and it rolled forth,
belching flames. I was hanging on for dear life, now and then
catching sight of the driver urging his plunging horses onward like
a charioteer in a modern Ben Hur race. The tender with Craig and
McCormick was lost in the clouds of smoke and sparks that trailed
behind us. On we dashed until we turned into Sixth Avenue. The
glare of the sky told us that this time the firebug had made good.
"I'll be hanged if it isn't the Stacey store again, shouted the man
next me on the engine as the horses lunged up the avenue and
stopped at the allotted hydrant. It was like a war game. Every
move had been planned out by the fire-strategists, even down to the
hydrants that the engines should take at a given fire.
Already several floors were aflame, the windows glowing like
open-hearth furnaces, the glass bulging and cracking and the flames
licking upward and shooting out in long streamers. The hose was
coupled up in an instant, the water turned on, and the limp rubber
and canvas became as rigid as a post with the high pressure of the
water being forced through it. Company after company dashed into
the blazing "fireproof" building, urged by the hoarse profanity of
the chief.
Twenty or thirty men must have disappeared into the stifle from
which the police retreated. There was no haste, no hesitation.
Everything moved as smoothly as if by clockwork. Yet we could not
see one of the men who had disappeared into the burning building.
They had been swallowed up, as it were. For that is the way with
the New York firemen. They go straight to the heart of the fire.
Now and then a stream of a hose spat out of a window, showing that
the men were still alive and working. About the ground floors the
red-helmeted salvage corps were busy covering up what they could
of the goods with rubber sheets to protect them from water.
Doctors with black bags and white trousers were working over the
injured. Kennedy and I were busy about the engine, and there was
plenty for us to do.
Above the shrill whistle for more coal I heard a voice shout,
"Began with an explosion - it's the fire- bug, all right." I
looked up. It was McCormick, dripping and grimy, in a high state
of excitement, talking to Kennedy.
I had been so busy trying to make myself believe that I was really
of some assistance about the engine that I had not taken time to
watch the fire itself. It was now under control. The sharp and
scientific attack had nipped what might have been one of New York's
historic conflagrations.
"Are you game to go inside?" I heard McCormick ask.
For answer Kennedy simply nodded. As for me, where Craig went I
went.
The three of us drove through the scorching door, past twisted
masses of iron still glowing dull red in the smoke and steam, while
the water hissed and spattered and slopped. The smoke was still
suffocating, and every once in a while we were forced to find air
close to the floor and near the wall. My hands and arms and legs
felt like lead, yet on we drove.
Coughing and choking, we followed McCormick to what had been the
heart of the fire, the office. Men with picks and axes and all
manner of cunningly devised instruments were hacking and tearing
at the walls and woodwork, putting out the last smouldering sparks
while a thousand gallons of water were pouring in at various parts
of the building where the fire still showed spirit.
There on the floor of the office lay a charred, shapeless,
unrecognisable mass. What was that gruesome odour in the room?
Burned human flesh? I recoiled from what had once been the form of
a woman.
McCormick uttered a cry, and as I turned my eyes away, I saw him
holding a wire with the insulation burned off. He had picked it
up from the wreckage of the floor. It led to a bent and blackened
can - that had once been a can of ether.
My mind worked rapidly, but McCormick blurted out the words before
I could form them, "Caught in her own trap at last!"
Kennedy said nothing, but as one of the firemen roughly but
reverently covered the remains with a rubber sheet, he stooped down
and withdrew from the breast of the woman a long letter-file.
"Come, let us go," he said.
Back in our apartment again we bathed our racking heads, gargled our
parched throats, and washed out our bloodshot eyes, in silence. The
whole adventure, though still fresh and vivid in my mind, seemed
unreal, like a dream. The choking air, the hissing steam, the
ghastly object under the tarpaulin - what did it all mean? Who was
she? I strove to reason it out, but could find no answer.
It was nearly dawn when the door opened and McCormick came in and
dropped wearily into a chair. "Do you know who that woman was?" he
gasped. " It was Miss Wend herself."
"Who identified her?" asked Kennedy calmly.
"Oh, several people. Stacey recognised her at once. Then Hartstein,
the adjuster for the insured, and Lazard, the adjuster for the
company, both of whom had had more or less to do with her in
connection with settling up for other fires, recognised her. She
was a very clever woman, was Miss Wend, and a very important cog in
the Stacey enterprises. And to think she was the firebug, after
all. I can hardly believe it."
"Why believe it?" asked Kennedy quietly.
"Why believe it?" echoed McCormick. "Stacey has found shortages in
his books due to the operation of her departments. The bookkeeper
who had charge of the accounts in her department, a man named
Douglas, is missing. She must have tried to cover up her operations
by fires and juggling the accounts. Failing in that she tried to
destroy Stacey's store itself, twice. She was one of the few that
could get into the office unobserved. Oh, it's a clear case now.
To my mind, the heavy vapours of ether - they are heavier than air,
you know - must have escaped along the surface of the floor last
night and become ignited at a considerable distance from where she
expected. She was caught in a back-draught, or something of the
sort. Well, thank God, we've seen the last of this firebug business.
What's that?"
Kennedy had laid the letter-file on the table. "Nothing. Only I
found this embedded in Miss Wend's breast right over her heart."
"Then she was murdered?" exclaimed McCormick.
"We haven't come to the end of this case yet," replied Craig
evasively. "On the contrary, we have just got our first good clue.
No, McCormick, your theory will not hold water. The real point is
to find this missing bookkeeper at any cost. You must persuade
him to confess what he knows. Offer him immunity - he was only a
pawn in the hands of those higher up."
McCormick was not hard to convince. Tired as he was, he grabbed
up his hat and started off to put the final machinery in motion to
wind up the long chase for the firebug.
"I must get a couple of hours' sleep," he yawned as he left us,"
but first I want to start something toward finding Douglas. I
shall try to see you about noon."
I was too exhausted to go to the office. In fact, I doubt if I
could have written a line. But I telephoned in a story of personal
experiences at the Stacey fire and told them they could fix it up
as they chose and even sign my name to it.
About noon McCormick came in again, looking as fresh as if nothing
had happened. He was used to it.
"I know where Douglas is," he announced breathlessly.
"Fine," said Kennedy, "and can you produce him at any time when it
is necessary?"
"Let me tell you what I have done. I went down to the district
attorney from here - routed him out of bed. He has promised to turn
loose his accountants to audit the reports of the adjusters,
Hartstein and Lazard, as well as to make a cursory examination of
what Stacey books there are left. He says he will have a preliminary
report ready to-night, but the detailed report will take days, of
course.
"It's the Douglas problem that is difficult, though. I haven't seen
him, but one of the central-office men, by shadowing his wife, has
found that he is in hiding down on the East Side. He's safe there;
he can't make a move to get away without being arrested. The trouble
is that if I arrest him, the people higher up will know it and will
escape before I can get his confession and the warrants. I'd much
rather have the whole thing done at once. Isn't there some way we
can get the whole Stacey crowd together, make the arrest of Douglas
and nab the guilty ones in the case, all together without giving
them a chance to escape or to shield the real firebug?"
Kennedy thought a moment. "Yes," he answered slowly. "There is.
If you can get them all together at my laboratory to-night at, say,
eight o'clock, I'll give you two clear hours to make the arrest of
Douglas, get the confession, and swear out the warrants. All that
you'll need to do is to let me talk a few minutes this afternoon
with the judge who will sit in the night court to-night. I shall
install a little machine on his desk in the court, and we'll catch
the real criminal - he'll never get a chance to cross the state
line or disappear in any way. You see, my laboratory will be neutral
ground. I think you can get them to come, inasmuch as they know the
bookkeeper is safe and that dead women tell no tales."
When next I saw Kennedy it was late in the afternoon, in the
laboratory. He was arranging something in the top drawer of a
flat-top desk. It seemed to be two instruments composed of many
levers and discs and magnets, each instrument with a roll of paper
about five inches wide. On one was a sort of stylus with two
silk cords attached at right angles to each other near the point.
On the other was a capillary glass tube at the junction of two
aluminum arms, also at right angles to each other.
It was quite like old times to see Kennedy at work in his laboratory
preparing for a "seance." He said nothing as I watched him
curiously, and I asked nothing. Two sets of wires were attached
to each of the instruments, and these he carefully concealed and
led out the window. Then he arranged the chairs on the opposite
side of the desk from his own.
"Walter," he said, "when our guests begin to arrive I want you to
be master of ceremonies. Simply keep them on the opposite side of
the desk from me. Don't let them move their chairs around to the
right or left. And, above all, leave the doors open. I don't want
any one to be suspicious or to feel that he is shut in in any way.
Create the impression that they are free to go and come when they
please."
Stacey arrived first in a limousine which he left standing at the
door of the Chemistry Building. Bloom and Warren came together in
the latter's car. Lazard came in a taxicab which he dismissed, and
Hartstein came up by the subway, being the last to arrive. Every
one seemed to be in good humour.
I seated them as Kennedy had directed. Kennedy pulled out the
extension on the left of his desk and leaned his elbow on it as he
began to apologise for taking up their time at such a critical
moment. As near as I could make out, he had quietly pulled out the
top drawer of his desk on the right, the drawer in which I had seen
him place the complicated apparatus. But as nothing further happened
I almost forgot about it in listening to him. He began by referring
to the burned papers he had found in the office.
"It is sometimes possible," he continued, "to decipher writing on
burned papers if one is careful. The processes of colour photography
have recently been applied to obtain a legible photograph of the
writing on burned manuscripts which are unreadable by any other
known means. As long as the sheet has not been entirely
disintegrated positive results can be obtained every time. The
charred manuscript is carefully arranged in as near its original
shape as possible, on a sheet of glass and covered with a drying
varnish, after which it is backed by another sheet of glass.
"By using carefully selected colour screens and orthochromatic
plates a perfectly legible photograph of the writing may be taken,
although there may be no marks on the charred remains that are
visible to the eye. This is the only known method in many cases.
I have here some burned fragments of paper which I gathered up
after the first attempt to fire your store, Mr. Stacey."
Stacey coughed in acknowledgment. As for Craig, he did not mince
matters in telling what he had found.
"Some were notes given in favour of Rebecca Wend and signed by
Joseph Stacey," he said quietly. "They represent a large sum of
money in the aggregate. Others were memoranda of Miss Wend's, and
still others were autograph letters to Miss Wend of a very
incriminating nature in connection with the fires by another person."
Here he laid the "A. Spark" letters on the desk before him. "Now,"
he added "some one, in a spirit of bravado, sent these notes to the
fire marshal at various times. Curiously enough, I find that the
handwriting of the first one bears a peculiar resemblance to that of
Miss Wend, while the second and third, though disguised also, greatly
suggest the handwriting of Miss Wend's correspondent."
No one moved. But I sat aghast. She had been a part of the
conspiracy, after all, not a pawn. Had they played fair?
"Taking up next the remarkable succession of fires," resumed Kennedy,
"this case presents some unique features. In short, it is a clear
case of what is known as a 'firebug trust.' Now just what is a
firebug trust? Well, it is, as near as I can make out, a combination
of dishonest merchants and insurance adjusters engaged in the business
of deliberately setting fires for profit. These arson trusts are not
the ordinary kind of firebugs whom the firemen plentifully damn in
the fixed belief that one-fourth of all fires are kindled by
incendiaries. Such 'trusts' exist all over the country. They have
operated in Chicago, where they are said to have made seven hundred
and fifty thousand dollars in one year. Another group is said to
have its headquarters in Kansas City. Others have worked in St.
Louis, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Buffalo. The fire marshals of
Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio have investigated their work.
But until recently New York has been singularly free from the
organised work of this sort. Of course we have plenty of firebugs
and pyromaniacs in a small way, but the big conspiracy has never
come to my personal attention before.
"Now, the Jones-Green fire, the Quadrangle fire, the Slawson Building
fire, and the rest, have all been set for one purpose - to collect
insurance. I may as well say right here that some people are in bad
in this case, but that others are in worse. Miss Wend was originally
a party to the scheme. Only the trouble with Miss Wend was that she
was too shrewd to be fooled. She insisted that she have her full
share of the pickings. In that case it seems to have been the whole
field against Miss Wend, not a very gallant thing, nor yet according
to the adage about honour among thieves.
"A certain person whose name I am frank to say I do not know - yet
- conceived the idea of destroying the obligations of the Stacey
companies to Miss Wend as well as the incriminating evidence
which she held of the 'firebug trust,' of which she was a member up
to this time. The plan only partly succeeded. The chief coup,
which was to destroy he Stacey store into the bargain, miscarried.
"What was the result? Miss Wend, who had been hand in glove with
the 'trust,' was now a bitter enemy, perhaps would turn state's
evidence. What more natural than to complete the conspiracy by
carrying out the coup and at the same time get rid of the dangerous
enemy of the conspirators? I believe that Miss Wend was lured
under some pretext or other to the Stacey store on the night of the
big fire. The person who wrote the second and third 'A. Spark'
letters did it. She was murdered with this deadly instrument"
- Craig laid the letter-file on the table - "and it was planned to
throw the entire burden of suspicion on her by asserting that there
was a shortage in the books of her department."
"Pooh!" exclaimed Stacey, smoking complacently at his cigar. "We
have been victimised in those fires by people who have grudges
against us, labour unions and others. This talk of an arson trust
is bosh - yellow journalism. More than that, we have been
systematically robbed by a trusted head of a department, and the
fire at Stacey's was the way the thief took to cover - er - her
stealings. At the proper time we shall produce the bookkeeper
Douglas and prove it.
Kennedy fumbled in the drawer of the desk, then drew forth a long
strip of paper covered with figures. "All the Stacey companies,"
he said, "have been suffering from the depression that exists in
the trade at present. They are insolvent. Glance over that,
Stacey. It is a summary of the preliminary report of the accountants
of the district attorney who have been going over your books to-day."
Stacey gasped. "How did you get it? The report was not to be ready
until nine o'clock, and it is scarcely a quarter past now."
"Never mind how I got it. Go over it with the adjusters, anybody.
I think you will find that there was no shortage in Miss Wend's
department, that you were losing money, that you were in debt to
Miss Wend, and that she would have received the lion's share of
the proceeds of the insurance if the firebug scheme had turned out
as planned."
"We absolutely repudiate these figures as fiction," said Stacey,
angrily turning toward Kennedy after a hurried consultation.
Perhaps, then, you'll appreciate this," replied Craig, pulling
another piece of paper from the desk. "I'll read it. 'Henry
Douglas, being duly sworn, deposes and says that one' - we'll call
him 'Blank' for the present - 'with force and arms did feloniously,
wilfully, and intentionally kill Rebecca Wend whilst said Blank
was wilfully burning and setting on fire - "
"One moment," interrupted Stacey. "Let me see that paper."
Kennedy laid it down so that only the signature showed. The name
was signed in a full round hand, "Henry Douglas."
"It's a forgery," cried Stacey in rage. "Not an hour before I came
into this place I saw Henry Douglas. He had signed no such paper
then. He could not have signed it since, and you could not have
received it. I brand that document as a forgery."
Kennedy stood up and reached down into the open drawer on the right
of his desk. From it he lifted the two machines I had seen him place
there early in the evening.