take a chance for your sake - a long chance, but I think a good one.
If you can pull yourself together by this afternoon, be over at
your office at four. Be sure to have Shelton and Capps there, and
you can tell Mr. Taylor that you have something very important to
set before him. Now, I must hurry if I am to fulfil my part of the
contract. Good-bye, Jack. Keep a stiff upper lip, old man. I'll
have something that will surprise you this afternoon."
Outside, as he hurried uptown, Craig was silent, but I could see
his features working nervously, and as we parted he merely said:
"Of course, you'll be there, Walter. I'll put the finishing touches
on your story of high finance."
Slowly enough the few hours passed before I found myself again in
Orton's office. He was there already, despite the orders of his
physician, who was disgusted at this excursion from the hospital.
Kennedy was there, too, grim and silent. We sat watching the two
indicators beside Orton's desk, which showed the air pressure in
the two tubes. The needles were vibrating ever so little and
tracing a red-ink line on the ruled paper that unwound from the
drum. From the moment the tunnels were started, here was preserved
a faithful record of every slightest variation of air pressure.
"Telephone down into the tube and have Capps come up," said Craig
at length, glancing at Orton's desk clock. "Taylor will be here
pretty soon, and I want Capps to be out of the tunnel by the time
he comes. Then get Shelton, too."
In response to Orton's summons Capps and Shelton came into the
office, just as a large town car pulled up outside the tunnel works.
A tall, distinguished-looking man stepped out and turned again
toward the door of the car.
"There's Taylor," I remarked, for I had seen him often at
investigations before the Public Service Commission.
"And Vivian, too," exclaimed Orton excitedly. "Say, fellows, clear
off these desks. Quick, before she gets up here. In the closet
with these blueprints, Walter. There, that's a little better. If I
had known she was coming I would at least have had the place swept
out. Puff! look at the dust on this desk of mine. Well, there's
no help for it. There they are at the door now. Why, Vivian, what
a surprise.
"Jack!" she exclaimed, almost ignoring the rest of us and quickly
crossing to his chair to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder as
he vainly tried to stand up to welcome her.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" he asked eagerly. "I
would have had the place fixed up a bit."
I prefer it this way," she said, looking curiously around at the
samples of tunnel paraphernalia and the charts and diagrams on the
walls.
"Yes, Orton," said President Taylor, "she would come - dropped in
at the office and when I tried to excuse myself for a business
appointment, demanded which way I was going. When I said I was
coming here, she insisted on coming, too."
Orton smiled. He knew that she had taken this simple and direct
means of being there, but he said nothing, and merely introduced
us to the president and Miss Taylor.
An awkward silence followed. Orton cleared his throat. "I think
you all know why we are here," he began. "We have been and are
having altogether too many accidents in the tunnel, too many cases
of the bends, too many deaths, too many delays to the work. Well
- er - I - er - Mr. Kennedy has something to say about them, I
believe."
No sound was heard save the vibration of the air-compressors and an
occasional shout of a workman at the shaft leading down to the
air-locks.
"There is no need for me to say anything about caisson disease to
you, gentlemen, or to you, Miss Taylor," began Kennedy. "I think
you all know how it is caused and a good deal about it already.
But, to be perfectly clear, I will say that there are live things
that must, above all others, be looked after in tunnel work: the
air pressure, the amount of carbon dioxide in the air, the length
of the shifts which the men work, the state of health of the men
as near as physical examination can determine it, and the rapidity
with which the men come out of the air, so as to prevent
carelessness which may cause the bends.
"I find," he continued, "that the air pressure is not too high for
safety. Proper examinations for carbon dioxide are made, and the
amount in the air is not excessive. The shifts are not even as long
as those prescribed by the law. The medical inspection is quite
adequate and as for the time taken in coming out through the locks
the rules are stringent."
A look of relief crossed the face of Orton at this commendation of
his work, followed by a puzzled expression that plainly indicated
that he would like to know what was the matter, if all the crucial
things were all right.
"But," resumed Kennedy, "the bends are still hitting the men, and
there is no telling when a fire or a blow-out may occur in any of
the eight headings that are now being pushed under the river. Quite
often the work has been delayed and the tunnel partly or wholly
flooded. Now, you know the theory of the bends. It is that air
- mostly the nitrogen in the air - is absorbed by the blood under
the pressure. In coming out of the 'air' if the nitrogen is not
all eliminated, it stays in the blood and, as the pressure is
reduced, it expands. It is just as if you take a bottle of charged
water and pull the cork suddenly. The gas rises in big bubbles.
Cork it again and the gas bubbles cease to rise and finally
disappear. If you make a pin-hole in the cork the gas will escape
slowly, without a bubble. You must decompress the human body slowly,
by stages, to let the super-saturated blood give up its nitrogen to
the lungs, which can eliminate it. Otherwise these bubbles catch
in the veins, and the result is severe pains, paralysis, and even
death. Gentlemen, I see that I am just wasting time telling you
this, for you know it all well. But consider."
Kennedy placed an empty corked flask on the table. The others
regarded it curiously, but I recalled having seen it in the tunnel.
"In this bottle," explained Kennedy, "I collected some of the air
from the tunnel when I was down there this morning. I have since
analysed it. The quantity of carbon dioxide is approximately what
it should be - not high enough of itself to cause trouble. But,"
he spoke slowly to emphasise his words, " I found something else in
that air beside carbon dioxide."
"Nitrogen?" broke in Orton quickly, leaning forward.
"Of course; it is a constituent of air. But that is not what I mean."
"Then, for Heaven's sake, what did you find?" asked Orton.
"I found in this air," replied Kennedy, "a very peculiar mixture - an
explosive mixture."
"An explosive mixture?" echoed Orton.
"Yes, Jack, the blow-outs that you have had at the end of the tunnel
were not blow-outs at all, properly speaking. They were explosions."
We sat aghast at this revelation.
"And, furthermore," added Kennedy, "I should, if I were you, call
back all the men from the tunnel until the cause for the presence
of this explosive mixture is discovered and remedied."
Orton reached mechanically for the telephone to give the order, but
Taylor laid his hand on his arm. "One moment, Orton," he said.
"Let's hear Professor Kennedy out. He may be mistaken, and there
is no use frightening the men, until we are certain.
"Shelton," asked Kennedy, "what sort of flash oil is used to
lubricate the machinery?"
"It is three-hundred-and-sixty-degree Fahrenheit flash test," he
answered tersely.
"And are the pipes leading air down into the tunnel perfectly
straight?"
"Straight?
"Yes, straight - no joints, no pockets where oil, moisture, and
gases can collect."
"Straight as lines, Kennedy," he said with a sort of contemptuous
defiance.
They were facing each other coldly, sizing each other up. Like a
skilful lawyer, Kennedy dropped that point for a moment, to take
up a new line of attack.
"Capps," he demanded, turning suddenly, "why do you always call up
on the telephone and let some one know when you are going down in
the tunnel and when you are coming out?"
"I don't," replied Capps, quickly recovering his composure.
"Walter," said Craig to me quietly, "go out in the outer office.
Behind the telephone switchboard you will find a small box which
you saw me carry in there this morning and connect with the
switchboard. Detach the wires, as you saw me attach them, and
bring it here."
No one moved, as I placed the box on a drafting-table before them.
Craig opened it. Inside he disclosed a large disc of thin steel,
like those used by some mechanical music-boxes, only without any
perforations. He connected the wires from the box to a sort of
megaphone. Then he started the disc revolving.
Out of the little megaphone horn, sticking up like a miniature
talking-machine, came a voice: Number please. Four four three o,
Yorkville. Busy, I'll call you. Try them again, Central. Hello,
hello, Central - "
Kennedy stopped the machine. "It must be further along on the
disc," he remarked. "This, by the way, is an instrument known as
the telegraphone, invented by a Dane named Poulsen. It records
conversations over a telephone on this plain metal disc by means
of localised, minute electric charges."
Having adjusted the needle to another place on the disc he tried
again. "We have here a record of the entire day's conversations
over the telephone, preserved on this disc. I could wipe out the
whole thing by pulling a magnet across it, but, needless to say,
I wouldn't do that - yet. Listen."
This time it was Capps speaking. "Give me Mr. Shelton. Oh, Shelton,
I'm going down in the south tube with those men Orton has sent nosing
around here. I'll let you know when I start up again. Meanwhile
- you know - don't let anything happen while I am there. Good-bye."
Capps sat looking defiantly at Kennedy, as he stopped the
telegraphone.
"Now," continued Kennedy suavely, "what could happen? I'll answer
my own question by telling what actually did happen. Oil that was
smoky at a lower point than its flash was being used in the
machinery - not really three-hundred-and-sixty-degree oil. The
water-jacket had been tampered with, too. More than that, there is
a joint in the pipe leading down into the tunnel, where explosive
gases can collect. It is a well-known fact in the use of compressed
air that such a condition is the best possible way to secure an
explosion.
"It would all seem so natural, even if discovered," explained Kennedy
rapidly. "The smoking oil - smoking just as an automobile often does
- is passed into the compressed-air pipe. Condensed oil, moisture,
and gases collect in the joint, and perhaps they line the whole
distance of the pipe. A spark from the low-grade oil-and they are
ignited. What takes place is the same thing that occurs in the
cylinder of an automobile where the air is compressed with gasoline
vapour. Only here we have compressed air charged with vapour of oil.
The flame proceeds down the pipe - exploding through the pipe, if it
happens to be not strong enough. This pipe, however, is strong.
Therefore, the flame in this case shoots out at the open end of the
pipe, down near the shield, and if the air in the tunnel happens
also to be surcharged with oil-vapour, an explosion takes place in
the tunnel - the river bottom is blown out - then God help the
sand-hogs!
"That's how your accidents took place, Orton," concluded Kennedy in
triumph, "and that impure air - not impure from carbon dioxide, but
from this oil-vapour mixture - increased the liability of the men
for the bends. Capps knew about it. He was careful while he was
there to see that the air was made as pure as possible under the
circumstances. He was so careful that he wouldn't even let Mr.
Jameson smoke in the tunnel. But as soon as he went to the surface,
the same deadly mixture was pumped down again - I caught some of
it in this flask, and - "
"My God, Paddy's down there now," cried Orton, suddenly seizing his
telephone. "Operator, give me the south tube - quick - what - they
don't answer?"
Out in the river above the end of the heading, where a short time
before there had been only a few bubbles on the surface of the water,
I could see what looked like a huge geyser of water spouting up. I
pulled Craig over to me and pointed.
A blow-out," cried Kennedy, as he rushed to the door, only to be met
by a group of blanched-faced workers who had come breathless to the
office to deliver the news.
Craig acted quickly. "Hold these men," he ordered, pointing to
Capps and Shelton, "until we come back. Orton, while we are gone,
go over the entire day's record on the telegraphone. I suspect
you and Miss Taylor will find something there that will interest
you."
He sprang down the ladder to the tunnel air-lock, not waiting for
the elevator. In front of the closed door of the lock, an excited
group of men was gathered. One of them was peering through the
dim, thick, glass porthole in the door.
"There he is, standin' by the door with a club, an' the men's
crowdin' so fast that they're all wedged so's none can get in at
all. He's beatin' 'em back with the stick. Now, he's got the
door clear and has dragged one poor fellow in. It's Jimmy Rourke,
him with the eight childer. Now he's dragged in a Polack. Now he's
fightin' back a big Jamaica nigger who's tryin' to shove ahead of a
little Italian."
"It's Paddy," cried Craig. "If he can bring them all out safely
without the loss of a life he'll save the day yet for Orton. And
he'll do it, too, Walter."
Instantly I reconstructed in my mind the scene in the tunnel - the
explosion of the oil-vapour, the mad race up the tube, perhaps the
failure of the emergency curtain to work, the frantic efforts of the
men, in panic, all to crowd through the narrow little door at once;
the rapidly rising water - and above all the heroic Paddy, cool to
the last, standing at the door and single-handed beating the men
back with a club, so that they could go through one at a time.
Only when the water had reached the level of the door of the lock,
did Paddy bang it shut as he dragged the last man in. Then followed
an interminable wait for the air in the lock to be exhausted. When,
at last, the door at our end of the lock swung open, the men with
a cheer seized Paddy and, in spite of his struggles, hoisted him on
to their shoulders, and carried him off, still struggling, in
triumph up the construction elevator to the open air above.
The scene in Orton's office was dramatic as the men entered with
Paddy. Vivian Taylor was standing defiantly, with burning eyes,
facing Capps, who stared sullenly at the floor before him. Shelton
was plainly abashed.
"Kennedy," cried Orton, vainly trying to rise, "listen. Have you
still that place on the telegraphone record, Vivian?"
Miss Taylor started the telegraphone, while we all crowded around
leaning forward eagerly.
"Hello. Inter-River? Is this the president's office? Oh, hello.
This is Capps talking. How are you? Oh, you've heard about Orton,
have you? Not so bad, eh? Well, I'm arranging with my man Shelton
here for the final act this afternoon. After that you can compromise
with the Five-Borough on your own terms. I think I have argued
Taylor and Morris into the right frame of mind for it, if we have
one more big accident. What's that? How is my love affair? Well,
Orton's in the way yet, but you know why I went into this deal.
When you put me into his place after the compromise, I think I will
pull strong with her. Saw her last night. She feels pretty bad
about Orton, but she'll get over it. Besides, the pater will never
let her marry a man who's down and out. By the way, you've got to
do something handsome for Shelton. All right. I'll see you
to-night and tell you some more. Watch the papers in the meantime
for the grand finale. Good-bye."
An angry growl rose from one or two of the more quick-witted men.
Kennedy reached over and pulled me with him quickly through the
crowd.
"Hurry, Walter," he whispered hoarsely, "hustle Shelton and Capps
out quick before the rest of the men wake up to what it's all about,
or we shall have a lynching instead of an arrest."
As we shoved and pushed them out, I saw the rough and grimy
sand-hogs in the rear move quickly aside, and off came their muddy,
frayed hats. A dainty figure flitted among them toward Orton. It
was Vivian Taylor.
"Papa," she cried, grasping Jack by both hands and turning to Taylor,
who followed her closely, "Papa, I told you not to be too hasty
with Jack."
VII
THE WHITE SLAVE
Kennedy and I had just tossed a coin to decide whether it should be
a comic opera or a good walk in the mellow spring night air and the
opera had won, but we had scarcely begun to argue the vital point
as to where to go, when the door buzzer sounded - a sure sign that
some box-office had lost four dollars.
It was a much agitated middle-aged couple who entered as Craig threw
open the door. Of our two visitors, the woman attracted my attention
first, for on her pale face the lines of sorrow were almost visibly
deepening. Her nervous manner interested me greatly, though I took
pains to conceal the fact that I noticed it. It was quickly
accounted for, however, by the card which the man presented, bearing
the name "Mr. George Gilbert" and a short scribble from First Deputy
O'Connor:
Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert desire to consult you with regard to the
mysterious disappearance of their daughter, Georgette. I am sure
I need say nothing further to interest you than that the M.P.
Squad is completely baffled.
O'CONNOR.
"H-m," remarked Kennedy; "not strange for the Missing Persons Squad
to be baffled - at least, at this case."
"Then you know of our daughter's strange - er - departure?" asked Mr.
Gilbert, eagerly scanning Kennedy's face and using a euphemism that
would fall less harshly on his wife's ears than the truth.
"Indeed, yes," nodded Craig with marked sympathy: "that is, I have
read most of what the papers have said. Let me introduce my friend,
Mr. Jameson. You recall we were discussing the Georgette Gilbert
case this morning, Walter?"
I did, and perhaps before I proceed further with the story I should
quote at least the important parts of the article in the morning
Star which had occasioned the discussion. The article had been
headed, "When Personalities Are Lost," and with the Gilbert case as
a text many instances had been cited which had later been solved by
the return of the memory of the sufferer. In part the article had
said:
Mysterious disappearances, such as that of Georgette Gilbert,
have alarmed the public and baffled the police before this,
disappearances that in their suddenness, apparent lack of
purpose, and inexplicability, have had much in common with
the case of Miss Gilbert.
Leaving out of account the class of disappearances such as
embezzlers, blackmailers, and other criminals, there is still
a large number of recorded cases where the subjects have
dropped out of sight without apparent cause or reason and
have left behind them untarnished reputations. Of these a
small percentage are found to have met with violence;
others have been victims of a suicidal mania ; and sooner or
later a clue has come to light, for the dead are often easier
to find than the living, Of the remaining small proportion
there are on record a number of carefully authenticated cases
where the subjects have been the victims of a sudden and
complete loss of memory.
This dislocation of memory is a variety of aphasia known
as amnesia, and when the memory is recurrently lost and
restored it is an "alternating personality." The psychical
researchers and psychologists have reported many cases of
alternating personality. Studious efforts are being made
to understand and to explain the strange type of mental
phenomena exhibited in these cases, but no one has as yet
given a final, clear, and comprehensive explanation of them.
Such cases are by no means always connected with disappearances,
but the variety known as the ambulatory type, where the
patient suddenly loses all knowledge of his own identity
and of his past and takes himself off, leaving no trace or
clue, is the variety which the present case calls to popular
attention.
Then followed a list of a dozen or so interesting cases of persons
who had vanished completely and had, some several days and some
even years later, suddenly "awakened" to their first personality,
returned, and taken up the thread of that personality where it had
been broken.
To Kennedy's inquiry I was about to reply that I recalled the
conversation distinctly, when Mr. Gilbert shot an inquiring glance
from beneath his bushy eyebrows, quickly shifting from my face to
Kennedy's, and asked, "And what was your conclusion - what do you
think of the case? Is it aphasia or amnesia, or whatever the
doctors call it, and do you think she is wandering about somewhere
unable to recover her real personality?"
"I should like to have all the facts at first hand before venturing
an opinion," Craig replied with precisely that shade of hesitancy
that might reassure the anxious father and mother, without raising
a false hope.
Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert exchanged glances, the purport of which was
that she desired him to tell the story.
"It was day before yesterday," began Mr. Gilbert, gently touching
his wife's trembling hand that sought his arm as he began rehearsing
the tragedy that had cast its shadow across their lives, "Thursday,
that Georgette - er - since we have heard of Georgette." His voice
faltered a bit, but he proceeded: "As you know, she was last seen
walking on Fifth Avenue. The police have traced her since she left
home that morning. It is known that she went first to the public
library, then that she stopped at a department store on the avenue,
where she made a small purchase which she had charged to our family
account, and finally that she went to a large book-store. Then
- that is the last."
Mrs. Gilbert sighed, and buried her face in a lace handkerchief as
her shoulders shook convulsively.
"Yes, I have read that," repeated Kennedy gently, though with
manifest eagerness to get down to facts that might prove more
illuminating. "I think I need hardly impress upon you the advantage
of complete frankness, the fact that anything you may tell me is of
a much more confidential nature than if it were told to the police.
Er-r, had Miss Gilbert any - love affair, any trouble of such a
nature that it might have preyed on her mind?"
Kennedy's tactful manner seemed to reassure both the father and the
mother, who exchanged another glance.
"Although we have said no to the reporters," Mrs. Gilbert replied
bravely in answer to the nod of approval from her husband, and much
as if she herself were making a confession for them both, "I fear
that Georgette had had a love affair. No doubt you have heard hints
of Dudley Lawton's name in connection with the case? I can't imagine
how they could have leaked out, for I should have said that that old
affair had long since been forgotten even by the society gossips.
The fact is that shortly after Georgette 'came out,' Dudley Lawton,
who is quite on the road to becoming one of the rather notorious
members of the younger set, began to pay her marked attentions. He
is a fascinating, romantic sort of fellow, one that, I imagine,
possesses much attraction for a girl who has been brought up as
simply as Georgette was, and who has absorbed a surreptitious diet
of modern literature such as we now know Georgette did. I suppose
you have seen portraits of Georgette in the newspapers and know
what a dreamy and artistic nature her face indicates?"
Kennedy nodded. It is, of course, one of the cardinal tenets of
journalism that all women are beautiful, but even the coarse
screen of the ordinary newspaper half-tone had not been able to
conceal the rather exceptional beauty of Miss Georgette Gilbert.
If it had, all the shortcomings of the newspaper photographic art
would have been quickly glossed over by the almost ardent
descriptions by those ladies of the press who come along about the
second day after an event of this kind with signed articles
analysing the character and motives, the life and gowns of the
latest actors in the front-page stories.