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, ivian, 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 five 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.
"Naturally both my husband and myself opposed his attentions from the
first. It was a hard struggle, for Georgette, of course, assumed the
much-injured air of some of the heroines of her favourite novels. But
I, at least, believed that we had won and that Georgette finally was
brought to respect and, I hoped, understand our wishes in the matter. I
believe so yet. Mr. Gilbert in a roundabout way came to an
understanding with old Mr. Dudley Lawton, who possesses a great
influence over his son, and--well, Dudley Lawton seemed to have passed
out of Georgette's life. I believed so then, at least, and I see no
reason for not believing so yet. I feel that you ought to know this,
but really I don't think it is right to say that Georgette had a love
affair. I should rather say that she had HAD a love affair, but that it
had been forgotten, perhaps a year ago."