hours' rest, and early in the morning I found him at work again,
examining the cipher message which he had copied.
"By the way," he said, scarcely looking up as he saw me again, "there
is something quite important which you can do for me." Rather pleased
to be of some use, I waited eagerly. "I wish you'd go out and see what
you can find out about that Mrs. Beekman Rogers," he continued. "I've
some work here that will keep me for several hours; so come back to me
here."
It was such a commission as he had often given me before, and, through
my connection with the Star, I found no difficulty in executing it.
I found that Mrs. Rogers was well known in a certain circle of society
in the city. She was wealthy and had the reputation of having given
quite liberally to many causes that had interested her. Just now, her
particular fad was Oriental religions, and some of her bizarre beliefs
had attracted a great deal of attention. A couple of years before she
had made a trip around the world, and had lived in India for several
months, apparently fascinated by the life and attracted to the
mysteries of Oriental faiths.
With my budget of information I hastened back again to join Kennedy at
the laboratory. I could see that the cipher was still unread. From
that, I conjectured that it was, as he had guessed, constructed on some
new and difficult plan.
"What do you think of Mrs. Rogers?" I asked, as I finished reciting
what I had learned. "Is it possible that she can be in this
revolutionary propaganda?" He shook his head doubtfully.
"Much of the disaffection that exists in India to-day," he replied, "is
due to the encouragement and financial assistance which it has received
from people here in this country, although only a fraction of the
natives of India have ever heard of us. Much of the money devoted to
the cause of revolution and anarchy in India is contributed by worthy
people who innocently believe that their subscriptions are destined to
promote the cause of native enlightenment. I prefer to believe that
there is some such explanation in her case. At any rate, I think that
we had better make a call on Mrs. Rogers."
Early that afternoon, accordingly, we found ourselves at the door of
the large stone house on Riverside Drive in which Mrs. Rogers lived.
Kennedy inquired for her, and we were admitted to a large
reception-room, the very decorations of which showed evidence of her
leaning toward the Orient. Mrs. Rogers proved to be a widow of baffling
age, good-looking, with a certain indefinable attractiveness.
Kennedy's cue was obvious. It was to be an eager neophyte in the
mysteries of the East, and he played the part perfectly without
overdoing it.
"Perhaps you would like to come to some of the meetings of our Cult of
the Occult," she suggested.
"Delighted, I am sure," returned Kennedy. She handed him a card.
"We have a meeting this afternoon at four," she explained. "I should be
glad to welcome you among us."
Kennedy thanked her and rose to go, preferring to say nothing more just
then about the problems which vexed us in the Shirley case, lest it
should make further investigation more difficult.
Nothing more had happened at the hotel, as we heard from Grady a few
minutes later, and, as there was some time before the cult met, we
returned to the laboratory.
Things had evidently progressed well, even in the few hours that he had
been studying his meager evidence. Not only was he making a series of
delicate chemical tests, but, in cases, he had several guinea-pigs
which he was using also.
He now studied through a microscope some of the particles of dust from
the vacuum cleaner.
"Little bits of glass," he said, briefly, taking his eye from the
eyepiece. "Captain Shirley was not shot."
"Not shot?" I repeated. "Then how was he killed?"
Kennedy eyed me gravely.
"Shirley was murdered by a poisoned bomb!"
I said nothing, for the revelation was even more startling than I had
imagined.
"In that package which was placed in his room," he went on, "must have
been a little infernal machine of glass, constructed so as to explode
the moment the wrapper was broken. The flying pieces of glass injected
the poison as by a myriad of hypodermic needles--the highly poisonous
toxin of abrin, product of the jequirity, which is ordinarily destroyed
in the stomach but acts powerfully if injected into the blood. Shirley
died of jequirity poisoning, or rather of the alkaloid in the bean. It
has been used in India for criminal poisoning for ages. Only, there it
is crushed, worked into a paste, and rolled into needle-pointed forms
which prick the skin. Abrin is composed of two albuminous bodies, one
of which resembles snake-venom in all its effects, attacking the heart,
making the temperature fall rapidly, and leaving the blood fluid after
death. It is a vegetable toxin, quite comparable with ricin from the
castor-oil bean."
In spite of my horror at the diabolical plot that had been aimed at
Shirley, my mind ran along, keenly endeavoring to piece together the
scattered fragments of the case. Some one, of course, had sent the
package while he was out and had it placed in his room. Had it been the
same person who had sent the single jequirity bean? My mind instantly
reverted to the strange woman across the hall, the photograph in his
luggage, and the broken necklace in the jewel-case.
Kennedy continued looking at the remainder of the jequirity beans and a
liquid he had developed from some of them. Finally, with a glance at
his watch, he placed a tube of the liquid in a leather case in his
pocket.
"This may not be the only murder," he remarked, sententiously. "It is
best to be prepared. Come; we must get up to that meeting."
We journeyed up-town and arrived at the little private hall which the
Cult of the Occult had hired somewhat ahead of the time set for the
meeting, as Kennedy had aimed to do. Mrs. Rogers was already there and
met us at the door.
"So glad to see you," she welcomed, leading us in.
As we entered we could breathe the characteristic pervading odor of
sandalwood. Rich Oriental hangings were on the walls, interspersed with
cabalistic signs, while at one end was a raised dais.
Mrs. Rogers introduced us to a rather stout, middle-aged, sallow-faced
individual in a turban and flowing robes of rustling purple silk. His
eyes were piercing, small, and black. The plump, unhealthy, milk-white
fingers of his hands were heavy with ornate rings. He looked like what
I should have imagined a swami to be, and such, I found, was indeed his
title.
"The Swami Rajmanandra," introduced Mrs. Rogers.
He extended his flabby hand in welcome, while Kennedy eyed him keenly.
We were not permitted many words with the swami, however, for Mrs.
Rogers next presented us to a younger but no less interesting-looking
Oriental who was in Occidental dress.
"This is Mr. Singh Bandematarain," said Mrs. Rogers. "You know, he has
been sent here by the nizam of his province to be educated at the
university."
Mrs. Rogers then hastened to conduct us to seats as, one by one, the
worshipers entered. They were mostly women of the aristocratic type who
evidently found in this cult a new fad to occupy their jaded craving
for the sensational. In the dim light, there was something almost
sepulchral about the gathering, and their complexions seemed as white
as wax.
Again the door opened and another woman entered. I felt the pressure of
Kennedy's hand on my arm and turned my eyes unobtrusively. It was Mrs.
Anthony.
Quietly she seemed to glide over the floor toward the swami and, for a
moment, stood talking to him. I saw Singh eye her with a curious look.
Was it fear or suspicion?
I had come expecting to see something weird and wild, perhaps the
exhibition of an Indian fakir--I know not what. In that, at least, I
was disappointed. The Swami Rajmanandra, picturesque though he was,
talked most fascinatingly about his religion, but either the
theatricals were reserved for an inner circle or else we were subtly
suspected, for I soon found myself longing for the meeting to close so
that we could observe those whom we had come to watch.
I had almost come to the conclusion that our mission had been a failure
when the swami concluded and the visitors swarmed forward to talk with
the holy man from the East. Kennedy managed to make his way about the
circle to Mrs. Rogers and soon was in an animated conversation.
"Were you acquainted with a Captain Shirley?" he asked, finally, as she
opened the way for the question by a remark about her life in Calcutta.
"Y-yes," she replied, hesitating; "I read in the papers this morning
that he was found dead, most mysteriously. Terrible, wasn't it? Yes, I
met him in Calcutta while I was there. Why, he was on his way to
London, and came to New York and called on me."
My eye followed the direction of Mrs. Rogers's. She was talking to us,
but really her attention was centered on Mrs. Anthony and the swami
together. As I glanced back at her I caught sight of Singh, evidently
engaged in watching the same two that I was. Did he have some suspicion
of Mrs. Anthony? Why was he watching Mrs. Rogers? I determined to study
the two women more closely. I saw that Kennedy had already noticed what
I had seen.
"One very peculiar thing," he said, deliberately modulating his voice
so that it could be heard by those about us, "was that, just before he
was killed, some one sent a prayer-bean from a necklace to him."
At the mention of the necklace I saw that Mrs. Rogers was all
attention. Involuntarily she shot a glance at Mrs. Anthony, as if she
noted that she was not wearing the necklace now.
"Is that Englishwoman a member of the cult?" queried Kennedy, a moment
later, as, quite naturally, he looked over at Mrs. Anthony. "Who is
she?"
"Oh," replied Mrs. Rogers, quickly, "she isn't an Englishwoman at all.
She is a Hindu--I believe, a former nautch-girl, daughter of a
nautch-girl. She passes by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but really her
name is Kalia Dass. Every one in Calcutta knew her."
Kennedy quietly drew his card-case from his pocket and handed a card to
Mrs. Rogers.
"I should like to talk to you about her some time," he said, in a
careful whisper. "If anything happens--don't hesitate to call on me."
Before Mrs. Rogers could recover from her surprise Kennedy had said
good-by and we were on our way to the laboratory.
"That's a curious situation," I observed. "Can you make it out? How
does Shirley fit into this thing?"
Craig hesitated a moment, as though debating whether to say anything,
even to me, about his suspicions.
"Suppose," he said, slowly, "that Shirley was a secret agent of the
British government, charged with the mission of finding out whether
Mrs. Rogers was contributing--unknowingly, perhaps--to hatching another
Indian mutiny? Would that suggest anything to you?"
"And the nautch-girl whom he had known in Calcutta followed him, hoping
to worm from him the secrets which he--"
"Not too fast," he cautioned. "Let us merely suppose that Shirley was a
spy. If I am not mistaken, we shall see something happen soon, as a
result of what I said to Mrs. Rogers."
Excited now by the possibilities opened up by his conjecture regarding
Shirley, which I knew must have amounted to a certainty in his mind, I
watched him impatiently, as he calmly set to work cleaning up the
remainder of the laboratory investigation in the affair.
It was scarcely half an hour later that a car drove up furiously to our
door and Mrs. Rogers burst in, terribly agitated.
"You remember," she cried, breathlessly, "you said that a jequirity
bean was sent to Captain Shirley?"
"Yes," encouraged Kennedy.
"Well, after you left, I was thinking about it. That Kalia Dass used to
wear a necklace of them, but she didn't have it on to-day. I began
thinking about it. While she was talking to the swami I went over. I've
noticed how careful she always is of her hand-bag. So I managed to
catch my hand in the loop about her wrist. It dropped on the floor. We
both made a dive for it, but I got it. I managed, also, to open the
catch and, when I picked it up to hand to her, with an apology, what
should roll out but a score of prayer-beans! Some papers dropped out,
too. She almost tore them from my hands; in fact, one of them did tear.
After it was over I had this scrap, a corner torn off one of them."
Kennedy took the scrap which she handed to him and studied it
carefully, while we looked over his shoulder. On it was a queer
alphabetical table. Across the first line were the letters singly, each
followed by a dash. Then, in squares underneath, were pairs of
letters--AA, BA, CA, DA, and so on, while, vertically, the column on
the left read: AA, AB, AC, AD, and so on.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rogers," Craig said, rising. "This is very important."
She seemed reluctant to go, but, as there was no excuse for staying
longer, she finally left. Kennedy immediately set to work studying the
scrap of paper and the cipher message he had copied, while I stifled my
impatience as best I could.
I could do nothing but reflect on the possibility of what a jealous
woman might do. Mrs. Rogers had given us one example. Did the same
explanation shed any light on the mystery of the nautch-girl and the
jequirity bean sent to Shirley? There was no doubt now that Shirley had
known her in Calcutta--intimately, also. Perhaps the necklace had some
significance. At least, he must have remembered it, as his agitation
over the single bean and the word "Gadhr" seemed to indicate. If she
had sent it to him, was it as a threat? To all appearance, he had not
known that she was in New York, much less that she was at the same
hotel and on the same floor. Why had she followed him? Had she
misinterpreted his attentions to Mrs. Rogers?
Longing to ask Kennedy the myriad questions that flashed through my
mind, I turned to him as he scowled at the scrap of paper and the
cipher before him.
Presently he glanced up at me, still scowling.
"It's no use, Walter," he said; "I can't make it out without the
key--at least, it will take so long to discover the key that it may be
useless."
Just then the telephone-bell rang and he sprang to it eagerly. As I
listened I gathered that it was another hurried call from Grady.
"Something has happened to Mrs. Anthony!" cried Craig, as he hooked up
the receiver and seized his hat.
A second time we posted to the Prince Edward Charles, spurred by the
mystery that surrounded the case. No one met us in the lobby this time,
and we rode up directly in the elevator to Mrs. Anthony's room.
As we came down the hall and Grady met us at the door, he did not need
to tell us that something was wrong. One experience like that with
Shirley had put the hotel people on guard, and the house physician was
already there, administering stimulants to Mrs. Anthony, who was lying
on the bed.
"It's just like the other case," whispered Grady. "There are the same
scratches on her face and hands."
The doctor glanced about at us. By the look on his face, I read that it
was a losing fight. Kennedy bent down. The floor about the door was
covered with little glittering slivers of glass. On Mrs. Anthony's face
was the same drawn look as on Shirley's.
Was it a suicide? Had we been getting too close on her trail, or had
Mrs. Anthony been attacked? Had some one been using her, and now was
afraid of her and sought to get her out of the way for safety?
What was the secret locked in her silent lips? The woman was plainly
dying. Would she carry the secret with her, after all?
Kennedy quickly drew from his pocket the vial which I had seen him
place there in the laboratory early in the day. From the doctor's case
he selected a hypodermic and coolly injected a generous dose of the
stuff into her arm.
"What is it?" asked the doctor, as we all watched her face anxiously.
"The antitoxin to abrin," he replied. "I developed some of it at the
same time that I was studying the poison. If an animal that is immune
to a toxin is bled and the serum collected, the antitoxin in it may be
injected into a healthy animal and render it immune. Ricin and abrin
are vegetable protein toxins of enormous potency and exert a narcotic
action. Guinea-pigs fed on them in proper doses attain such a degree of
immunity that, in a short time, they can tolerate four hundred times
the fatal dose. The serum also can be used to neutralize the toxin in
another animal, to a certain extent."
We crowded about Kennedy and the doctor, our eyes riveted on the drawn
face before us. Would the antitoxin work?
Meanwhile, Kennedy moved over to the writing-table which he had
examined on our first visit to the room. Covered up in the writing-pad
was still the paper which he had copied. Only, Mrs. Anthony had added
much more to it. He looked at it desperately. What good would it do if,
after hours, his cleverness might solve the cipher--too late?
Mrs. Anthony seemed to be struggling bravely. Once I thought she was
almost conscious. Glazed though her eyes looked, she saw Kennedy
vaguely, with the paper in his hand. Her lips moved. Kennedy bent down,
though whether he heard or read her lip movements I do not know.
"Her pocket-book!" he exclaimed.
We found it crushed under her coat which she had taken off when she
entered. Craig opened it and drew forth a crumpled sheet of paper from
which a corner had been torn. It exactly fitted the scrap that Mrs.
Rogers had given us. There, contained within twenty-seven horizontal
and twenty-seven vertical lines, making in all six hundred and
seventy-six squares, was every possible combination of two letters of
the alphabet.
Kennedy looked up, still in desperation. It did him no good. He could
have completed the table himself.
"In--the--lining." Her lips managed to frame the words.
Kennedy literally tore the bag apart. There was nothing but a plain
white blank card. With a superhuman effort she moved her lips again.
"Smelling-salts," she seemed to say.
I looked about. On the dressing-table stood a little dark-green bottle.
I pulled the ground-glass stopper from it and a most pungent odor of
carbonate of ammonia filled the room. Quickly I held it under her nose,
but she shook her head weakly.
Kennedy seemed to understand. He snatched the bottle from me and held
the card directly over its mouth. As the fumes of the ammonia poured
out, I saw faintly on the card the letters HR.
We turned to Mrs. Anthony. The effort had used up her strength. She had
lapsed again into unconsciousness as Craig bent over her.
"Will she live?" lasted.
"I think so," he replied, adding a hasty word to the doctor.
"What's that? Look!" I exclaimed, pointing to the card from which the
letters HR had already faded as mysteriously as they had appeared,
leaving the card blank again.
"It is the key!" he cried, excitedly. "Written in sympathetic ink. At
last we have it all."
On the queer alphabetical table which the two pieces of paper made, he
now wrote quickly the alphabet again, horizontally across the top,
starting with H, and vertically down the side, starting with R, thus:
H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G
R a- b- c- d- e- f- g- h- i- j- k- l- m- n- o- p- q- r- s- t- u- v- w-
x- y- z-S aa ba ca da ea fa ga ha ia ja ka la ma na oa pa qa ra sa ta
ua va wa xa ya za T ab bb cb db eb fb gb hb ib jb kb lb mb nb ob pb qb
rb sb tb ub vb wb xb yb zb U ac bc cc dc ec fc gc hc ic jc kc lc mc nc
oc pc qc rc sc tc uc vc wc xc yc zc V ad bd cd dd ed fd gd hd id jd kd
ld md nd od pd qd rd sd td ud vd wd xd yd zd W ae be ce de ee fe ge he
ie je ke le me ne oe pe qe re se te ue ve we xe ye ze X af bf cf df ef
ff gf hf if jf kf lf mf nf of pf qf rf sf tf uf vf wf xf yf zf Y ag bg
cg dg eg fg gg hg ig jg kg lg mg ng og pg qg rg sg tg ug vg wg xg yg zg
Z ah bh ch dh eh fh gh hh ih jh kh lh mh nh oh ph qh rh sh th uh vy wh
xh yh zh & ai bi ci di ei fi gi hi ii ji ki li mi ni oi pi qi ri si ti
ui vi wi xi yi zi A aj bj cj dj ej fj gj hj ij jj kj lj mj nj oj pj qj
rj sj tj uj vj wj xj yj zj B ak bk ck dk ek fk gk hk ik jk kk lk mk nk
ok pk qk rk sk tk uk vk wk xk yk zk C al bl cl dl el fl gl hl il jl kl
ll ml nl ol pl ql rl sl tl ul vl wl xl yl zl D am bm cm dm em fm gm hm
im jm km lm mm nm om pm qm rm sm tm um vm wm xm ym zm E an bn cn dn en
fn gn hn in jn kn ln mn nn on pn qn rn sn tn un vn wn xn yn zn F ao bo
co do eo fo go ho io jo ko lo mo no oo po qo ro so to uo vo wo xo yo zo
G ap bp cp dp ep fp gp hp ip jp kp lp mp np op pp qp rp sp tp up vp wp
xp yp zp H aq bq cq dq eq fq gq hq iq jq kq lq mq nq oq pq qq rq sq tq
uq vq wq xq yq zq I ar br cr dr er fr gr hr ir jr kr lr mr nr or pr qr
rr sr tr ur vr wr xr yr zr J as bs cs ds es fs gs hs is js ks ls ms ns
os ps qs rs ss ts us vs ws xs ys zs K at bt ct dt et ft gt ht it jt kt
lt mt nt ot pt qt rt st tt ut vt wt xt yt zt L au bu cu du eu fu gu hu
iu ju ku lu mu nu ou pu qu ru su tu uu vu wu xu yu zu M av bv cv dv ev
fv gv hv iv jv kv lv mv nv ov pv qv rv sv tv uv vv wv xv yv zv N aw bw
cw dw ew fw gw hw iw jw kw lw mw nw ow pw qw rw sw tw uw vw ww xw yw zw
O ax bx cx dx ex fx gx hx ix jx kx lx mx nx ox px qx rx sx tx ux vx wx
xx yx zx P ay by cy dy ey fy gy hy iy jy ky ly my ny oy py qy ry sy ty
uy vy wy xy yy zy Q az bz cz dz ez fz gz hz iz jz kz lz mz nz oz pz qz
rz sz tz uz vz wz xz yz zz
"See!" exclaimed Kennedy, triumphantly, working rapidly. "Take the word
'war' for instance. The square which contains WA is in line S, column
D. So I put down SD. The odd letter R, with a dash, is in line R,
column Y. So I put down RY. WAR thus becomes SDRY. Working it backward
from SDRY, I take the two letters SD. In line S, column D, I find WA in
the square, and in line R, column Y, I find just R--making the
translation of the cipher read 'War.' Now," he went on, excitedly,
"take the message we have:
"SOWC FSSJWA EKNLFFBY WOVHLX IHWAJYKH 101MLEL EPJNVPSL WCLURL GHIHDA
ELBA.
"I translate each pair of letters as I come to them." He was writing
rapidly. There was the message:
Have located New York headquarters at 101 Eveningside Avenue, Apartment
K. Kennedy did not pause, but dashed from the room, followed by Grady
and myself.
As our taxi pulled up on the avenue, we saw that the address was a new
but small apartment-house. We entered and located Apartment K.
Casting about for a way to get in, Craig discovered that the
fire-escape could be reached from a balcony by the hall window. He
swung himself over the gap, and we followed. It was the work of only a
minute to force the window-latch. We entered. No one was there.
As we pressed after him, he stopped short and flashed his electric
bull's-eye about with an exclamation of startled surprise. There was a
fully equipped chemical and electrical laboratory. There were
explosives enough to have blown not only us but a whole block to
kingdom come. More than that, it was a veritable den of poisons. On a
table stood beakers and test-tubes in which was crushed a paste that
still showed parts of the red ruttee beans.
"Some one planned here to kill Shirley, get him out of the way,"
reconstructed Kennedy, gazing about; "some one working under the cloak
of Oriental religion."
"Mrs. Anthony?" queried Grady. Kennedy shook his head.
"On the contrary, like Shirley, she was an agent of the Indian Secret
Service. The rest of the cipher shows it. She was sent to watch some
one else, as he was sent to watch Mrs. Rogers. Neither could have known
that the other was on the case. She found out, first, that the package
with the prayer-bean and the word 'Gadhr' was an attempt to warn and
save Shirley, whom she had known in Calcutta and still loved, but
feared to compromise. She must have tried to see him, but failed. She
hesitated to write, but finally did. Then some one must have seen that
she was dangerous. Another poisoned bomb was sent to her. No; the
nautch-girl is innocent."
"'Sh!" cautioned Grady.
Outside we could hear the footsteps of some one coming along the hall.
Kennedy snapped off his light. The door opened.
"Stand still! One motion and I will throw it!"
As Kennedy's voice rang out from the direction of the table on which
stood the half-finished glass bombs, Grady and I flung ourselves
forward at the intruder, not knowing what we would encounter.
A moment later Kennedy had found the electric switch and flashed up the
lights.
It was Singh, who had used both Mrs. Rogers's money and Raimanandra's
religion to cover his conspiracy of revolt.
V
THE PHANTOM DESTROYER
"Guy Fawkes himself would shudder in that mill. Think of it--five
explosions on five successive days, and not a clue!"
Our visitor had presented a card bearing the name of Donald MacLeod,
chief of the Nitropolis Powder Company's Secret Service. It was plain
that he was greatly worried over the case about which he had at last
been forced to consult Kennedy.