doggedly. "You know what they are like. If you care to go into the
matter I think I can convince you."
The commissioner was still holding the letter and gazing, puzzled, from
it to us. It seemed as if he regarded it merely as confirming his own
suspicions that something was wrong, even though it shed no real light
on the matter.
"How did you first hear of it?" prompted Kennedy.
Leslie answered frankly. "It came to the attention of the department as
the result of a reform I have inaugurated. When I went in office I
found that many of the death certificates were faulty, and in the
course of our investigations we ran across one that seemed to be most
vaguely worded. I don't know yet whether it was ignorance--or something
worse. But it started an inquiry. I can't say that I'm thoroughly
satisfied with the amended certificate of the physician who attended
Mrs. Marbury, the mother of Doctor Wardlaw's wife, who died about a
week ago--Doctor Aitken."
"Then Wardlaw didn't attend her himself?" asked Kennedy.
"Oh no. He couldn't, under the circumstances, as I'll show you
presently, aside from the medical ethics of the case. Aitken was the
family physician of the Marburys."
Kennedy glanced at the note. "One is dead. Others are dying," he read.
"Who are the others? Who else is stricken?"
"Why," continued Leslie, eager to unburden his story, "Wardlaw himself
has the marks of a nervous affection as plainly as the eye can see it.
You know what it is in this disease, as though the nerves were wasting
away. But he doesn't seem half as badly affected as his wife. They tell
me Maude Marbury was quite a beauty once, and photographs I have seen
prove it. She's a wreck now. And, of course, the old lady must have
been the most seriously affected of them all."
"Who else is there in the household?" inquired Kennedy, growing more
and more interested.
"Well," answered Leslie, slowly, "they've had a nurse for some time,
Natalie Langdale. Apparently she has escaped."
"Any servants?"
"Some by the day; only one regularly--a Japanese, Kato. He goes home at
night, too. There's no evidence of the disease having affected him."
I caught Leslie's eye as he gave the last information. Though I did not
know much about beriberi, I had read of it, and knew that it was
especially prevalent in the Orient. I did not know what importance to
attach to Kato and his going home at night.
"Have you done any investigating yourself?" asked Kennedy.
Leslie hesitated a moment, as though deprecating his own efforts in
that line, though when he spoke I could see no reason why he should,
except that it had so often happened that Kennedy had seen the obvious
which was hidden from most of those who consulted him.
"Yes," he replied, "I thought perhaps there might be some motive back
of it all which I might discover. Possibly it was old Mrs. Marbury's
fortune--not a large one, but substantial. So it occurred to me that
the will might show it. I have been to the surrogate."
"And?" prompted Kennedy, approvingly.
"Mrs. Marbury's will has already been offered for probate. It directs,
among other things, that twenty-five thousand dollars be given by her
daughter, to whom she leaves the bulk of her fortune, to Doctor Aitken,
who had been Mr. Marbury's physician and her own."
Leslie looked at us significantly, but Kennedy made no comment.
"Would you like to go up there and see them?" urged the commissioner,
anxious to get Craig's final word on whether he would co-operate in the
affair.
"I certainly should," returned Kennedy, heartily, folding up the letter
which had first attracted his interest. "It looks as if there were more
to this thing than a mere disease, however unusual."
Doctor Leslie could not conceal his satisfaction, and without delaying
a moment more than was necessary hurried us out into one of the
department cars, which he had left waiting outside, and directed the
driver to take us to the Forum Apartments, one of the newest and most
fashionable on the Drive.
Miss Langdale met us at the door and admitted us into the apartment.
She was a striking type of trained nurse, one of those who seem
bubbling over with health and vivacity. She seemed solicitous of her
patients and reluctant to have them disturbed, yet apparently not
daring to refuse to admit Doctor Leslie. There was nothing in her
solicitude, however, that one could take exception to.
Miss Langdale conducted us softly down a hallway through the middle of
the apartment, and I noted quickly how it was laid out. On one side we
passed a handsomely furnished parlor and dining-room, opposite which
were the kitchen and butler's pantry, and, farther along, a bedroom and
the bath. On down the hall, on the right, was Doctor Wardlaw's study,
or rather den, for it was more of a library than an office.
The nurse led the way, and we entered. Through the windows one caught a
beautiful vista of the Drive, the river, and the Jersey shore. I gazed
about curiously. Around the room there were bookcases and cabinets, a
desk, some easy-chairs, and in the corner a table on which were some of
Wardlaw's paraphernalia, for, although he was not a practising
physician, he still specialized in his favorite branches of eye and ear
surgery.
Miss Langdale left us a moment, with a hasty excuse that she must
prepare Mrs. Wardlaw for the unexpected visit. The preparation,
however, did not take long, for a moment later Maude Wardlaw entered,
supported by her nurse.
Her lips moved mechanically as she saw us, but we could not hear what
she said. As she walked, I could see that she had a peculiar gait, as
though she were always lifting her feet over small obstacles. Her eyes,
too, as she looked at us, had a strange squint, and now and then the
muscles of her face twitched. She glanced from Leslie to Kennedy
inquiringly, as Leslie introduced us, implying that we were from his
office, then dropped into the easy-chair. Her breathing seemed to be
labored and her heart action feeble, as the nurse propped her up
comfortably.
As Mrs. Wardlaw's hand rested on the arm of the chair I saw that there
was a peculiar flexion of her wrist which reminded me of the so-called
"wrist-drop" of which I had heard. It was almost as if the muscles of
her hands and arms, feet and legs, were weak and wasting. Once she had
been beautiful, and even now, although she seemed to be a wreck of her
former self, she had a sort of ethereal beauty that was very touching.
"Doctor is out--just now," she hesitated, in a tone that hinted at the
loss of her voice. She turned appealingly to Miss Langdale. "Oh," she
murmured, "I feel so badly this morning--as if pins and needles were
sticking in me--vague pains in all my limbs--"
Her voice sank to a whisper and only her lips moved feebly. One had
only to see her to feel sympathy. It seemed almost cruel to intrude
under the circumstances, yet it was absolutely necessary if Craig were
to accomplish anything. Maude Wardlaw, however, did not seem to
comprehend the significance of our presence, and I wondered how Kennedy
would proceed.
"I should like to see your Japanese servant, Kato," he began, directly,
somewhat to my surprise, addressing himself rather to Miss Langdale
than to Mrs. Wardlaw.
The nurse nodded and left the room without a word, as though
appreciating the anomalous position in which she was placed as
temporary mistress of the household.
A few moments later Kato entered. He was a typical specimen of the
suave Oriental, and I eyed him keenly, for to me East was East and West
was West, and I was frankly suspicious, especially as I saw no reason
to be otherwise in Kennedy's manner. I waited eagerly to see what Craig
would do.
"Sit here," directed Kennedy, indicating a straight-backed chair, on
which the Japanese obediently sat. "Now cross your knees."
As Kato complied, Kennedy quickly brought his hand, held flat and palm
upward, sharply against the Jap's knee just below the kneecap. There
was a quick reflex jerk of the leg below the knee in response.
"Quite natural," Kennedy whispered, turning to Leslie, who nodded.
He dismissed Kato without further questioning, having had an
opportunity to observe whether he showed any of the symptoms that had
appeared in the rest of the family. Craig and the Health Commissioner
exchanged a few words under their breath, then Craig crossed the room
to Mrs. Wardlaw. The entrance of Kato had roused her momentarily and
she had been watching what was going on.
"It is a simple test," explained Kennedy, indicating to Miss Langdale
that he wished to repeat it on her patient.
Mrs. Wardlaw's knee showed no reflex! As he turned to us, we could see
that Kennedy's face was lined deeply with thought, and he paced up and
down the room once or twice, considering what he had observed.
I could see that even this simple interview had greatly fatigued Mrs.
Wardlaw. Miss Langdale said nothing, but it was plainly evident that
she objected strongly to the strain on her patient's strength.
"That will be sufficient," nodded Craig, noticing the nurse. "Thank you
very much. I think you had better let Mrs. Wardlaw rest in her own
room."
On the nurse's arm Mrs. Wardlaw withdrew and I looked inquiringly from
Kennedy to Doctor Leslie. What was it that had made this beautiful
woman such a wreck? It seemed almost as though the hand of fate had
stretched out against one who had all to make her happy--wealth, youth,
a beautiful home--for the sullen purpose of taking away what had been
bestowed so bounteously.
"It is polyneuritis, all right, Leslie," Craig agreed, the moment we
were alone.
"I think so," coincided Leslie, with a nod. "It's the CAUSE I can't get
at. Is it polyneuritis of beriberi--or something else?" Kennedy did not
reply immediately.
"Then there are other causes?" I inquired of Leslie.
"Alcohol," he returned, briefly. "I don't think that figures in this
instance. At least I've seen no evidence."
"Perhaps some drug?" I hazarded at a venture.
Leslie shrugged.
"How about the food?" inquired Craig. "Have you made any attempt to
examine it?"
"I have," replied the commissioner. "When I came up here first I
thought of that. I took samples of all the food that I could find in
the ice-box, the kitchen, and the butler's pantry. I have the whole
thing, labeled, and I have already started to test them out. I'll show
you what I have done when we go down to the department laboratory."
Kennedy had been examining the books in the bookcase and now pulled out
a medical dictionary. It opened readily to the heading,
"Polyneuritis--multiple neuritis."
I bent over and read with him. In the disease, it seemed, the nerve
fibers themselves in the small nerves broke down and the affection was
motor, sensory, vasomotor, or endemic. All the symptoms described
seemed to fit what I had observed in Mrs. Wardlaw.
"Invariably," the article went on, "it is the result of some toxic
substance circulating in the blood. There is a polyneuritis psychosis,
known as Korsakoff's syndrome, characterized by disturbances of the
memory of recent events and false reminiscences, the patient being
restless and disorientated."
I ran my finger down the page until I came to the causes. There were
alcohol, lead, arsenic, bisulphide of carbon, diseases such as
diabetes, diphtheria, typhoid, and finally, much to my excitement, was
enumerated beriberi, with the added information, "or, as the Japanese
call it, kakke."
I placed my finger on the passage and was about to say something about
my suspicions of Kato when we heard the sound of footsteps in the hall,
and Craig snapped the book shut, returning it hastily to the bookcase.
It was Miss Langdale who had made her patient comfortable in bed and
now returned to us.
"Who is this Kato?" inquired Craig, voicing what was in my own mind.
"What do you know about him?"
"Just a young Japanese from the Mission downtown," replied the nurse,
directly. "I don't suppose you know, but Mrs. Wardlaw used to be
greatly interested in religious and social work among the Japanese and
Chinese; would be yet, but," she added, significantly, "she is not
strong enough. They employed him before I came here, about a year ago,
I think."
Kennedy nodded, and was about to ask another question, when there was a
slight noise out in the hall. Thinking it might be Kato himself, I
sprang to the door.
Instead, I encountered a middle-aged man, who drew back in surprise at
seeing me, a stranger.
"Oh, good morning, Doctor Aitken!" greeted Miss Langdale, in quite the
casual manner of a nurse accustomed to the daily visit at about this
hour.
As for Doctor Aitken, he glanced from Leslie, whom he knew, to Kennedy,
whom he did not know, with a very surprised look on his face. In fact,
I got the impression that after he had been admitted he had paused a
moment in the hall to listen to the strange voices in the Wardlaw study.
Leslie nodded to him and introduced us, without quite knowing what to
say or do, any more than Doctor Aitken.
"A most incomprehensible case," ventured Aitken to us. "I can't, for
the life of me, make it out." The doctor showed his perplexity plainly,
whether it was feigned or not.
"I'm afraid she's not quite so well as usual," put in Miss Langdale,
speaking to him, but in a manner that indicated that first of all she
wished any blame for her patient's condition to attach to us and not to
herself.
Doctor Aitken pursed up his lips, bowed excusingly to us, and turned
down the hall, followed by the nurse. As they passed on to Mrs.
Wardlaw's room, I am sure they whispered about us. I was puzzled by
Doctor Aitken. He seemed to be sincere, yet, under the circumstances, I
felt that I must be suspicious of everybody and everything.
Alone again for a moment, Kennedy turned his attention to the furniture
of the room, and finally paused before a writing-desk in the corner. He
tried it. It was not locked and he opened it. Quickly he ran through a
pile of papers carefully laid under a paper-weight at the back.
A suppressed exclamation from him called my attention to something that
he had discovered. There lay two documents, evidently recently drawn
up. As we looked over the first, we saw that it was Doctor Wardlaw's
will, in which he had left everything to his wife, although he was not
an especially wealthy man. The other was the will of Mrs. Wardlaw.
We devoured it hastily. In substance it was identical with the first,
except that at the end she had added two clauses. In the first she had
done just as her mother had directed. Twenty-five thousand dollars had
been left to Doctor Aitken. I glanced at Kennedy, but he was reading
on, taking the second clause. I read also. Fifty thousand dollars was
given to endow the New York Japanese Mission.
Immediately the thought of Kato and what Miss Langdale had just told us
flashed through my mind.
A second time we heard the nurse's footsteps on the hardwood floor of
the hall. Craig closed the desk softly.
"Doctor Aitken is ready to go," she announced. "Is there anything more
you wish to ask?"
Kennedy spoke a moment with the doctor as he passed out, but, aside
from the information that Mrs. Wardlaw was, in his opinion, growing
worse, the conversation added nothing to our meager store of
information.
"I suppose you attended Mrs. Marbury?" ventured Kennedy of Miss
Langdale, after the doctor had gone.
"Not all the time," she admitted. "Before I came there was another
nurse, a Miss Hackstaff."
"What was the matter? Wasn't she competent?"
Miss Langdale avoided the question, as though it were a breach of
professional etiquette to cast reflections on another nurse, although
whether that was the real reason for her reticence did not appear.
Craig seemed to make a mental note of the fact.
"Have you seen anything--er--suspicious about this Kato?" put in
Leslie, while Kennedy frowned at the interruption.
Miss Langdale answered quickly, "Nothing."
"Doctor Aitken has never expressed any suspicion?" pursued Leslie.
"Oh no," she returned. "I think I would have known it if he had any.
No, I've never heard him even hint at anything." It was evident that
she wished us to know that she was in the confidence of the doctor.
"I think we'd better be going," interrupted Kennedy, hastily, not
apparently pleased to have Leslie break in in the investigation just at
present.
Miss Langdale accompanied us to the door, but before we reached it it
was opened from the outside by a man who had once been and yet was
handsome, although one could see that he had a certain appearance of
having neglected himself.
Leslie nodded and introduced us. It was Doctor Wardlaw.
As I studied his face I could see that, as Leslie had already told us,
it plainly bore the stigma of nervousness.
"Has Doctor Aitken been here?" he inquired, quickly, of the nurse.
Then, scarcely waiting for her even to nod, he added: "What did he say?
Is Mrs. Wardlaw any better?"
Miss Langdale seemed to be endeavoring to make as optimistic a report
as the truth permitted, but I fancied Wardlaw read between the lines.
As they talked it was evident that there was a sort of restraint
between them. I wondered whether Wardlaw might not have some lurking
suspicion against Aitken, or some one else. If he had, even in his
nervousness he did not betray it.
"I can't tell you how worried I am," he murmured, almost to himself.
"What can this thing be?"
He turned to us, and, although he had just been introduced, I am sure
that our presence seemed to surprise him, for he went on talking to
himself, "Oh yes--let me see--oh yes, friends of Doctor--er--Leslie."
I had been studying him and trying to recall what I had just read of
beriberi and polyneuritis. There flashed over my mind the recollection
of what had been called Korsakoff's syndrome, in which one of the
mental disturbances was the memory of recent events. Did not this, I
asked myself, indicate plainly enough that Leslie might be right in his
suspicions of beriberi? It was all the more apparent a moment later
when, turning to Miss Langdale, Wardlaw seemed almost instantly to
forget our presence again. At any rate, his anxiety was easy to see.
After a few minutes' chat during which Craig observed Wardlaw's
symptoms, too, we excused ourselves, and the Health Commissioner
undertook to conduct us to his office to show us what he had done so
far. As for me, I could not get Miss Langdale out of my mind, and
especially the mysterious letter to Kennedy. What of it and what of its
secret sender?
None of us said much until, half an hour later, in the department
laboratory, Leslie began to recapitulate what he had already done in
the case.
"You asked whether I had examined the food," he remarked, pausing in a
corner before several cages in which were a number of pigeons,
separated and carefully tagged. With a wave of his hand at one group of
cages he continued: "These fellows I have been feeding exclusively on
samples of the various foods which I took from the Wardlaw family when
I first went up there. Here, too, are charts showing what I have
observed up to date. Over there are the 'controls'--pigeons from the
same group which have been fed regularly on the usual diet so that I
can check my tests."
Kennedy fell to examining the pigeons carefully as well as the charts
and records of feeding and results. None of the birds fed on what had
been taken from the apartment looked well, though some were worse than
others.
"I want you to observe this fellow," pointed out Leslie at last,
singling out one cage. The pigeon in it was a pathetic figure. His eyes
seemed dull and glazed. He paid little or no attention to us; even his
food and water did not seem to interest him. Instead of strutting
about, he seemed to be positively wabbly on his feet. Kennedy examined
this one longer and more carefully than any of the rest.
"There are certainly all the symptoms of beriberi, or rather,
polyneuritis, in pigeons, with that bird," admitted Craig, finally,
looking up at Leslie.
The commissioner seemed to be gratified. "You know," he remarked,
"beriberi itself is a common disease in the Orient. There has been a
good deal of study of it and the cause is now known to be the lack of
something in the food, which in the Orient is mostly rice. Polishing
the rice, which removes part of the outer coat, also takes away
something that is necessary for life, which scientists now call
'vitamines.'"
"I may take some of these samples to study myself?" interrupted
Kennedy, as though the story of vitamines was an old one to him.
"By all means," agreed Leslie.
Craig selected what he wanted, keeping each separate and marked, and
excused himself, saying that he had some investigations of his own that
he wished to make and would let Leslie know the result as soon as he
discovered anything.
Kennedy did not go back directly to the laboratory, however. Instead,
he went up-town and, to my surprise, stopped at one of the large
breweries. What it was that he was after I could not imagine, but,
after a conference with the manager, he obtained several quarts of
brewer's yeast, which he had sent directly down to the laboratory.
Impatient though I was at this seeming neglect of the principal figures
in the case, I knew, nevertheless, that Kennedy had already schemed out
his campaign and that whatever it was he had in mind was of first
importance.
Back at last in his own laboratory, Craig set to work on the brewer's
yeast, deriving something from it by the plentiful use of a liquid
labeled "Lloyd's reagent," a solution of hydrous aluminum silicate.
After working for some time, I saw that he had obtained a solid which
he pressed into the form of little whitish tablets. He had by no means
finished, but, noticing my impatience, he placed the three or four
tablets in a little box and handed them to me.
"You might take these over to Leslie in the department laboratory,
Walter," he directed. "Tell him to feed them to that wabbly-looking
pigeon over there--and let me know the moment he observes any effect."
Glad of the chance to occupy myself, I hastened on the errand, and even
presided over the first feeding of the bird.
When I returned I found that Kennedy had finished his work with the
brewer's yeast and was now devoting himself to the study of the various
samples of food which he had obtained from Leslie.
He was just finishing a test of the baking-powder when I entered, and
his face showed plainly that he was puzzled by something that he had
discovered.
"What is it?" I asked. "Have you found out anything?"
"This seems to be almost plain sodium carbonate," he replied,
mechanically.
"And that indicates?" I prompted.
"Perhaps nothing, in itself," he went on, less abstractedly. "But the
use of sodium carbonate and other things which I have discovered in
other samples disengages carbon dioxide at the temperature of baking
and cooking. If you'll look in that public-health report on my desk
you'll see how the latest investigations have shown that bicarbonate of
soda and a whole list of other things which liberate carbon dioxide
destroy the vitamines Leslie was talking about. In other words, taken
altogether I should almost say there was evidence that a concerted
effort was being made to affect the food--a result analogous to that of
using polished rice as a staple diet--and producing beriberi, or,
perhaps more accurately, polyneuritis. I can be sure of nothing yet,
but--it's worth following up."
"Then you think Kato--"
"Not too fast," cautioned Craig. "Remember, others had access to the
kitchen, too."
In spite of his hesitancy, I could think only of the two paragraphs we
had read in Mrs. Wardlaw's will, and especially of the last. Might not
Kato have been forced or enticed into a scheme that promised a safe
return and practically no chance of discovery? What gruesome mystery
had been unveiled by the anonymous letter which had first excited our
curiosity?
It was late in the afternoon that Commissioner Leslie called us up,
much excited, to inform us that the drooping pigeon was already pecking
at food and beginning to show some interest in life. Kennedy seemed
greatly gratified as he hung up the receiver.
"Almost dinner-time," he commented, with a glance at his watch. "I
think we'll make another hurried visit to the Wardlaw apartment."