The runner rose and went around to the swinging door. From the other side of the transom we could, as we had expected, hear nothing. A moment later the runner returned.
"Go in and see him," he whispered.
The man rose and made his way through the swinging door into the back room.
None of us said a word, but Kennedy was literally on his toes with excitement. He was holding the little battery in his hand and after waiting a few moments pressed what looked like a push b.u.t.ton.
He could not restrain his impatience longer, but had jumped up on the leather seat and for a moment looked at the black leather box, then through the half open transom, as best he could.
"Press it--press it!" he whispered to Carton, pointing at the push b.u.t.ton, as he turned a little handle on the box, then quickly dropped down and resumed his seat.
"Craig--one of the waiters," I cried hurriedly.
The outside bar had been filling up as the evening advanced and the sight of a man standing on one of the seats had attracted the attention of a patron. A waiter had followed his curious gaze and saw Kennedy.
With a quick pull on the wire, Kennedy jerked the black leather box from its high perch and deftly caught it as it fell.
"Say--what are youse guys doin", huh?" demanded the waiter pugnaciously.
Carton and I had risen and stood between the man and Craig.
The sound of voices in high pitch was enough to attract a crowd ever ready to watch a sc.r.a.p. Mindful of the famous "flying wedge" of waiters at Farrell"s for the purpose of hustling objectionable and obstreperous customers with despatch to the sidewalk, I was prepared for anything.
The runner who was sitting alone in the next booth, leaned out and gazed around the corner into ours.
"Carton!" he shouted in a tone that could have been heard on the street.
The effect of the name of the District Attorney was magical. For the moment, the crowd fell back. Before the tough waiters or anyone else could make up their minds just what to do, Kennedy, who had tucked the box into his capacious side pocket, took each of us by the arm and we shoved our way through the crowd.
The head waiter followed us to the door, but offered no resistance. In fact no one seemed to know just what to do and it was all over so quickly that even Kahn himself had not time to get a glimpse of us through the swinging door.
A moment later we had piled into a taxicab at the curb and were speeding through the now deserted streets uptown to the laboratory.
Kennedy was jubilant. "I may have almost precipitated a riot," he chortled, "but I"m glad I stood up. I think it must have been at the psychological moment."
At the laboratory he threw off his coat and prepared to plunge into work with various mysterious pans of chemicals, baths, jars, and beakers.
"What is it?" asked Carton, as Kennedy carefully took out the dark leather box, shielding it from the glare of a mercury vapour light.
"A camera with a newly-invented electrically operated between-lens shutter of great illumination and efficiency," he explained. "It has always been practically impossible to get such pictures as I wanted, but this new shutter has so much greater speed than anything else ever invented before, that it is possible to use it in this sort of detective work. I"ve proved its speed up to one two-thousandth of a second. It may or may not have worked, but if it has we"ve caught someone, right in the act."
Kennedy had a "studio" of his own which was quite equal to the emergency of developing the two pictures which he had taken with the new camera.
Late as it was, we waited for him to finish, just as we would have waited down in the Star office if one of our staff photographers had come in with something important.
At last Kennedy emerged from his workshop. As he did so, he slapped down two untoned prints.
Both were necessarily indistinct owing to the conditions under which they had had to be taken. But they were quite sufficient for the purpose.
As Carton bent over the second one, which showed Kahn in the very act of handing over a roll of bills to the rather anemic man whom his runner had brought to him, Carton addressed the photograph as if it had been Kahn himself.
"I have you at last," he cried. "This is the end of your secret ring of jury fixers. I think that will about settle the case of Kahn, if not of Dopey Jack, when we get ready to spring it. Kennedy, make another set of prints and let me lock them in a safe deposit vault. That"s as precious to me as if it were the Black Book itself!"
Craig laughed. "Not such a bad evening"s work, after all," he remarked, clearing things up. "Do you realize what time it is?"
Carton glanced perfunctorily at his watch. "I had forgotten time," he returned.
"Yes," agreed Craig, "but to-morrow is another day, you know. I don"t object to staying up all night, or even several nights, but there doesn"t seem to be anything more that we can do now, and it may be that we shall need our strength later. This is, after all, only a beginning in getting at the man higher up."
"The man highest up," corrected Carton, with elation as we parted on the campus, Kennedy and I to go to our apartment.
"See you in the morning, Carton," bade Kennedy. "By that time, no doubt, there will be some news of the Black Book."
We arrived at our apartment a few minutes later. On the floor was some mail which Kennedy quickly ran over. It did not appear to be of any importance--that is, it had no bearing on the case which was now absorbing our attention.
"Well, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed as he tore open one diminutive letter. "That was thoughtful, anyhow. She must have sent us that a few minutes after we left headquarters."
He handed me an engraved card. It was from Miss Ashton, inviting us to a non-partisan suffrage evening at her studio in her home, to be followed by a dance.
Underneath she had written a few words of special invitation, ending, "I shall try to have some people there who may be able to help us in the Betty Blackwell matter."
X
THE AFTERNOON DANCE
It was early the following morning that I missed Kennedy from our apartment. Naturally I guessed from my previous experiences with that gentleman that he would most likely be found at his laboratory, and I did not worry, but put the finishing touches on a special article for the Star which I had promised for that day and had already nearly completed.
Consequently it was not until the forenoon that I sauntered around to the Chemistry Building. Precisely as I had expected, I found Kennedy there at work.
I had been there scarcely a quarter of an hour when the door opened and Clare Kendall entered with a cheery greeting. It was evident that she had something to report.
"The letter to Betty Blackwell which you sent to the Montmartre has come back, unopened," she announced, taking from her handbag a letter stamped with the post-office form indicating that the addressee could not be found and that the letter was returned to the sender. The stamped hand of the post-office pointed to the upper left-hand corner where Clare had written in a fict.i.tious name and used an address to which she frequently had mail sent when she wanted it secret.
"Only on the back," she pursued, turning the letter over, "there are some queer smudges. What are they? They don"t look like dirt."
Kennedy glanced at it only casually, as if he had fully expected the incident to turn out as it did.
"Not unopened, Miss Kendall," he commented. "We have already had a little scientific letter-opening. This was a case of scientific letter-sealing. That was a specially prepared envelope."
He reached down into his desk and pulled out another, sealed it carefully, dried it, then held it over a steaming pan of water until the gum was softened and it could be opened again. On the back were smudges just like those on the letter that had been returned.
"On the thin line of gum on the flap of the envelope," he explained, "I have placed first a coating of tannin, over which is the gum. Then on the part of the envelope to which the flap adheres when it is sealed I placed some iron sulphate. When I sealed the envelope so carefully I brought the two together separated only by the thin film of gum. Now when steam is applied to soften the gum, the usual method of the letter-opener, the tannin and the sulphate are brought together. They run and leave these blots or dark smudges. So, you see, someone has been found at the Montmartre, even if it is not Betty Blackwell herself, who has interest enough in the case to open a letter to her before handing it back to the postman. That shows us that we are on the right trail at least, even if it does not tell us who is at the end of the trail. Here"s another thing; This "Marie" is a new one. We must find out about her."
"At the Futurist Tea Room at four this afternoon, when she meets our good friend, young Dr. Harris," reminded Clare. "Between cabarets and tea rooms I don"t know whether this is work or play."