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The Deadly Tube
by
“And before the tragedy,” said the editor with another nameless look, as if he were imparting a most valuable piece of gossip, “it was the talk of the town, the attention that Close’s lawyer was paying to Mrs. Close. But to her credit let me say that she never gave us a chance to hint at anything, and–well, you know us; we don’t need much to make snappy society news.”
The editor then waged even more confidential, for if I am anything at all, I am a good listener, and I have found that often by sitting tight and listening I can get more than if I were a too-eager questioner.
“It really was a shame,–the way that man Lawrence played his game,” he went on. “I understand that it was he who introduced Close to Mrs. T. They were both his clients. Lawrence had fought her case in the courts when she sued old Tulkington for divorce, and a handsome settlement he got for her, too. They say his fee ran up into the hundred thousands–contingent, you know. I don’t know what his game was”–here he lowered his voice to a whisper “but they say Close owes him a good deal of money. You can figure it out for yourself as you like. Now, I’ve told you all I know. Come in again, Jameson, when you want some more scandal, and remember me to the boys down on the Star.”
The following day the maid visited Kennedy at his laboratory while I was reporting to him on the result of my investigations.
She looked worn and haggard. She had spent a sleepless night and begged that Kennedy would not ask her to repeat the experiment.
“I can promise you, Marie,” he said, “that you will rest better to-night. But you must spend one more night in Mrs. Close’s room. By the way, can you arrange for me to go through the room this morning when you go back?”
Marie said she could, and an hour or so later Craig and I quietly slipped into the Close residence under her guidance. He was carrying something that looked like a miniature barrel, and I had another package which he had given me, both carefully wrapped up. The butler eyed us suspiciously, but Marie spoke a few words to him and I think showed him Mrs. Close’s note. Anyhow he said nothing.
Within the room that the unfortunate woman had occupied Kennedy took the coverings off the packages. It was nothing but a portable electric vacuum cleaner, which he quickly attached and set running. Up and down the floor, around and under the bed he pushed the cleaner. He used the various attachments to clean the curtains, the walls, and even the furniture. Particularly did he pay attention to the base board on the wall back of the bed. Then he carefully removed the dust from the cleaner and sealed it up in a leaden box.
He was about to detach and pack up the cleaner when another idea seemed to occur to him. “Might as well make a thorough job of it, Walter,” he said, adjusting the apparatus again. “I’ve cleaned everything but the mattress and the brass bars behind the mattress on the bed. Now I’ll tackle them. I think we ought to go into the suction-cleaning business–more money in it than in being a detective, I’ll bet.”
The cleaner was run over and under the mattress and along every crack and cranny of the brass bed. This done and this dust also carefully stowed away, we departed, very much to the mystification of Marie and, I could not help feeling, of other eyes that peered in through keyholes or cracks in doors.
“At any rate,” said Kennedy exultingly, “I think we have stolen a march on them. I don’t believe they were prepared for this, not at least at this stage in the game. Don’t ask me any questions, Walter. Then you will have no secrets to keep if anyone should try to pry them loose. Only remember that this man Lawrence is a shrewd character.”