PAGE 12
The Firebug
by
“With an ordinary pencil I have written on the paper of the transmitter. The silk cord attached to the pencil regulates the current which controls a pencil at the other end of the line. The receiving pencil moves simultaneously with my pencil. It is the principle of the pantograph cut in half, one half here, the other half at the end of the line, two telephone wires in this case connecting the halves.
“While we have been sitting here I have had my right hand in the half-open drawer of my desk writing with this pencil notes of what has transpired in this room. These notes, with other evidence, have been simultaneously placed before Magistrate Brenner in the night court. At the same time, on this other, the receiving, instrument the figures of the accountants written in court have been reproduced here. You have seen them. Meanwhile. Douglas was arrested, taken before the magistrate, and the information for a charge of murder in the first degree perpetrated in committing arson has been obtained. You have seen it. It came in while you were reading the figures.”
The conspirators seemed dazed.
“And now,” continued Kennedy, “I see that the pencil of the receiving instrument is writing again. Let us see what it is.”
We bent over. The writing started: “County of New York. In the name of the People of the State of New York – “
Kennedy did not wait for us to finish reading. He tore the writing from the telautograph and waved it over his head.
“It is a warrant. You are all under arrest for arson. But you, Samuel Lazard, are also under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Wend and six other persons in fires which you have set. You are the real firebug, the tool of Joseph Stacey, perhaps, but that will all come out in the trial. McCormick, McCormick,” called Craig, “it’s all right. I have the warrant. Are the police there?”
There was no answer.
Lazard and Stacey made a sudden dash for the door, and in an instant they were in Stacey’s waiting car. The chauffeur took off the brake and pulled the lever. Suddenly Craig’s pistol flashed, and the chauffeur’s arms hung limp and useless on the steering-wheel.
As McCormick with the police loomed up, a moment late, out of the darkness and after a short struggle clapped the irons on Stacey and Lazard in Stacey’s own magnificently upholstered car, I remarked reproachfully to Kennedy: “But, Craig, you have shot the innocent chauffeur. Aren’t you going to attend to him?”
“Oh,” replied Kennedy nonchalantly, “don’t worry about that. They were only rock-salt bullets. They didn’t penetrate far. They’ll sting for some time, but they’re antiseptic, and they’ll dissolve and absorb quickly.”