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With almost lightning rapidity he had seized the telephone again and had our old friend First Deputy O’Connor on the wire. Briefly he explained the case, and arranged for the necessary arrests that would bring the principal actors in the little drama to the laboratory that night. Then he fell to work on a little delicate electrical instrument consisting, outwardly at least, of a dial with a pointer and several little carbon handles attached to wires, as well as a switchboard.

I know that Kennedy did not relish having his hand forced in this manner, but nevertheless he was equal to the emergency and when, after dinner, those whom O’Connor had rounded up began to appear at the laboratory, no one would ever have imagined that he had not the entire case on the very tip of his tongue, almost bursting forth an accusation.

De Guerre had complied with the police order by sending Cecilie alone in a cab, and later he drove up with Miss Hoffman. Dr. Preston came in shortly afterward, shooting a keen glance at Cecilie, and avoiding more than a nod to De Guerre. Margot himself was the last to arrive, protesting volubly. Wade, of course, was already there.

“I really must beg your pardon,” began Kennedy, as he ignored the querulousness of Margot, the late arrival, adding significantly, “that is, of all of you except one, for monopolizing the evening.”

Whatever might have been in their minds to say, no one ventured a word. Kennedy’s tone when he said, “Of all of you except one,” was too tense and serious. It demanded attention, and he got it.

“I am going to put to you first a hypothetical case,” he continued quietly. “Let us say that the De Guerres of Antwerp decided to smuggle a great jewel into America for safe keeping, perhaps for sale, during the troublous times in their own country.

“Now, any man would know,” he went on, “that he had a pretty slim chance when it came to smuggling in a diamond. Besides, everyone knew that the De Guerres owned this particular stone, of which I shall speak later. But a woman? Smuggling is second nature to some women.”

Quickly he ran over the strange facts that had been unearthed regarding the death of the dainty Russian dancer.

“You were right, Monsieur De Guerre,” he concluded, turning to the diamond merchant; “it was no suicide. Your wife was killed–unintentionally, it is true,–but killed in an attempt to steal a great diamond from her while she was smuggling it.”

De Guerre made no answer, save a hasty glance at Wade that did not carry with it an admission of smuggling.

“You mean to say, then, Mr. Kennedy,” Margot demanded, “that while Rawaruska was smuggling in the big diamond of which you speak someone heard of it and deliberately murdered her?”

“Not too fast,” cautioned Craig. “Think again before you use those words, ‘deliberately murdered.’ If it had been murder that was intended, how much more surely it might have been accomplished by more brutal methods–or by more scientific. No, murder was never deliberately intended.”

He stopped, as if to emphasize the point, then slowly began to distribute to each of us one of the carbon handles I had seen him adjusting to the peculiar little electrical instrument.

“Let me reconstruct the case,” he hurried on, giving a final twist or two to the instrument itself, now placed before him on a table, with its dial face away from us. “Rawaruska had retired for the night. Where had she placed the diamond? It would probably take a long search to find it. Well, the twilight sleep was chosen because it was supposed to be a safe and sure means to the end. Even if she retained some degree of consciousness, she would forget what happened. That is partly the reason for the treatment, anyhow,–the loss of memory.

“Someone believed this was a safe and sure anesthetic. First perhaps a whiff of the secret service ‘bad perfume’ to insure that she would not cry out–then an injection of narcophin and scopolamine–another–and the twilight sleep. A few minutes, and Rawaruska was unconscious.