Chapter 23

“It is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for the chemist to state absolutely that he has detected true conine. Before he can do it, the symptoms and the post-mortem appearance must agree; analysis must be made before, not after, decomposition sets in, and the amount of the poison found must be sufficient to experiment with, not merely to react to a few usual tests.

“What the experts asserted so positively, I would not dare to assert. Was he killed by ordinary ptomaine poisoning, and had conine, or rather its double, developed first in his food along with other ptomaines that were not inert? Or did the cadaveric conine develop only in the body after death? Chemistry alone can not decide the question so glibly as the experts did. Further proof must be sought. Other sciences must come to our aid.”

I was sitting next to Mrs. Godwin. As Kennedy’s words rang out, her hand, trembling with emotion, pressed my arm. I turned quickly to see if she needed assistance. Her face was radiant. All the fees for big cases in the world could never have compensated Kennedy for the mute, unrestrained gratitude which the little woman shot at him.

Kennedy saw it, and in the quick shifting of his eyes to my face, I read that he relied on me to take care of Mrs. Godwin while he plunged again into the clearing up of the mystery.

“I have here the will—the second one,” he snapped out, turning and facing the others in the room.

Craig turned a switch in an apparatus which his students had brought from New York. From a tube on the table came a peculiar bluish light.

“This,” he explained, “is a source of ultraviolet rays. They are not the bluish light which you see, but rays contained in it which you can not see.

“Ultraviolet rays have recently been found very valuable in the examination of questioned documents. By the use of a lens made of quartz covered with a thin film of metallic silver, there has been developed a practical means of making photographs by the invisible rays of light above the spectrum—these ultraviolet rays. The quartz lens is necessary, because these rays will not pass through ordinary glass, while the silver film acts as a screen to cut off the ordinary light rays and those below the spectrum. By this means, most white objects are photographed black and even transparent objects like glass are black.

“I obtained the copy of this will, but under the condition from the surrogate that absolutely nothing must be done to it to change a fibre of the paper or a line of a letter. It was a difficult condition. While there are chemicals which are frequently resorted to for testing the authenticity of disputed documents such as wills and deeds, their use frequently injures or destroys the paper under test. So far as I could determine, the document also defied the microscope.

“But ultraviolet photography does not affect the document tested in any way, and it has lately been used practically in detecting forgeries. I have photographed the last page of the will with its signatures, and here it is. What the eye itself can not see, the invisible light reveals.”

He was holding the document and the copy, just an instant, as if considering how to announce with best effect what he had discovered.

“In order to unravel this mystery,” he resumed, looking up and facing the Elmores, Kilgore, and Hollins squarely, “I decided to find out whether any one had had access to that closet where the will was hidden. It was long ago, and there seemed to be little that I could do. I knew it was useless to look for fingerprints.

“So I used what we detectives now call the law of suggestion. I questioned closely one who was in touch with all those who might have had such access. I hinted broadly at seeking fingerprints which might lead to the identity of one who had entered the house unknown to the Godwins, and placed a document where private detectives would subsequently find it under suspicious circumstances.

“Naturally, it would seem to one who was guilty of such an act, or knew of it, that there might, after all, be finger-prints. I tried it. I found out through this little tube, the detectascope, that one really entered the room after that, and tried to wipe off any supposed finger-prints that might still remain. That settled it. The second will was a forgery, and the person who entered that room so stealthily this afternoon knows that it is a forgery.”

As Kennedy slapped down on the table the film from his camera, which had been concealed, Mrs. Godwin turned her now large and unnaturally bright eyes and met those of the other woman in the room.

“Oh—oh—heaven help us—me, I mean!” cried Miriam, unable to bear the strain of the turn of events longer. “I knew there would be retribution—I knew—I knew—”

Mrs. Godwin was on her feet in a moment.

“Once my intuition was not wrong though all science and law was against me,” she pleaded with Kennedy. There was a gentleness in her tone that fell like a soft rain on the surging passions of those who had wronged her so shamefully. “Professor Kennedy, Miriam could not have forged—”

Kennedy smiled. “Science was not against you, Mrs. Godwin. Ignorance was against you. And your intuition does not go contrary to science this time, either.”

It was a splendid exhibition of fine feeling which Kennedy waited to have impressed on the Elmores, as though burning it into their minds.

“Miriam Elmore knew that her brothers had forged a will and hidden it. To expose them was to convict them of a crime. She kept their secret, which was the secret of all three. She even tried to hide the finger-prints which would have branded her brothers.

“For ptomaine poisoning had unexpectedly hastened the end of old Mr. Godwin. Then gossip and the ‘scientists’ did the rest. It was accidental, but Bradford and Lambert Elmore were willing to let events take their course and declare genuine the forgery which they had made so skilfully, even though it convicted an innocent man of murder and killed his faithful wife. As soon as the courts can be set in motion to correct an error of science by the truth of later science, Sing Sing will lose one prisoner from the death house and gain two forgers in his place.”

Mrs. Godwin stood before us, radiant. But as Kennedy’s last words sank into her mind, her face clouded.

“Must—must it be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?” she pleaded eagerly. “Must that grim prison take in others, even if my husband goes free?”

Kennedy looked at her long and earnestly, as if to let the beauty of her character, trained by its long suffering, impress itself on his mind indelibly.

He shook his head slowly.

“I’m afraid there is no other way, Mrs. Godwin,” he said gently taking her arm and leaving the others to be dealt with by a constable whom he had dozing in the hotel lobby.

“Kahn is going up to Albany to get the pardon—there can be no doubt about it now,” he added. “Mrs. Godwin, if you care to do so, you may stay here at the hotel, or you may go down with us on the midnight train as far as Ossining. I will wire ahead for a conveyance to meet you at the station. Mr. Jameson and I must go on to New York.”

“The nearer I am to Sanford now, the happier I shall be,” she answered, bravely keeping back the tears of happiness.

The ride down to New York, after our train left Ossining, was accomplished in a day coach in which our fellow passengers slept in every conceivable attitude of discomfort.

Yet late, or rather early, as it was, we found plenty of life still in the great city that never sleeps. Tired, exhausted, I was at least glad to feel that finally we were at home.

“Craig,” I yawned, as I began to throw off my clothes, “I’m ready to sleep a week.”

There was no answer.

I looked up at him almost resentfully. He had picked up the mail that lay under our letter slot and was going through it as eagerly as if the clock registered P.M. instead of A.M.

“Let me see,” I mumbled sleepily, checking over my notes, “how many days have we been at it?”

I turned the pages slowly, after the manner in which my mind was working.

“It was the twenty-sixth when you got that letter from Ossining,” I calculated, “and to-day makes the thirtieth. My heavens—is there still another day of it? Is there no rest for the wicked?”

Kennedy looked up and laughed.

He was pointing at the calendar on the desk before him.

“There are only thirty days in the month,” he remarked slowly.

“Thank the Lord,” I exclaimed. “I’m all in!”

He tipped his desk-chair back and bit the amber of his meerchaum contemplatively.

“But to-day is the first,” he drawled, turning the leaf on the calendar with just a flicker of a smile.

THE END