The Ear in the Wall

by Arthur B. Reeve

  XXV

  THE BLOOD CRYSTALS

  Much as we had accomplished, we had not found Betty Blackwell. Exceptfor her shadowing of Mrs. Ogleby, Clare Kendall had devoted her time towinning the confidence of the poor girl, Sybil Seymour, whom we hadrescued from Margot's. Meanwhile, the estrangement of Carton andMargaret Ashton threw a cloud over even our success.

  During the rest of the morning Craig was at work again in thelaboratory. He was busily engaged in testing something through hispowerful microscopes and had a large number of curious microphotographsspread out on the table. As I watched him, apparently there was nothingbut the blood-stained gauze bandage which had been fastened to the faceof the strange, light-haired woman, and on the stains on this bandagehe was concentrating his attention. I could not imagine what heexpected to discover from it.

  I waited for Kennedy to speak, but he was too busy more than to noticethat I had come in. I fell to thinking of that woman. And the more Ithought of the fair face, the more I was puzzled by it. I felt somehowor other that I had seen it somewhere before, yet could not place it.

  A second time I examined the unpublished photograph of Betty Blackwellas well as the pictures that had been published. The only conclusionthat I could come to was that it could not be she, for although she waslight-haired and of fair complexion, the face as I remembered it wasthat of a mature woman who was much larger than the slight Betty. I wassure of that.

  Every time I reasoned it out I came to the same contradictoryconclusion that I had seen her, and I hadn't. I gave it up, and asKennedy seemed indisposed to enlighten me, I went for a stroll aboutthe campus, returning as if drawn back to him by a lodestone.

  About him was still the litter of test tubes, the photographs, themicroscopes; and he was more absorbed in his delicate work than ever.

  He looked up from his examination of a little glass slide and I couldsee by the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes that he was notlooking so much at me as through me at a very puzzling problem.

  "Walter," he remarked at length, "did you notice anything in particularabout that blonde woman who dashed down the steps into the taxicab andescaped from the dope joint?"

  "I should say that I did," I returned, glad to ease my mind of what hadbeen perplexing me ever since. "I don't want to appear to be foolish,but, frankly, I thought I had seen her before, and then when I tried toplace her I found that I could not recognize her at all. She seemed tobe familiar, and yet when I tried to place her I could think of no onewith just those features. It was a foolish impression, I suppose."

  "That's exactly it," he exclaimed. "I thought at first it was just afoolish impression, too, an intuition which my later judgment rejected.But often those first impressions put you on the track of the truth. Ireconsidered. You remember she had dropped that bandage from her facewith the blood-stain on it. I picked it up and it occurred to me to trya little experiment with these blood-stains which might show something."

  He paused a moment and fingered some of the microphotographs.

  "What would you say," he went on, "if I should tell you that apronounced blonde, with a fair complexion and thin, almost hooked,nose, was in reality a negress?"

  "If it were anyone but you, Craig," I replied frankly, "I'd be temptedto call him something. But you--well, what's the answer? How do youknow?"

  "I wonder if you have ever heard of the Reichert blood test? Well, theCarnegie Institution has recently published an account of it. ProfessorEdward Reichert of the University of Pennsylvania has discovered thatthe blood crystals of all animals and men show characteristicdifferences.

  "It has even been suggested that before the studies are overphotographs of blood corpuscles may be used to identify criminals,almost like fingerprints. There is much that can be discovered alreadyby the use of these hemoglobin clues. That hemoglobin, or red colouringmatter of the blood, forms crystals has been known for a long time.These crystals vary in different animals, as they are studied under thepolarizing microscope, both in form and molecular structure. That is ofimmense importance for the scientific criminologist.

  "A man's blood is not like the blood of any other living creature,either fish, flesh, or fowl. Further, it is said that the blood of awoman or a man and of different individuals shows differences that willreveal themselves under certain tests. You can take blood from anynumber of animals and the scientists to-day can tell that it is nothuman blood, but the blood, say, of an animal.

  "The scientists now can go further. They even hope soon to be able totell the difference between individuals so closely that they can traceparentage by these tests. Already they can actually distinguish amongthe races of men, whether a certain sample of blood, by its crystals,is from a Chinaman, a Caucasian, or a negro. Each gives its owncharacteristic crystal. The Caucasian shows that he is more closelyrelated to one group of primates; the negro to another. It isscientific proof of evolution.

  "It is all the more wonderful, Walter, when you consider that thesecrystals are only 1-2250th of an inch in length and 1-9000th of an inchin width."

  "How do you study them?" I asked.

  "The method I employed was to take a little of the blood and add someoxalate of ammonium to it, then shake it up thoroughly with ether tofree the hemoglobin from the corpuscles. I then separated the ethercarefully from the rest of the blood mixture and put a few drops of iton a slide, covered them with a cover slip and sealed the edges withbalsam. Gradually the crystals appear and they can be studied andphotographed in the usual way--not only the shapes of the crystals, butalso the relation that their angles bear to each other. So it isimpossible to mistake the blood of one animal for another or of onerace, like the white race, for that of another, like the black. In factthe physical characteristics by which some physicians profess to detectthe presence of negro blood are held by other authorities to bevalueless. But not so with this test."

  "And you have discovered in this case?" I asked.

  "That the blood on the bandage from the face of that woman who escapedwas not the blood of a pure Caucasian. She shows traces of negro blood,in fact exactly what would have been expected of a mulatto."

  It dawned on me that the woman must have been Marie, after all; atleast that that was what he meant.

  "But," I objected, "one look at her face was enough to show that shewas not the dark-skinned Marie with her straight nose, her dark hairand other features. This woman was fair, had a nose that was almosthooked and hair that was almost flaxen. Remember the portrait parle."

  "Just so--the portrait parle. That is what I am remembering. You recallCarton discovered that in some way these people found out that we wereusing it? What would they do? Why, they have thought out the onlypossible way in which to beat it, don't you see?

  "Marie, Madame Margot, whatever you call her, had a beauty parlour. Oh,they are clever, these people. They reasoned it all out. What was abeauty parlour, a cosmetic surgery, for, if it could not be used tosave them? They knew we had her scientific description. What was thething to do, then? Why, change it, of course, change her!"

  Kennedy was quite excited now.

  "You know what Miss Kendall said of decorative surgery, there? Theychange noses, ears, foreheads, chins, even eyes. They put the thing upto Dr. Harris with his knives and bandages and lotions. He must workquickly. It would take all his time. So he disappeared into Margot'sand stayed there. Marie also stayed there until such time as she mightbe able to walk out, another person entirely. Harris must have hadcharge of her features. The attendants in Margot's had charge of hercomplexion and hair--those were the things in which they specialized.

  "Don't you see it all now? She could retire a few days into the dopejoint next door and she would emerge literally a new woman ready toface us, even with Bertillon's portrait parle against her."

  It was amazing how quickly Kennedy pieced the facts together into anexplanation.

  "Yes," he concluded triumphantly, "that blonde woman was ourdark-skinned mulatto made over--Marie. But they can't e
scape the powerof science, even by using science themselves. She might change heridentity to our eyes, but she could not before the Reichert test andthe microscope. No, the Ethiopian could not change her skin before theeye of science."

  It was late in the afternoon that Kennedy received a hurried telephonecall from Miss Kendall. I could tell by the scraps of conversationwhich I overheard that it was most important.

  "That girl, Sybil Seymour, has broken down," was all he said as heturned from the instrument. "She will be here to-day with Miss Kendall.You must see Carton immediately. Tell him not to fail to be here, atthe laboratory, this afternoon at three, sharp."

  He was gone before I could question him further and there was nothingfor me to do but to execute the commission he had laid on me.

  I met Carton at his club, relating to him all that I could about theprogress of the case. He seemed interested but I could see that hismind was really not on it. The estrangement between him and MargaretAshton outweighed success in this case and even in the election.

  Half an hour before the appointed time, however, we arrived at thelaboratory in Carton's car, to find Kennedy already there, putting thefinishing touches on the preparations he was making to receive his"guests."

  "Dorgan will be here," he answered, evading Carton's question as towhat he had discovered.

  "Dorgan?" we repeated in surprise.

  "Yes. I have made arrangements to have Martin Ogleby, too. They won'tdare stay away. Ike the Dropper, Dr. Harris, and Marie Margot have notbeen found yet, but Miss Kendall will bring Sybil Seymour. Then weshall see."

  The door opened. It was Ogleby. He bowed stiffly, but before he couldsay anything, a noise outside heralded the arrival of someone else.

  It proved to be Dorgan, who had come from an opposite direction. Dorganseemed to treat the whole affair with contempt, which he took pleasurein showing. He was cool and calm, master of himself, in any situationno matter how hostile.

  As we waited, the strained silence, broken only by an occasionalwhisper between Carton and Kennedy, was relieved even by the arrival ofMiss Kendall and Sybil Seymour in a cab. As they entered I fancied thata friendship had sprung up between the two, that Miss Kendall had wonher fight for the girl. Indeed, I suspect that it was the first time inyears that the girl had had a really disinterested friend of either sex.

  I thought Ogleby visibly winced as he caught sight of Miss Seymour. Heevidently had not expected her, and I thought that perhaps he had norelish for the recollection of the Montmartre which her presencesuggested.

  Miss Seymour, now like herself as she had appeared first behind thedesk at the hotel, only subdued and serious, seemed ill at ease.Dorgan, on the other hand, bowed to her brazenly and mockingly. He wasevidently preparing against any surprises which Craig might have instore, and maintained his usual surly silence.

  "Perhaps," hemmed Ogleby, clearing his throat and looking at his watchostentatiously, "Professor Kennedy can inform us regarding the purposeof this extra-legal proceeding? Some of us, I know, have otherengagements. I would suggest that you begin, Professor."

  He placed a sarcastic emphasis on the word "professor," as the two menfaced each other--Craig tall, clean-cut, earnest; Ogleby polished,smooth, keen.

  "Very well," replied Craig with that steel-trap snap of his jaws whichI knew boded ill for someone.

  "It is not necessary for me to repeat what has happened at theMontmartre and the beauty parlour adjoining it," began Kennedydeliberately. "One thing, however, I want to say. Twice, now, I haveseen Dr. Harris handing out packets of drugs--once to Ike the Dropper,agent for the police and a corrupt politician, and once to a mulattowoman, almost white, who conducted the beauty parlour and dope jointwhich I have mentioned, a friend and associate of Ike the Dropper, aconstant go-between from Ike to the corrupt person higher up.

  "This woman, whom I have just mentioned, we have been seeking by use ofBertillon's new system of the portrait parle. She has escaped, for thetime, by a very clever ruse, by changing her very face in the beautyparlour. She is Madame Margot herself!"

  Not a word was breathed by any of the little audience as they hung onKennedy's words.

  "Why was it necessary to get Betty Blackwell out of the way?" he askedsuddenly, then without waiting for an answer, "You know and DistrictAttorney Carton knows. Someone was afraid of Carton and his crusade.Someone wanted to destroy the value of that Black Book, which I nowhave. The only safety lay in removing the person whose evidence wouldbe required in court to establish it--Betty Blackwell. And the manner?What more natural than to use the dope fiends and the degenerates ofthe Montmartre gang?"

  "That's silly," interrupted Ogleby contemptuously.

  "Silly? You can say that--you, the tool of that--that monster?"

  It was a woman's voice that interrupted. I turned. Sybil Seymour, herface blazing with resentment, had risen and was facing Ogleby squarely.

  "You lie!" exclaimed the Silent Boss, forgetting both his silence andhis superciliousness.

  The situation was tense as the girl faced him.

  "Go on, Sybil," urged Clare.

  "Be careful, woman," cried Dorgan roughly.

  Sybil Seymour turned quickly to her new assailant. "You are the man forwhom we were all coined into dollars," she scorned,"Dorgan--politician, man higher up! You reaped the profits through yourdirty agent, Ike the Dropper, and those over him, even the police youcontrolled. Dr. Harris, Marie Margot, all are your tools--and the worstof them all is this man Martin Ogleby!"

  Dorgan's face was livid. For once in his life he was speechless ratherthan silent, as the girl poured out the inside gossip of the Montmartrewhich Kennedy had now stamped with the earmarks of legal proof.

  She had turned from Dorgan, as if from an unclean animal and was nowfacing Ogleby.

  "As for you, Martin Ogleby, they call you a club-man and societyleader. Do you want to know what club I think you really belong to--youwho have involved one girl after another in the meshes of this devilishSystem? You belong to the Abduction Club--that is what I would callit--you--you libertine!"