The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (the little red hen ebook .TXT) 📖
- Author: Arthur B. Reeve
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"The First Fire," He Began, Repeating His Story For My Benefit,
Although Craig Listened Quite As Attentively As If He Had Not
Heard It Already, "Was At The Big Store Of Jones, Green Leaders
Have Been Arrested, But I Can't Say We Have Anything Against Any
Of Them. Still, Max Bloom, The Manager Of This Company, Insists
That The Fire Was Set For Revenge, And Indeed It Looks As Much
Like A Fire For Revenge As The Jones-Green Fire Does"--Here He
Lowered His Voice Confidentially--"For The Purpose Of Collecting
Insurance.
"Then Came The Fire In The Slawson Building, A New Loft-Building
That Had Been Erected Just Off Fourth Avenue. Other Than The Fact
That The Stacey Interests Put Up The Money For Financing This
Building There Seemed To Be No Reason For That Fire At All. The
Building Was Reputed To Be Earning A Good Return On The
Investment, And I Was At A Loss To Account For The Fire. I Have
Made No Arrests For It--Just Set It Down As The Work Of A Pure
Pyromaniac, A Man Who Burns Buildings For Fun, A Man With An
Inordinate Desire To Hear The Fire-Engines Screech Through The
Streets And Perhaps Get A Chance To Show A Little Heroism In
'Rescuing' Tenants. However, The Adjuster For The Insurance
Company, Lazard, And The Adjuster For The Insured, Hartstein, Have
Reached An Agreement, And I Believe The Insurance Is To Be Paid."
"But," Interposed Kennedy, "I See No Evidence Of Organised Arson
So Far."
"Wait," Replied The Fire Marshal. "That Was Only The Beginning,
You Understand. A Little Later Came A Fire That Looked Quite Like
An Attempt To Mask A Robbery By Burning The Building Afterward.
That Was In A Silk-House Near Spring Street. But After A
Controversy The Adjusters Have Reached An Agreement On That Case.
I Mention These Fires Because They Show Practically All The Types
Of Work Of The Various Kinds Of Firebug--Insurance, Revenge,
Robbery, And Plain Insanity. But Since The Spring Street Fire, The
Character Of The Fires Has Been More Uniform. They Have All Been
In Business Places, Or Nearly All."
Here The Fire Marshal Launched Forth Into A Catalogue Of Fires Of
Suspected Incendiary Origin, At Least Eight In All. I Took Them
Down Hastily, Intending To Use The List Some Time In A Box Head
With An Article In The Star. When He Had Finished His List I
Hastily Counted Up The Number Of Killed. There Were Six, Two Of
Them Firemen, And Four Employees. The Money Loss Ranged Into The
Millions.
Mccormick Passed His Hand Over His Forehead To Brush Off The
Perspiration. "I Guess This Thing Has Got On My Nerves," He
Muttered Hoarsely. "Everywhere I Go They Talk About Nothing Else.
If I Drop Into The Restaurant For Lunch, My Waiter Talks Of It. If
I Meet A Newspaper Man, He Talks Of It. My Barber Talks Of It--
Everybody. Sometimes I Dream Of It; Other Times I Lie Awake
Thinking About It. I Tell You, Gentlemen, I've Sweated Blood Over
This Problem."
"But," Insisted Kennedy, "I Still Can't See Why You Link All These
Fires As Due To One Firebug. I Admit There Is An Epidemic Of
Fires. But What Makes You So Positive That It Is All The Work Of
One Man?"
"I Was Coming To That. For One Thing, He Isn't Like The Usual
Firebug At All. Ordinarily They Start Their Fires With Excelsior
And Petroleum, Or They Smear The Wood With Paraffin Or They Use
Gasoline, Benzine, Or Something Of That Sort. This Fellow
Apparently Scorns Such Crude Methods. I Can't Say How He Starts
His Fires, But In Every Case I Have Mentioned We Have Found The
Remains Of A Wire. It Has Something To Do With Electricity--But
What, I Don't Know. That's One Reason Why I Think These Fires Are
All Connected. Here's Another."
Mccormick Pulled A Dirty Note Out Of His Pocket And Laid It On The
Table. We Read It Eagerly:
Hello, Chief! Haven't Found The Firebug Yet, Have You? You Will
Know Who He Is Only When I Am Dead And The Fires Stop. I Don't
Suppose You Even Realise That The Firebug Talks With You Almost
Every Day About Catching The Firebug. That's Me. I Am The Real
Firebug, That Is Writing This Letter. I Am Going To Tell You Why I
Am Starting These Fires. There's Money In It--An Easy Living. They
Never Caught Me In Chicago Or Anywhere, So You Might As Well Quit
Looking For Me And Take Your Medicine.
A. Spark.
"Humph!" Ejaculated Kennedy, "He Has A Sense Of Humour, Anyhow--A.
Spark!"
"Queer Sense Of Humour," Growled Mccormick, Gritting His Teeth.
"Here's Another I Got To-Day:
Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 35Say, Chief: We Are Going To Get Busy Again And Fire A Big
Department-Store Next. How Does That Suit Your Majesty? Wait Till
The Fun Begins When The Firebug Gets To Work Again.
A. Spark.
"Well, Sir, When I Got That Letter," Cried Mccormick, "I Was
Almost Ready To Ring In A Double-Nine Alarm At Once--They Have Me
That Bluffed Out. But I Said To Myself, 'There's Only One Thing To
Do--See This Man Kennedy.' So Here I Am. You See What I Am Driving
At? I Believe That Firebug Is An Artist At The Thing, Does It For
The Mere Fun Of It And The Ready Money In It. But More Than That,
There Must Be Some One Back Of Him. Who Is The Man Higher Up--We
Must Catch Him. See?"
"A Big Department-Store," Mused Kennedy. "That's Definite--There
Are Only A Score Or So Of Them, And The Stacey Interests Control
Several. Mac, I'll Tell You What I'll Do. Let Me Sit Up With You
To-Night At Headquarters Until We Get An Alarm. By George, I'll
See This Case Through To A Finish!"
The Fire Marshal Leaped To His Feet And Bounded Over To Where
Kennedy Was Seated. With One Hand On Craig's Shoulder And The
Other Grasping Craig's Hand, He Started To Speak, But His Voice
Choked.
"Thanks," He Blurted Out Huskily At Last. "My Reputation In The
Department Is At Stake, My Promotion, My Position Itself, My--My
Family--Er--Er--"
"Not A Word, Sir," Said Kennedy, His Features Working
Sympathetically. "To-Night At Eight I Will Go On Watch With You.
By The Way, Leave Me Those A. Spark Notes."
Mccormick Had So Far Regained His Composure As To Say A Hearty
Farewell. He Left The Room As If Ten Years Had Been Lifted Off His
Shoulders. A Moment Later He Stuck His Head In The Door Again.
"I'll Have One Of The Department Machines Call For You,
Gentlemen," He Said.
After The Marshal Had Gone, We Sat For Several Minutes In Silence.
Kennedy Was Reading And Rereading The Notes, Scowling To Himself
As If They Presented A Particularly Perplexing Problem. I Said
Nothing, Though My Mind Was Teeming With Speculations. At Length
He Placed The Notes Very Decisively On The Table And Snapped Out
The Remark,
"Yes, It Must Be So."
"What?" I Queried, Still Drumming Away At My Typewriter, Copying
The List Of Incendiary Fires Against The Moment When The Case
Should Be Complete And The Story "Released For Publication," As It
Were.
"This Note," He Explained, Picking Up The First One And Speaking
Slowly, "Was Written By A Woman."
I Swung Around In My Chair Quickly. "Get Out!" I Exclaimed
Sceptically. "No Woman Ever Used Such Phrases."
"I Didn't Say Composed By A Woman--I Said Written By A Woman," He
Replied.
"Oh," I Said, Rather Chagrined.
"It Is Possible To Determine Sex From Handwriting In Perhaps
Eighty Cases Out Of A Hundred," Kennedy Went On, Enjoying My
Discomfiture. "Once I Examined Several Hundred Specimens Of
Writing To Decide That Point To My Satisfaction. Just To Test My
Conclusions I Submitted The Specimens To Two Professional
Part 3 Chapter 4 (The Firebug) Pg 36Graphologists. I Found That Our Results Were Slightly Different,
But I Averaged The Thing Up To Four Cases Out Of Five Correct. The
So-Called Sex Signs Are Found To Be Largely Influenced By The
Amount Of Writing Done, By Age, And To A Certain Extent By
Practice And Professional Requirements, As In The Conventional
Writing Of Teachers And The Rapid Hand Of Bookkeepers. Now In This
Case The Person Who Wrote The First Note Was Only An Indifferent
Writer. Therefore The Sex Signs Are Pretty Likely To Be Accurate.
Yes, I'm Ready To Go On The Stand And Swear That This Note Was
Written By A Woman And The Second By A Man."
"Then There's A Woman In The Case, And She Wrote The First Note
For The Firebug--Is That What You Mean?" I Asked.
"Exactly. There Nearly Always Is A Woman In The Case, Somehow Or
Other. This Woman Is Closely Connected With The Firebug. As For
The Firebug, Whoever It May Be, He Performs His Crimes With Cold
Premeditation And, As De Quincey Said, In A Spirit Of Pure
Artistry. The Lust Of Fire Propels Him, And He Uses His Art To
Secure Wealth. The Man May Be A Tool In The Hands Of Others,
However. It's Unsafe To Generalise On The Meagre Facts We Now
Have. Oh, Well, There Is Nothing We Can Do Just Yet. Let's Take A
Walk, Get An Early Dinner, And Be Back Here Before The Automobile
Arrives."
Not A Word More Did Kennedy Say About The Case During Our Stroll
Or Even On The Way Downtown To Fire Headquarters.
We Found Mccormick Anxiously Waiting For Us. High Up In The
Sandstone Tower At Headquarters, We Sat With Him In The Maze Of
Delicate Machinery With Which The Fire Game Is Played In New York.
In Great Glass Cases Were Glistening Brass And Nickel Machines
With Discs And Levers And Bells, Tickers, Sheets Of Paper, And
Annunciators Without Number. This Was The Fire-Alarm Telegraph,
The "Roulettewheel Of The Fire Demon," As Some One Has Aptly
Called It.
"All The Alarms For Fire From All The Boroughs, Both From The
Regular Alarm-Boxes And The Auxiliary Systems, Come Here First
Over The Network Of Three Thousand Miles Or More Of Wire Nerves
That Stretch Out Through The City," Mccormick Was Explaining To
Us.
A Buzzer Hissed.
"Here's An Alarm Now," He Exclaimed, All Attention.
"Three," "Six," "Seven," The Numbers Appeared On The Annunciator.
The Clerks In The Office Moved As If They Were Part Of The
Mechanism. Twice The Alarm Was Repeated, Being Sent Out All Over
The City. Mccormick Relapsed From His Air Of Attention.
"That Alarm Was Not In The Shopping District," He Explained, Much
Relieved. "Now The Fire-Houses In The Particular District Where
That Fire Is Have Received The Alarm Instantly. Four Engines, Two
Hook-And-Ladders, A Water-Tower, The Battalion Chief, And A Deputy
Are Hurrying To That Fire. Hello, Here Comes Another."
Again The Buzzer Sounded. "One," "Four," "Five" Showed In The
Annunciator.
Even Before The Clerks Could Respond, Mccormick Had Dragged Us To
The Door. In Another Instant We Were Wildly Speeding Uptown, The
Bell On The Front Of The Automobile Clanging Like A Fire-Engine,
The Siren Horn Going Continuously, The Engine Of The Machine
Throbbing With Energy Until The Water Boiled In The Radiator.
"Let Her Out, Frank," Called Mccormick To His Chauffeur, As We
Rounded Into A Broad And Now Almost Deserted Thoroughfare.
Like A Red Streak In The Night We Flew Up That Avenue, Turned Into
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