Part 30 (2/2)
Kennedy smiled, in good humor. ”Searching a man isn't always the scientific method. You won't find the word 'frisk' in any scientific dictionary.”
”No?” The police officer's eyes twinkled. There was enough of the Irish in him to enjoy an encounter of this kind. ”Maybe not, but you might find things in a chap's pocket which is better.” With a flourish he produced a hypodermic syringe, the duplicate of the one I had appropriated, and a tiny bottle. ”The man's a dope,” he added.
”I knew that,” replied Kennedy. ”I examined his arm, where he usually took his shots, and found no fresh mark of the needle.”
”That doesn't prove anything. Wait until the medical examiner gets here. He'll find the fellow's heart all shot full of hop, or something.
I guess it isn't so complicated, after all. He was a hop fiend, all right.”
”Still, there's nothing to indicate that he was a suicide.”
”Not suicide; accident-overdose,” was the sergeant's reply.
”How could he have died from an overdose of the drug, when he hasn't taken any recently?”
”Well”--unabashed--”then he croaked because he hadn't had a shot--the same thing. Heart failure, either way. Excited, and all, you know, making the scene. Maybe he forgot to use the needle at that.”
”Perhaps you're right.” Kennedy shrugged calmly. What was the use of disputing the matter?
I started to protest against the detective's hypothesis. The idea of any drug addict ever forgetting to take his stimulant was too preposterous. But Kennedy checked me. All were now keenly listening to the argument. Better, perhaps, to let some one think that nothing was suspected than to disclose the cards in Craig's hand. I saw that he wished to get away and had not spoken seriously. He turned to Mackay.
”Walter and I will have to hurry to the laboratory. Would you like to come along?”
”You bet I would!” The district attorney showed his delight. ”I was just going to ask if I might do so. There's nothing for me in Tarrytown to-day and this is out of my jurisdiction.”
As we turned away the police sergeant saw us and called across the floor, not quite concealing a touch of professional jealousy.
”The three of you were here at the time, weren't you?”
”No,” Kennedy answered. ”Mr. Jameson and myself.”
”Well, you two, then! You're witnesses and I'll ask you to hold yourself in readiness to appear at the hearing.”
I thought that the policeman was particularly delighted at his position to issue orders to Kennedy, and I was angered. Again Craig held me in check!
”We'll be glad to tell anything we know,” he replied, then added a little fling, a bit of sarcasm which almost went over the other's head.
”That is,” he amended, ”as eye-witnesses!”
XXIII
BOTULIN TOXIN
Mackay drove us to the laboratory in his little car and it was dark and we were dinnerless when we arrived. Knowing Kennedy's habits, I sent out for sandwiches and started in to make strong coffee upon an electric percolator. The aroma tingled in my nostrils, reminding me that I was genuinely hungry. The district attorney, too, seemed more or less similarly disposed.
As for Kennedy, he was interested in nothing but the problem before him. He had been strangely quiet on the way, growing more and more impatient and nervous, as though the element of time had entered into the case, as though haste were suddenly imperative. Once the lights were on in the laboratory he hurried about his various preparations.
The food samples he laid out, but he gave them no attention. The blood smears and stomach contents he put aside for future reference. His attack was upon the drop or two of liquid adhering to the stem of the broken champagne gla.s.s.
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