A Modern Wizard

"What are they?"

"Matilda Grath is an avaricious old woman. Her letter was in the nature of blackmail. She did not actually know that the Doctor is the boy's father, but she adopted that idea merely from the fact that he appeared upon the scene as soon as the guardian died. Then at the auction, it appears that there was a squabble over the possession of a collie dog, and the Doctor settled the dispute by purchasing the animal, and presenting it to Leon."

"Oh! He did that?" Madame was inwardly incensed, but she quickly suppressed any expression of her emotion.

"Yes! Old Miss Grath thought this was 'queer.' Then when she subsequently learned, what she did not at first know, that Leon had been taken into the Doctor's home, her doubts vanished. This accounts for her allusion to the Doctor in the letter, and the reason why she did not write again, was that she had no proof with which to substantiate her suspicions. I instituted a search, however, and unearthed a package of old letters in a worm eaten writing-desk, upon which no bid had been offered at the auction, so that it had been thrown into the waste bin in the barn. Among these I found two, which were from the Doctor, alluding to the boy, and also a photograph of himself sent at the earnest solicitation of Margaret Grath, as one letter explains. I suppose he thought that this was the least repayment he could make for a lifelong sacrifice."

"You have those letters?" asked Madame, with some anxiety.

"I have them here," answered the detective. "Do you wish them?"

"I do!"

"I will give them to you upon one condition, – that you give them to your husband. They are perhaps more valuable to Leon, as the only evidence which would prove that he is the Doctor's son. But as the Doctor has taken him into his house, it is evident that he means to provide for him."

"I will accept your terms. My husband shall know what you have told me, and I will give him the letters to-night."

"With that understanding, I give them into your custody."

He handed a packet to Madame, who quickly placed it in her hand-satchel. Then she arose to depart. Handing him a check already signed she said:

"Please fill in the amount of my indebtedness to you."

Mr. Barnes took the check, wrote "five hundred dollars" on the proper line, and handed it back to Madame Medjora.

"Will that be satisfactory?" he asked.

"Quite!" she answered shortly, and left the office. Having accomplished her purpose she had no further need to assume a friendliness which she did not feel.

All the way home this woman's heart grew more and more bitter because of the jealous thoughts that rankled in her breast. Her love for her husband was of that selfish sort, that exacted all for herself. She wished not only to be first in his affections, but she desired to be second, third, and last. He must not love any other than herself, unless indeed it might have been a child of hers. Having been denied that boon, she could not bear to think that he had been the father of a child not hers. She hated that dead mother, and lacking opportunity to vent her spite in that direction, she transferred her venom to her offspring. She had never liked Leon, but now she despised him utterly. She thought of Lossy, the dog which her husband had bought and presented to Leon. That the Doctor should have been so solicitous for the lad, galled her. The dog had always been an object upon which she would vent her spite when it could not be known, but now she would give some open evidence of her displeasure.

As she entered the hallway at home, imagine her delight to see Lossy, poor dog, sitting down idly tearing a fine lace handkerchief with his teeth. It seemed to her that Providence offered her an excuse for what she contemplated. She called the dog to her, and the faithful, unsuspecting creature followed her up the stairs to his doom. She went into the laboratory, knowing that both the Doctor and Leon were out, and readily found a bottle marked "Aconite."

She sat upon a low bench and called Lossy. The confiding beast went to her, and, raising himself, planted his forepaws in her lap. He would have kissed her face, but she prevented him. Grasping his jaws in her powerful hands she forced them open, and poured the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth, holding his jaws apart until he was forced to swallow the liquid. Then she released him, and he ran to that asylum of refuge and safety, his master's room. Alas, that master was away, courting! Thus Lossy's fate was sealed!

Madame awaited for Leon's return, anxious to gloat over his grief at the death of his pet, and it was for this, and to carry out another design, that she went to his room while he was ministering to his dog. Before she could fulfil her other project her husband, having returned home, interrupted them, having been attracted by the noise from Leon's room.

When she left them Madame went to her own apartment, and after the death of the dog, Dr. Medjora followed her there, determined to discover the whole truth. As he entered she arose to meet him, facing him with an undaunted air.

"Cora," demanded the Doctor, "how dared you commit such a hideous crime? Why did you poison that dog?"

"Because it was my pleasure to do so!"

"Your pleasure to deprive a poor dumb brute of life? You should be ashamed to make such a confession!"

"I am not the only one who might make confessions!"

"What do you mean?" The Doctor instantly realized that a covert threat lay hidden in her words.

"You have deceived me," cried his wife, at last giving full play to her anger. "For years you have lied to me. But at last I know everything. I know who Leon is!"

"Do you?" The man was exasperatingly calm. He folded his arms and, gazing coldly upon the wrathful woman, added, "What is it that you think you know?"

"I do not think! I tell you I know! You brought him here, calling him a poor boy whom you wished to befriend. That was a lie! He is your own child!"

"How do you know that?"

"I hired a detective. He found out the whole hideous truth. I have your letters for proof, so you need not attempt denial."

"So you have found letters? Are they genuine? Let me see them?"

"I am not such a fool as that. I have hidden them where you cannot find them. I have a better use for them than to give them to you!"

"Indeed, and may I ask what use you intend to make of them?"

"I mean to take them to Judge Dudley, and to his daughter Agnes! Ha!

That idea does not please you, does it?"

"With what purpose would you show them the letters?"

"I know what you are aiming at! I am not the fool that you think! I have studied you, and watched you all these years, and I understand you very well. You wish Leon and Agnes to be married?"

"I do! What of it?"

"What of it? It shall never be! That shall be my vengeance for your long deception. I will prevent that marriage if it cost me my life!"

"If you dare to interfere with my plans it may cost you your life!" The words were said in threatening tones, which at any other time would have cowed Madame, but now she had thrown aside her mask, and could not be stayed from her purpose. She answered haughtily, and with a tantalizing sneer:

"No! No! My fine Doctor! You cannot rid yourself of me, as you did of

Mabel Sloane! I will not drink your poison!"

"Woman! Beware!" He grasped her wrists, but with a wrench she freed herself, and stepping back spoke wildly on:

"Yes! You can strangle me perhaps! You are strong, and I am only a woman. But, before I die, I will frustrate your grand scheme to marry this miserable son of yours to an aristocrat. When I tell Judge Dudley that the boy is yours, he will hesitate to admit the son of a murderer into his family. For though he obtained your acquittal, and though he has been your friend for so many years, mark me, he will decline an alliance with one who was so near the gallows!"

She paused to note the effect of her words, a slight fear entering her heart, as she thought that perhaps she had said too much. To her amazement, her husband, without answering a single word, turned and left the room.

Leon lay beside his dog so long, that at last the twilight closed in, and slowly the light of day faded until darkness surrounded him.

He heard the strokes upon the Japanese bronze which summoned him to dinner, but he did not heed. It seemed to him that he would never care to eat again. Through the weary hours of the night Leon was struggling against suggestion. It will be remembered that, in his little story, he likened the killing of a dog to murder. Therefore in his opinion the killing of Lossy, was a murderous act; and thus the thought of murder occupied his mind. He considered Madame a self-confessed criminal, and, as such, justice demanded that she should be punished. But the justice of man did not include her act within the statutes of the criminal code. She had killed Lossy, but, were he to demand her punishment at the hands of the law, the law's representatives would laugh at him. But punished she should be, of that he was already determined.

If it seem to you that Leon over-estimated the wrong which had been done to him, then one of two things is true. Either you have never loved and been loved by a dog, or else you forget that the love lavished upon him by Lossy was all the affection which Leon had enjoyed for years. To the lad, his collie was his dearest friend. In the grief for his death he had even forgotten for the time his human love, Agnes. Thus it was that the idea of meting out justice against Madame himself, having once entered his mind, took a firm hold upon him.

How should he accomplish it? What should her punishment be? What is the usual punishment of murder? Death! A chill passed over him at the thought. Yet was not Lossy's life as dear to him, as Madame Medjora's was to her? Then why should not she lose her life in payment for the crime which she had committed, her victim being a defenceless and confiding dog? Leon pictured to himself how she had accomplished the deed. He saw, in his mind, the poor creature going to her, and thus placing himself within her power. The thought maddened him, and setting his teeth together he muttered audibly:

"She shall die!"

Then his brain sought some way to compass such an end with safety to himself, and before long he had concocted a scheme of devilish ingenuity. His knowledge of chemistry warned him that poisons could be traced in the tissues of the body after death, and that such means would be suicidal.

"But suppose she were to die a natural death? Then, not even suspicion would be aroused."

That was the idea. He must convey to her the germs of some deadly disease from which she would be apt to die. Then the post-mortemwould show nothing out of the common. There would be no way to detect how the disease had been contracted. The attending physician would certify that the death was due to a known disease, and an autopsy, if held, would substantiate his statements.

What disease should he choose? Asiatic cholera? He had some pure cultures in a tube in the laboratory. But no! That would not serve his purpose. Cholera is such an uncommon and dangerous malady, that the Board of Health would strictly investigate a sporadic case. It might not be difficult to trace the fact that he had obtained the germs from the European laboratory whence they had been sent to Dr. Medjora for experimental purposes. It would be safer to select some disease of frequent occurrence. He had the germs of diphtheria also, in the form of a pure culture. Should he use them? It would not be sure that the woman would die, but at any rate she might, and surely she would suffer. Yes! He would cause her to contract diphtheria. But how to proceed? Ah! He would use chloroform upon her in her natural sleep, and thus obtain the opportunity for his inoculation.

And so the idea grew, and his plans were arranged and perfected hour after hour, until at last midnight had arrived. Stealthily he left his room and went towards the Doctor's study. Arrived there, he was about to cross and enter the laboratory, when his attention was attracted by a line of light under the door. Some one was evidently in the laboratory. Leon slipped behind a curtain and waited. The minutes passed tediously, but at last the door opened, and there appeared Dr. Medjora, only partly dressed, his feet slippered. In one hand he carried a night lamp, and in the other he held a bottle and a test tube. Of this Leon was certain. Closing the door of the laboratory, the Doctor crossed the study and went out into the hall. Leon stole after him, and saw him start up the stairs. He watched until, as the Doctor ascended, the light gradually disappeared. Then he heard footsteps overhead, and knew that the Doctor had gone to his own room. Madame slept at the other end of the dwelling.

"Some experiment which he is studying out," muttered Leon, and proceeded with his own grim purpose. He went into the laboratory, and lighted a lamp which was on the bench. He searched the closet where the drugs were kept, but the chloroform bottle was missing. He turned to the rack where he had left the tube in which the diphtheria bacillus had been cultivated, but that also could not be found.

In a moment, realizing that the means of committing the contemplated crime had in some mysterious way been taken from him, he awoke from the delirium of his thoughts, which had been brought on by his grief at the death of his dog, and he fervently thanked the fortune which had saved him from committing murder. Like a culprit, he returned stealthily to his room, head down, and there he sat at the window, looking out at the stars, grateful that he could do so, free from that dread secret which might have been his. He was saved!

On the next morning, however, Leon was horrified to hear that Madame had been suddenly taken ill, and that the malady was diphtheria, in its most virulent form. He could not understand it, but he was more than glad that his own conscience was free from stain.

Two days later, Madame Medjora succumbed to the disease, which is often fatal when it attacks one of her age; and so she went to her long account, with her sins upon her head.

CHAPTER XIV.

SANATOXINE

Mr. Barnes was sitting in his office, looking listlessly over his morning paper, when his eye suddenly met a headline announcing the death of Madame Medjora. Instantly his interest was aroused, and he read the account with avidity until he reached the statement that the disease of which Madame had died was diphtheria. Then he put his paper down upon his desk, slapped his hand upon it by way of emphasis, and ejaculated:

"Foul play, or my name is not Barnes!"

He remained still for a few moments, thinking deeply. Then he resumed his reading. When he had reached the end, he started up, gave a few hurried instructions to his assistant, and went out. He visited the Academy of Medicine and obtained permission to enter the library, where he occupied himself for a full hour, making a few memoranda from various books. Next he proceeded in the direction of Villa Medjora, and arriving there he asked to see Leon Grath.

Leon entered the reception-room in some surprise, and seeing Mr.

Barnes he asked:

"Is your errand of importance? We have death in the house."

"It is in connection with the death of Madame Medjora that I have called to see you, Mr. Grath. I am a detective!"

The effect of this announcement was electrical. Leon turned deathly pale, and dropped into a seat, staring speechless at his visitor. Mr. Barnes also chose to remain silent, until at last Leon stammered forth:

"Why do you wish to see me?"

"Because I believe that you can throw some light upon this mysterious subject."

"Mysterious subject? Where is the mystery? The cause of Madame's death is clearly known!"

"You mean that she died of diphtheria. Yes, that is a fact. But how did she contract that disease? Is that clearly known? Can you throw any light upon that phase of the question?"

Leon controlled his agitation with great difficulty. He had thought, when urged on by that terrible temptation which he had resisted, that a death such as this would arouse no suspicion. Yet here, while the corpse was yet in the house, a detective was asking most horribly suggestive questions. Questions which had haunted him by day and by night, ever since that visit to the laboratory.

"I am not a physician," at length he murmured. "I am merely a student."

"Exactly! You are a student in the laboratory of Dr. Medjora. You can supply the information which I seek. Do you know whether, three days ago, there was a culture of the bacillus of diphtheria in the Doctor's laboratory?"

"Why do you ask? What do you suspect?"

Leon was utterly unnerved, and stammered in his utterance. He made a tremendous effort, in his endeavor to prevent his teeth from chattering, and barely succeeded. Indeed, his manner was so perturbed that for an instant Mr. Barnes suspected that he was guilty of some connection with Madame's death. A second later he guessed the truth, that Leon's suspicion's were identical with his own.

"What I think," said Mr. Barnes, "is not to the point. My question is a simple one. Will you reply to it?"

"Well, yes! We did have such a culture tube in the laboratory."

"Did have," said the shrewd detective, quickly. "Then it is not there now. Where is it?"

"I do not know. I think the Doctor took it away. Of course he used it in some harmless experiment, or – or – or – or for making slides for the microscope."

"You mean that you surmise this. All you know is that Doctor Medjora took the tube out of the laboratory. Am I not right? Now when did that occur? You saw him take it, did you not?"

Leon stared helplessly at his tormentor for a moment, great beads of perspiration standing on his brow. Then starting to his feet he exclaimed:

"I will not answer your questions! I have said too much! You shall not make me talk any more," and with a mad rush he darted from the room, and disappeared upstairs.

Mr. Barnes made no effort to arrest his flight. Indeed he sympathized with the lad, well comprehending the mental torture from which he suffered. He pondered over the situation awhile, and finally appeared to have decided upon a plan of action. He took a card from his case, and wrote upon it these words:

"Mr. Barnes, detective, would like to see Dr. Medjora, concerning the coincidence of the death of his two wives. This matter is pressing, and delay useless."

This he placed in an envelope which he took from a desk that stood open, and then he touched a gong, which summoned a servant.

"Hand this to Dr. Medjora, immediately. I will await a reply here."

Ten minutes elapsed, and then the servant returned, and bidding Mr. Barnes follow him, led the way to the laboratory. Here Dr. Medjora received the detective, as though he were a most welcome visitor.

"So, Mr. Barnes," said the Doctor, opening the conversation, "you have attained your ambition, and are now a full-fledged detective. I have read something of your achievements, and have watched your progress with some interest. I congratulate you upon your success."

"Dr. Medjora," said the detective, with much dignity, "the object of my visit is so serious that I cannot accept flattery. We will proceed to business, if you please."

"As you choose! Let me see! From your card, I judge that you fancy that there is some suspicious circumstance about my late wife's death. You speak of a coincidence which connects hers with that of my first wife. What is it?"

"Both died of diphtheria," said Mr. Barnes, impressively.

"You are entirely mistaken, sir," said the Doctor, with a touch of anger. "My first wife, Mabel, died of morphine, self-administered, and fatal because of other organic disease from which she suffered. She did not die of diphtheria."

"A physician so testified, and signed a death certificate to that effect."

"He did, but he was mistaken. Physicians are mortal as other men are, and as liable to errors of judgment. I repeat, Mabel died of poison."

"Well, we will pass that for a moment. Your last wife died of diphtheria, and she did not contract that disease legitimately."

"No? You interest me. Pray then how did she contract it?"

"By inoculation with the bacillus of diphtheria, Dr. Medjora, and you administered this new form of poison, which an autopsy does not disclose."

"Quite an ingenious theory, Mr. Barnes, and I admire your skill in evolving it. It shows what an enterprising detective you are. You think that if you make a discovery of this nature, you will cover yourself with glory. Only you are wrong. I did not do what you charge. Why should I wish to kill my wife?"

"Because she had discovered your secret!"

"What secret?"

"That Leon is the child of Mabel Sloane and yourself!"

"Mabel Medjora, you mean," said the Doctor, sternly. "When a woman marries, she assumes her husband's name."

The Doctor was apparently very jealous of the good name of his first wife. Mr. Barnes was amazed at this exhibition of feeling. The Doctor continued, as though soliloquizing:

"So you are the detective that my wife engaged? Strange fatality! Very strange!" He walked up and down the room a few times, and then confronted the detective.

"Mr. Barnes," said he, "it is evident that you and I must have a serious and uninterrupted conversation. Leon may come in here at any moment. Will you accompany me to a room below, where we will be safe from intrusion?"

"Certainly!"

Dr. Medjora raised the trap-door, which revealed the secret stairway, and started down. Mr. Barnes arose to follow him, saying:

"You are taking me to some secret apartment, Doctor. I will go with you, but this trap must be left open, and I warn you that I am armed."

"You need no weapons, Mr. Barnes. No danger will threaten you. My purpose in taking you below is entirely different from what you have in your mind."

At the foot of the stairway he turned aside from the crypt of Æsculapius, and led the way into the secret chamber in which the hypnotic suggestion of love had been put into operation. At this time it appeared simply as an ordinary room, the staging and curtains having been removed.

"Be seated, Mr. Barnes," said the Doctor, "and listen to me. You are laboring under a misapprehension, or else you have not told me all that you know. A most curious suspicion has been aroused in your mind. Upon what facts is it based?"

"Perhaps it will be best for me to explain. I must again refer to the fact that your first wife was supposed to have died of diphtheria. Your second wife falls a victim to the same malady. It is uncommon in adults. This of itself might be but a coincidence. But when I know that, on a given day, I revealed to your wife the truth about Leon, which you had carefully hidden from her for so many years, and when I subsequently discover that Madame was attacked by this disease on the very night following her visit to my office, suspicion was inevitable."

"As you insist upon going back to that old case, let me ask you how you can suppose that I induced the disease at that time?"

"Just as you have done now. By using the diphtheria bacillus."

"You forget, or you do not know, that the bacillus of diphtheria was not discovered until Klebs found it in 1883, and the fact was not known until Löffler published it in 1884. Now my wife died in 1873."

"True, these scientists made their discoveries at the time which you name, but I feel certain that you had anticipated them. You are counted the most skilful man of the day, and I believe that you know more than has been learned by others."

"Your compliment is a doubtful one. But I will not dispute with you. I will grant, for the sake of argument, that your suspicion is natural. You cannot proceed against me merely upon suspicion. At least you should not do so."

"My suspicion is shared by another, whose mind it has entered by a different channel."

"Who is this other?"

"Your son!"

"What do you say? Leon suspects that I have committed a crime? This is terrible! But why? Why, in the name of heaven, should he harbor such a thought against me?" The Doctor was unusually excited.

"He saw you take the culture tube, containing the bacillus, out of the laboratory."

"You say Leon saw me take a culture tube from the laboratory?" The Doctor spoke the words separately, with a pause between each, as though stung by the thought which they conveyed. Mr. Barnes merely nodded assent.