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Hearst's Magazine, December 1912, with "The Kleptomaniac"
I HAD just come in from a journey uptown in the subway, in which I had been prodded in the back by square parcels, poked in the side by round ones, and jabbed in the eye by long ones. It was the glad season of the Christmas rush, and of the million or so passengers daily at that time it seemed that several hundred thousand were habitually loaded down with bundles.
Seated with Kennedy in our living-room was a man, tall, thickset, with a crop of closely curling dark hair, a sharp, pointed nose, ferret eyes, and a reddish mustache, curled at the ends. I had no difficulty in deciding what he was, if not who he was. He was the typical detective who, for the very reason that he looked the part, destroyed much of his own usefulness.
"We have lost so much lately at Trimble's," he was saying, "that it is long past the stage of being merely interesting. It is downright serious—for me, at least. I've got to make good or lose my job. And I'm up against one of the cleverest shoplifters that ever entered a department-store, apparently. Only Heaven knows how much she has got away with in various departments so far, but when it comes to lifting valuable things like pieces of jewelry which run into the thousands, that is too much."
At the mention of the name of the big Trimble store I had recognized at once what the man was, and it did not need Kennedy's rapid-fire introduction of Michael Donnelly to tell me that he was a department-store detective.
"Have you no clue, no suspicions?" inquired Kennedy.
"Well, yes, suspicions," measured Donnelly slowly, "For instance, one day not long ago a beautifully-dressed and refined-looking woman called at the jewelry department and asked to see a diamond necklace which we had just imported from Paris. She seemed to admire it very much, studied it, tried it on, but finally went away without making up her mind. A couple of days later she returned and asked to see it again. This time there happened to be another woman beside her who was looking at some pendants. The two fell to talking about the necklace, according to the best recollection of the clerk, and the second woman began to examine it critically. Again the prospective buyer went away. But this time after she had gone, and when he was putting the things back into the safe, the clerk examined the necklace, thinking that perhaps a flaw had been discovered in it which had decided the woman against it. It was a replica in paste; probably substitutcd by one of these clever and smartly-dressed women for the real necklace."
Before Craig had a chance to put another question, the buzzer on our door sounded, and I admitted a dapper, soft-spoken man of middle size, who might have been a traveling salesman or a book-keeper. He pulled a card from his case and stood facing us, evidently in doubt how to proceed.
"Professor Kennedy?" he asked at length, balancing the pasteboard between his fingers.
"Yes," answered Craig. "What can I do for you?"
"I am from Shorham, the Fifth Avenue jeweler, you know," he began brusquely, as he handed the card to Kennedy. "I thought I'd drop in to consult you about a peculiar thing that happened at the store recently, but if you are engaged, I can wait. You see, we had on exhibition a very handsome pearl dog-collar, and a few days ago two women came to—"
"Say," interrupted Kennedy, glancing from the card to the face of Joseph Bentley, and then at Donnelly. "What is this—a gathering of the clans? There seems to be an epidemic of doing the Christmas shoplifting early. How much were you stung for?"
"About twenty thousand altogether," replied Bentley with rueful frankness. "Why? Has someone else been victimized, too?"
Quickly Kennedy outlined, with Donnelly's permission, the story we had just heard. The two store detectives saw the humor of the situation, as well as the seriousness of it, and fell to comparing notes.
"The professional as well as the amateur shoplifter has always presented to me an interesting phase of criminality," remarked Kennedy tentatively, during a lull in their mutual commiseration. "With thousands of dollars' worth of goods lying unprotected on the counters, it is really no wonder that some are tempted to reach out and take what they want."
"Yes," explained Donnelly, "the shoplifter is the department-store's greatest unsolved problem. Why, sir, she gets more plunder in a year than the burglar. She's costing the stores over two million dollars. And she is at her busiest just now with the holiday shopping in full swing. It's the price the stores have to pay for displaying their goods, but we have to do it, and we are at the mercy of the thieves. I don't mean by that the occasional shoplifter who, when she gets caught, confesses, cries, pleads, and begs to return the stolen article. They often get off. It is the regulars who get the two million, those known to the police, whose pictures are, many of them, in the Rogues' Gallery, whose careers and haunts are known to every probation officer. They are getting away with loot that means for them a sumptuous living."
"Of course we are not up against the same sort of swindlers that you are," put in Bentley, "but let me tell you that when the big jewelers do get up against anything of the sort they are up against it hard."
"Have you any idea who it could be?" asked Kennedy, who had been following the discussion keenly.
"Well, some idea," spoke up Donnelly. "From what Bentley says I wouldn't be surprised to find that it was the same person in both cases. Of course you know how rushed all the stores are just now. It is much easier for these light-fingered individuals to operate during the Christmas rush than at any other time. In the summer, for instance, there is almost no shoplifting at all. I thought that perhaps we could discover this particular shoplifter by ordinary means, that perhaps some of the clerks in the jewelry department might be able to identify her. We found one who said that he thought he might recognize one of the women if he saw her again. Perhaps you did not know that we have our own little rogues' gallery in most of the big department-stores. But there didn't happen to be anything there that he recognized. So I took him down to Police Headquarters. Through plate after plate of pictures among the shoplifters in the regular Rogues' Gallery the clerk went. At last he came to one picture that caused him to stop. 'That is one of the women I saw in the store that day,' he said. I'm sure of it.'"
Donnelly produced a copy of the Bertillon picture.
"What?" exclaimed Bentley, as he glanced at it and then at the name and history on the back. "Annie Grayson? Why, she is known as the queen of shoplifters. She has operated from Christie's in London to the little curio-shops of San Francisco. She has worked under a dozen aliases and has the art of alibi down to perfection. Oh, I've heard of her many times before. I wonder if she really is the person we're looking for. They say that Annie Grayson has forgotten more about shoplifting than the others will ever know."
"Yes," continued Donnelly, "and here's the queer part of it. The clerk was ready to swear that he had seen the woman in the store at some time or other, but whether she had been near the counter where the necklace was displayed was another matter. He wasn't so sure about that."
"Then how did she get it?" I asked, much interested.
"I don't say that she did get it," cautioned Donnelly. "I don't know anything about it. That is why I am here consulting Professor Kennedy."
"Then who did get it, do you think?" I demanded.
"We have a great deal of very conflicting testimony from the various clerks," Donnelly continued. "Among those who are known to have visited the department and seen the necklace is another woman, of an entirely different character, well known in the city," He glanced sharply at us, as if to impress us with what he was about to say, then he leaned over and almost whispered the name. "As nearly as I can gather out of the mass of evidence. Mrs. William Willoughby, the wife of the broker down in Wall Street, was the last person who was seen looking at the diamonds."
The mere breath of such a suspicion would have been enough, without his stage-whisper method of imparting the information. I felt that it was no wonder that, having even a suspicion of this sort, he should be in doubt how to go ahead and should wish Kennedy's advice. Ella Willoughby, besides being the wife of one of the best known operators in high-class stocks and bonds, was well known in the society columns of the newspapers. She lived in Glenclair, where she was a leader of the smarter set at both the church and the country club. The group who preserved this neat balance between higher things and the world, the flesh and the devil, I knew to be a very exclusive group, which, under the calm suburban surface, led a sufficiently rapid life. Mrs. Willoughby, in addition to being a leader, was a very striking woman and a beautiful dresser, who set a fast pace for the semi-millionaires who composed the group.
Here indeed was a puzzle at the very start of the case. It was in all probability Mrs. Willoughby who had looked at the jewels in both cases. On the other hand, it was Annie Grayson who had been seen on at least one occasion, yet apparently had had nothing whatever to do with the missing jewels, at least not so far as any tangible evidence yet showed. More than that, Donnelly vouchsafed the information that he had gone further and that some of the men working under him had endeavored to follow the movements of the two women and had found what looked to be a curious crossing of trails. Both of them, he had found, had been in the habit of visiting, while shopping, the same little tea-room on Thirty-third Street, though no one had ever seen them together there, and the coincidence might be accounted for by the fact that many Glenclair ladies on shopping expeditions made this tea-room a sort of rendezvous. By inquiring about among his own fraternity Donnelly had found that other stores also had reported losses recently, mostly of diamonds and pearls, both black and white.
Kennedy had been pondering the situation for some time, scarcely uttering a word. Both detectives were now growing restless, waiting for him to say something. As for me, I knew that if anything were said or done it would be in Kennedy's own good time. I had learned to have implicit faith and confidence in him, for I doubt if Craig could have been placed in a situation where he would not know just what to do after he had looked over the ground.
At length he leisurely reached across the table for the suburban telephone book, turned the pages quickly, snapped it shut, and observed wearily and, as it seemed, irrelevantly: "The same old trouble again about accurate testimony. I doubt whether if I should suddenly pull a revolver and shoot Jameson, either of you two men could give a strictly accurate account of just what happened."
No one said anything, as he raised his hands from his habitual thinking posture with finger-tips together, placed both hands back of his head, and leaned back facing us squarely.
"The first step," he said slowly, "must be to arrange a 'plant.' As nearly as I can make out the shoplifters or shoplifter, whichever it may prove to be, have no hint that anyone is watching them yet. Now, Donnelly, it is still very early. I want you to telephone around to the newspapers, and either in the Trimble advertisements or in the news columns have it announced that your jewelry department has on exhibition a new and special importation of South African stones among which is one—let me see, let's call it the 'Kimberley Queen.' That will sound attractive. In the meantime find the largest and most perfect paste jewel in town and have it fixed up for exhibition and labeled the 'Kimberley Queen.' Give it a history if you can; anything to attract attention. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, and thank you for coming to me with this case."
IT was quite late, but Kennedy, now thoroughly interested in
following the chase, had no intention of waiting until the morrow
before taking action on his own account. In fact he was just
beginning the evening's work by sending Donnelly off to arrange
the "plant." No less interested in the case than himself, I
needed no second invitation to pull on my overcoat, and in a few
minutes we were headed from our rooms toward the laboratory,
where Kennedy had apparatus to meet almost any conceivable
emergency. From a shelf in the corner he took down an oblong oak
box, perhaps eighteen inches in length, in the front of which was
set a circular metal disk with a sort of pointer and dial. He
lifted the lid of the box, and inside I could see two shiny caps
which in turn he lifted, disclosing what looked like two
good-sized spools of wire. Apparently satisfied with his
scrutiny, he snapped the lid shut and wrapped up the box
carefully, consigning it to my care, while he hunted some copper
wire.
From long experience with Kennedy I knew better than to ask what he had in mind to do. It was enough to know that he had already, in those few minutes of apparent dreaming while Donnelly and Bentley were fidgeting for words, mapped out a complete course of action.
WE bent our steps toward the under-river tube, which carried a
few late travelers to the railroad terminal where Kennedy
purchased tickets for Glenclair. I noticed that the conductor on
the suburban train eyed us rather suspiciously as though the mere
fact that we were not traveling with commutation tickets at such
an hour constituted an offense. Although I did not yet know the
precise nature of our adventure, I remembered with some misgiving
that I had read of police dogs in Glenclair which were
uncomfortably familiar with strangers carrying bundles. However,
we got along all right, perhaps because it was the merry season
of Christmas when everyone was privileged to carry a bundle.
"If the Willoughbys had been on a party line," remarked Craig as we strode up Woodridge Avenue trying to look as if it was familiar to us, "we might have arranged this thing by stratagem. As it is, we shall have to resort to another method, and perhaps better, since we shall have to take no one into our confidence."
THE avenue was indeed a fine thoroughfare, lined on both sides
with large and often imposing mansions, surrounded with trees and
shrubbery, which even in the bareness of winter served somewhat
to screen them. We came at last to the Willoughby house, a
sizable colonial residence set up on a hill. It was dark, except
for one dim light in an upper story. In the shadow of the hedge,
Craig silently vaulted the low fence and slipped up the terraces,
as noiselessly as an Indian, scarcely crackling a twig or
rustling a dead leaf on the ground. He paused as he came to a
wing on the right of the house.
I had followed more laboriously, carrying the box and noting that he was not looking so much at the house as at the sky, apparently. It did not take long to fathom what he was after. It was not a star-gazing expedition; he was following the telephone wire that ran in from the street to the corner of the house near which we were now standing. A moment's inspection showed him where the wire was led down on the outside and entered through the top of a window.
Quickly he worked, though in a rather awkward position, attaching two wires carefully to the telephone wires. Next he relieved me of the oak box with its strange contents, and placed it under the porch where it was completely hidden by some latticework which extended down to the ground on this side. Then he attached the new wires from the telephone to it and hid the connecting wires as best he could behind the swaying runners of a leafless vine that battled with the winter wind for its hold on the house. At last, when he had finished to his satisfaction, we retraced our steps, to find that our only chance of getting out of town that night was by trolley that landed us, after many changes, in our apartment in New York, thoroughly convinced of the disadvantages of suburban detective work.
NEVERTHELESS the next day found us out sleuthing about
Glenclair, this time in a more pleasant role. We had a newspaper
friend or two out there who was willing to introduce us about
without asking too many questions. Kennedy, of course, insisted
on beginning at the very headquarters of gossip, the country
club.
We spent several enjoyable hours about the town, picking up a good deal of miscellaneous and useless information. It was, however, as Kennedy had suspected. Annie Grayson had taken up her residence in an artistic little house on one of the best side streets of the town. But her name was no longer Annie Grayson. She was Mrs. Maud Emery, a dashing young widow of some means, living in a very quiet but altogether comfortable style, cutting quite a figure in the exclusive suburban community, a leading member of the church circle, an officer of the Civic League, prominent in the women's club, and popular with those to whom the established order of things was so perfect that the only new bulwark of their rights was an anti-suffrage society. In fact, everyone was talking of the valuable social acquisition in the person of this attractive woman who entertained lavishly and was bracing up an otherwise drooping season. No one knew much about her, but then, that was not necessary. It was enough to accept one whose opinions and actions were not subversive of the social order in any way.
The Willoughbys, of course, were among the most prominent people in the town. William Willoughby was head of the firm of Willoughby & Walton, and it was the general opinion that Mrs. Willoughby was the head of the firm of Ella & William Willoughby. The Willoughbys were good mixers, and were spoken well of even by the set who occupied the social stratum just one degree below that in which they themselves moved. In fact, when Mrs. Willoughby had been severely injured in an automobile accident during the previous summer Glenclair had shown real solicitude for her and had forgotten a good deal of its artificiality in genuine human interest.
KENNEDY was impatiently waiting for an opportunity to recover
the box which he had left under the Willoughby porch. Several
times we walked past the house, but it was not until nightfall
that he considered it wise to make the recovery. Again we slipped
silently up the terraces. It was the work of only a moment to cut
the wires, and in triumph Craig bore off the precious oak box and
its batteries.
He said little on our journey back to the city, but the moment we had reached the laboratory he set the box on a table with an attachment which seemed to be controlled by pedals operated by the feet.
"Walter," he explained, holding what looked like an earpiece in his hand, "this is another of those new little instruments that scientific detectives to-day are using. A poet might write a clever little verse entitled, 'The telegraphone'll get you, if you don't watch out.' This is the latest improved telegraphone, a little electromagnetic wizard in a box, which we detectives are now using to take down and 'can' telephone conversations and other records. It is based on an entirely new principle in every way different from the phonograph. It was discovered by Poulsen, a Dane, in 1900, while experimenting in telephony.
"There are no disks or cylinders of wax, as in the phonograph, but two large spools of extremely fine steel wire. The record is not made mechanically on a cylinder, but electromagnetically on this wire. Small portions of magnetism are imparted to fractions of the steel wire as it passes between two carbon electric magnets. Each impression represents a sound wave. There is no apparent difference in the wire, no surface abrasion or other change, yet each particle of steel undergoes an electromagnetic transformation by which the sound is indelibly imprinted on it until it is wiped out by the erasing magnet. There are no cylinders to be shaved; all that is needed to use the wire again is to pass a magnet over it, automatically erasing any previous record that you do not wish to preserve. You can dictate into it, or, with this plug in you can record a telephone conversation on it. Even rust or other deterioration of the steel wire by time will not affect this electromagnetic registry of sound. It can be read as long as steel will last. It is as effective for long distances as for short, and there is wire enough on one of these spools for thirty minutes of uninterrupted record."
Craig continued to tinker tantalizingly with the machine.
"The principle on which it is based," he added, "is that a mass of tempered steel may be impressed with and will retain magnetic fluxes varying in density and in sign in adjacent portions of its mass. There are no indentations on the wire or the steel disk. Instead there is a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, which is made by connecting up an ordinary telephone transmitter with the electromagnets and talking through the coil. The disturbance set up in the coils by the vibration of the diaphragm of the transmitter causes a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, the coils being connected with dry batteries. When the wire is again run past these coils, with a receiver such as I have here in circuit with the coils, a light vibration is set up in the receiver diaphragm which reproduces the sound of speech."
He turned a switch and placed an earpiece over his head, giving me another connected with it. We listened eagerly. There were no foreign noises in the machine, no grating or thumping sounds, as he controlled the running off of the steel wire by means of a foot-pedal.
We were listening to everything that had been said over the Willoughby telephone during the day. Several local calls to tradesmen came first, and these we passed over quickly. Finally we heard the following conversation:
"Hello. Is that you, Ella? Yes, this is Maud, Good morning. How do you feel to-day?"
"Good morning, Maud. I don't feel very well. I have a splitting headache."
"Oh, that's too bad, dear. What are you doing for it?"
"Nothing—yet. If it doesn't get better I shall have Mr. Willoughby call up Dr. Guthrie."
"Oh, I hope it gets better soon. You poor creature, don't you think a little trip into town might make you feel better? Had you thought of going to-day?"
"Why, no. I hadn't thought of going in. Are you going?"
"Did you see the Trimble ad in the morning paper?"
"No. I didn't see the papers this morning. My head felt too bad."
"Well, just glance at it. It will interest you. They have the Kimberley Queen, the great new South African diamond on exhibition there."
"They have? I never heard of it before, but isn't that interesting. I certainly would like to see it. Have you ever seen it?"
"No, but I have made up my mind not to miss a sight of it. They say it is wonderful. You'd better come along. I may have something interesting to tell you, too."
"Well, I believe I will go. Thank you, Maud, for suggesting it. Perhaps the little change will make me feel better. What train are you going to take? The ten-two? All right, I'll try to meet you at the station. Good-by, Maud."
"Good-by, Ella."
CRAIG stopped the machine, ran it back again and repeated the
record. "So," he commented at the conclusion of the repetition,
"the 'plant' has taken root. Annie Grayson has bitten at the
bait."
A few other local calls and a long-distance call from Mr. Willoughby cut short by his not finding his wife at home followed. Then there seemed to have been nothing more until after dinner. It was a call by Mr. Willoughby himself that now interested us.
"Hello! hello! Is that you, Dr. Guthrie? Well, Doctor, this is Mr. Willoughby talking. I'd like to make an appointment for my wife to-morrow."
"Why, what's the trouble, Mr. Willoughby? Nothing serious, I hope."
"Oh, no, I guess not. But then I want to be sure, and I guess you can fix her up all right. She complains of not being able to sleep and has been having pretty bad headaches now and then."
"Is that so? Well, that's too bad. These women and their headaches—even as a doctor they puzzle me. They often go away as suddenly as they come. However, it will do no harm to see me."
"And then she complains of noises in her ears, seems to hear things, though as far as I can make out, there is nothing—at least nothing that I hear."
"Um-m, hallucinations in hearing, I suppose. Any dizziness?"
"Why, yes, a little once in a while."
"How is she now?"
"Well, she's been into town this afternoon and is pretty tired, but she says she feels a little better for the excitement of the trip."
"Well, let me see. I've got to come down Woodbridge Avenue to see a patient in a few minutes anyhow. Suppose I just drop off at your place?"
"That will be fine. You don't think it is anything serious, do you, Doctor?"
"Oh, no. Probably it's her nerves. Perhaps a little rest would do her good. We'll see."
THE telegraphone stopped, and that seemed to be the last
conversation recorded. So far we had learned nothing very
startling, I thought, and was just a little disappointed. Kennedy
seemed well satisfied, however.
Our own telephone rang, and it proved to be Donnelly on the wire. He had been trying to get Kennedy all day, in order to report that at various times his men at Trimble's had observed Mrs. Willoughby and later Annie Grayson looking with much interest at the Kimberley Queen, and other jewels in the exhibit. There was nothing more to report.
"Keep it on view another day or two," ordered Kennedy. "Advertise it, but in a quiet way. We don't want too many people interested, I'll see you in the morning at the store—early."
"I think I'll just run back to Glenclair again to-night," remarked Kennedy as he hung up the receiver. "You needn't bother about coming, Walter. I want to see Dr. Guthrie a moment. You remember him? We met him to-day at the country club, a kindly looking, middle-aged fellow?"
I would willingly have gone back with him, but I felt that I could be of no particular use. While he was gone I pondered a good deal over the situation. Twice, at least, previously some one had pilfered jewelry from stores, leaving in its place worthless imitations. Twice the evidence had been so conflicting that no one could judge of its value. What reason, I asked myself, was there to suppose that it would be different now? No shoplifter in her senses was likely to lift the great Kimberley Queen gem with the eagle eyes of clerks and detectives on her, even if she did not discover that it was only a paste jewel. And if Craig gave the woman, whoever she was, a good opportunity to get away with it, it would be a case of the same conflicting evidence; or worse, no evidence.
Yet the more I thought of it, the more apparent to me was it that Kennedy must have thought the whole thing out before. So far all that had been evident was that he was merely preparing a "plant," Still, I meant to caution him when he returned that one could not believe his eyes, certainly not his ears, as to what might happen, unless he was unusually skilful or lucky. It would not do to rely on anything so fallible as the human eye or ear, and I meant to impress it on him. What, after all, had been the net result of our activities so far? We had found next to nothing. Indeed, it was all a greater mystery than ever.
IT was very late when Craig returned, but I gathered from the
still fresh look on his face that he had been successful in
whatever it was he had had in mind when he made the trip.
"I saw Dr. Guthrie," he reported laconically, as we prepared to turn in. "He says that he isn't quite sure but that Mrs. Willoughby may have a touch of vertigo. At any rate, he has consented to let me come out to-morrow with him and visit her as a specialist in nervous diseases from New York. I had to tell him just enough about the case to get him interested, but that will do no harm. I think I'll set this alarm an hour ahead. I want to get up early tomorrow, and if I shouldn't be here when you wake, you'll find me at Trimble's."
THE alarm wakened me all right, but to my surprise Kennedy had
already gone, ahead of it. I dressed hurriedly, bolted an early
breakfast, and made my way to Trimble's. He was not there, and I
had about concluded to try the laboratory, when I saw him pulling
up in a cab from which he took several packages. Donnelly had
joined us by this time, and together we rode up in the elevator
to the jewelry department. I had never seen a department-store
when it was empty, but I think I should like to shop in one under
those conditions. It seemed incredible to get into the elevator
and go directly to the floor you wanted.
The jewelry department was in the front of the building on one of the upper floors, with wide windows through which the bright morning light streamed attractively on the glittering wares that the clerks were taking out of the safes and disposing to their best advantage. The store had not opened yet, and we could work unhampered.
From his packages, Kennedy took three black boxes. They seemed to have an opening in front, while at one side was a little crank, which, as nearly as I could make out, was operated by clockwork released by an electric contact. His first problem seemed to be to dispose the boxes to the best advantage at various angles about the counter where the Kimberley Queen was on exhibition. With so much bric-à-brac and other large articles about, it did not appear to be very difficult to conceal the boxes, which were perhaps four inches square on the ends and eight inches deep. From the boxes with the clockwork attachment at the side he led wires, centering at a point at the interior end of the aisle where we could see but would hardly be observed by anyone standing at the jewelry counter.
Customers had now begun to arrive, and we took a position in the background, prepared for a long wait. Now and then Donnelly casually sauntered past us. He and Craig had disposed the store detectives in a certain way so as to make their presence less obvious, while the clerks had received instructions how to act under the circumstance that a suspicious person was observed.
Once when Donnelly came up he was quite excited. He had just received a message from Bentley that some of the stolen property, the pearls, probably, from the dog-collar that had been taken from Shorham's, had been offered for sale by a "fence" known to the police as a former confederate of Annie Grayson.
"You see, that is one great trouble with them all," he remarked, with his eye roving about the store in search of anything irregular. "A shoplifter rarely becomes a habitual criminal until after she passes the age of twenty-five. If they pass that age without quitting, there is little hope of their getting right again, as you see. For by that time they have long since begun to consort with thieves of the other sex."
THE hours dragged heavily, though it was a splendid chance to
observe at leisure the psychology of the shopper who looked at
much and bought little, the uncomfortableness of the men who had
been dragged to the annual holiday slaughter to say "Yes" and
foot the bills, a kaleidoscopic throng which might have been
interesting if we had not been so intent on only one matter.
Kennedy grasped my elbow in vise-like fingers. Involuntarily I looked down at the counter where the Kimberley Queen reposed in all the trappings of genuineness. Mrs. Willoughby had arrived again.
We were too far off to observe distinctly just what was taking place, but evidently Mrs. Willoughby was looking at the gem. A moment later another woman sauntered casually up to the counter. Even at a distance I recognized Annie Grayson, As nearly as I could make out they seemed to exchange remarks. The clerk answered a question or two, then began to search for something apparently to show them. Everyone about them was busy, and, obedient to instructions from Donnelly, the store detectives were in the background.
Mrs. Willoughby was looking at the gem. A moment later another
woman sauntered up to the counter. It was Annie Grayson.
Kennedy was leaning forward watching as intently as the distance would permit. He reached over and pressed the button near him.
After a minute or two the second woman left, followed shortly by Mrs. Willoughby herself. We hurried over to the counter, and Kennedy seized the box containing the Kimberley Queen. He examined it carefully. A flaw in the paste jewel caught his eye.
"There has been a substitution here," he cried. "See! The paste jewel which we used was flawless; this has a little carbon spot here on the side."
"One of my men has been detailed to follow each of them," whispered Donnelly. "Shall I order them to bring Mrs. Willoughby and Annie Grayson to the superintendent's office and have them searched?"
"No," Craig almost shouted. "That would spoil everything. Don't make a move until I get at the real truth of this affair."
THE case was becoming more than ever a puzzle to me, but there
was nothing left for me to do but to wait until Kennedy was ready
to accompany Dr. Guthrie to the Willoughby house. Several times
he tried to reach the doctor by telephone, but it was not until
the middle of the afternoon that he succeeded.
"I shall be quite busy the rest of the afternoon, Walter," remarked Craig, after he had made his appointment with Dr. Guthrie. "If you will meet me out at the Willoughbys' at about eight o'clock, I shall be much obliged to you."
I promised, and tried to devote myself to catching up with my own work, which was always sadly behind when Kennedy had an important case. I did not succeed in accomplishing much, however.
DR. GUTHRIE himself met me at the door of the beautiful house
on Woodridge Avenue and with a hearty handshake ushered me into
the large room in the right wing outside of which we had placed
the telegraphone two nights before. It was the library.
We found Kennedy arranging an instrument in the music-room which adjoined the library. From what little knowledge I have of electricity I should have said it was, in part at least, a galvanometer, one of those instruments which register the intensity of minute electric currents. As nearly as I could make out, in this case the galvanometer was so arranged that its action swung to one side or the other a little concave mirror hung from a framework which rested on the table. Directly in front of it was an electric light, and the reflection of the light was caught in the mirror and focused by its concavity upon a point to one side of the light. Back of it was a long strip of ground glass and an arrow point, attached to which was a pen which touched a roll of paper.
On the large table in the library itself Kennedy had placed in the center a transverse board partition, high enough so that two people seated could see each other's faces and converse over it, but could not see each other's hands. On one side of the partition were two metal domes which were fixed to a board set on the table. On the other side, in addition to space on which he could write, Kennedy had arranged what looked like one of these new miniature moving-picture apparatuses operated by electricity. Indeed, I felt that it must be that, for directly in front of it, hanging on the wall, in plain view of anyone seated on the side of the table containing the metal domes, was a large white sheet.
The time for the experiment, whatever its nature might be, had at last arrived, and Dr. Guthrie introduced Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby to us as specialists whom he had persuaded with great difficulty to come down from New York. Mr. Willoughby he requested to remain outside until after the tests. She seemed perfectly calm as she greeted us, and looked with curiosity at the paraphernalia which Kennedy had installed in her library. Kennedy, who was putting some finishing touches on it, was talking in a low voice to reassure her.
"If you will sit here, please, Mrs. Willoughby, and place your hands on these two brass domes—there, that's it. This is just a little arrangement to test your nervous condition. Dr. Guthrie, who understands it, will take his position outside in the music-room at that other table. Walter, just switch off that light, please.
"Mrs. Willoughby, I may say that in testing, say, the memory, we psychologists have recently developed two tests, the event test, where something is made to happen before a person's eyes and later he is asked to describe it, and the picture test, where a picture is shown for a certain length of time, after which the patient is also asked to describe what was in the picture. I have endeavored to combine these two ideas by using the moving-picture machine which you see here. I am going to show three reels of films."
As nearly as I could make out Kennedy had turned on the light in the lantern on his side of the table. As he worked over the machine, which for the present served to distract Mrs. Willoughby's attention from herself, he was asking her a series of questions. From my position I could see that by the light of the machine he was recording both the questions and the answers, as well as the time registered to the fifth of a second by a stop-watch. Mrs. Willoughby could not see what he was doing under pretense of working over his little moving-picture machine.
He had at last finished the questioning. Suddenly, without any warning, a picture began to play on the sheet. I must say that I was startled myself. It represented the jewelry counter at Trimble's, and in it I could see Mrs. Willoughby herself in animated conversation with one of the clerks. I looked intently, dividing my attention between the picture and the woman. But so far as I could see there was nothing in this first film that incriminated either of them.
Kennedy started on the second without stopping. It was practically the same as the first, only taken from a different angle.
He had scarcely run it half through when Dr. Guthrie opened the door.
"I think Mrs. Willoughby must have taken her hands off the metal domes," he remarked; "I can get no record out here."
I had turned when he opened the door, and now I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Willoughby standing, her hands pressed tightly to her head as if it were bursting, and swaying as if she would faint. I do not know what the film was showing at this point, for Kennedy with a quick movement shut it off and sprang to her side.
Mrs. Willoughby was standing, her hands pressed tightly to her
head as if it were bursting and swaying as if she would faint.
"There, that will do, Mrs. Willoughby; I see that you are not well," he soothed. "Doctor, a little something to quiet her nerves. I think we can complete our work merely by comparing notes. Call Mr. Willoughby, Walter. There, sir, if you will take charge of your wife and perhaps take her for a turn or two in the fresh air, I think we can tell you in a few moments whether her condition is in any way serious or not."
Mrs. Willoughby was on the verge of hysterics as her husband supported her out of the room. The door had scarcely shut before Kennedy threw open a window and seemed to beckon into the darkness. As if from nowhere, Donnelly and Bentley sprang up and were admitted.
Dr. Guthrie had now returned from the music-room, bearing a sheet of paper on which was traced a long irregular curve at various points on which marginal notes had been written hastily.
Kennedy leaped directly into the middle of things with his characteristic ardor. "You recall," he began, "that no one seemed to know just who took the jewels in both the cases you first reported? 'Seeing is believing,' is an old saying, but in the face of such reports as you detectives gathered it is in a fair way to lose its force. And you were not at fault, either, for modern psychology is proving by experiments that people do not see even a fraction of the things they confidently believe they see.
"For example, a friend of mine, a professor in a Western university, has carried on experiments with scores of people and has not found one who could give a completely accurate description of what he had seen, even in the direct testimony; while under the influence of questions, particularly if they were at all leading, witnesses all showed extensive inaccuracies in one or more particulars, and that even though they are in a more advantageous position for giving reports than were your clerks who were not prepared. Indeed, it is often a wonder to me that witnesses of ordinary events who are called upon in court to relate what they saw after a considerable lapse of time are as accurate as they are, considering the questioning they often go through from interested parties, neighbors and friends, and the constant and often biased rehearsing of the event. The court asks the witness to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. How can he? In fact, I am often surprised that there is such a resemblance between the testimony and the actual facts of the case!
"But I have here a little witness that never lies, and, mindful of the fallibility of ordinary witnesses, I called it in. It is a new compact little motion camera which has just been perfected to do automatically what the big moving-picture making cameras do."
He touched one of the little black boxes such as we had seen him install in the jewelry department at Trimble's.
"Each of these holds one hundred and sixty feet of film," he resumed, "enough to last three minutes, taking, say, sixteen pictures to the foot and running about one foot a second. You know that less than ten or eleven pictures a second affect the retina as separate, broken pictures. The use of this compact little motion camera was suggested to me by an ingenious but cumbersome invention recently offered to the police in Paris—the installation on the clock-towers in various streets of cinematograph apparatus directed by wireless. The motion camera as a detective has now proved its value. I have here three films taken at Trimble's, from different angles, and they clearly show exactly what actually occurred while Mrs. Willoughby and Annie Grayson were looking at the Kimberley Queen."
He paused as if analyzing the steps in his own mind. "The telegraphone gave me the first hint of the truth," he said. "The motion camera brought me a step nearer, but without this third instrument, while I should have been successful, I would not have got at the whole truth."
He was fingering the apparatus on the library table connected with that in the music-room. "This is the psychometer for testing mental aberrations," he explained. "The scientists who are using it to-day are working, not with a view to aiding criminal jurisprudence, but with the hope of making such discoveries that the mental health of the race may be bettered. Still, I believe that in the study of mental diseases these men are furnishing the knowledge upon which future criminologists will build to make the detection of crime an absolute certainty. Some day there will be no jury, no detectives, no witnesses, no attorneys. The state will merely submit all suspects to tests of scientific instruments like these, and as these instruments cannot make mistakes or tell lies their evidence will be conclusive of guilt or innocence.
"Already the psychometer is an actual working fact. No living man can conceal his emotions from the uncanny instrument. He may bring the most gigantic of willpowers into play to conceal his inner feelings and the psychometer will record the very work which he makes this will-power do.
"The machine is based upon the fact that experiments have proved that the human body's resistance to an electrical current is increased with the increase of the emotions. Dr. Jung, of Zurich, thought that it would be a very simple matter to record these varying emotions, and the psychometer is the result—simple and crude to-day compared with what we have a right to expect in the future.
"A galvanometer is so arranged that its action swings a mirror from side to side, reflecting a light. This light falls on a ground-glass scale marked off into centimeters, and the arrow is made to follow the beam of light. A pen pressing down on a metal drum carrying a long roll of paper revolved by machinery records the variations. Dr. Guthrie, who had charge of the recording, simply sat in front of the ground glass and with the arrow point followed the reflection of the light as it moved along the scale, in this way making a record on the paper on the drum, which I see he is now holding in his hand.
"Mrs. Willoughby, the subject, and myself, the examiner, sat here, facing each other over this table. Through those metal domes on which she was to keep her hands she received an electric current so weak that it could not be felt even by the most sensitive nerves. Now with every increase in her emotion either while I was putting questions to her or showing her the pictures, whether she showed it outwardly or not, she increased her body's resistance to the current that was being passed in through her hands. The increase was felt by the galvanometer connected by wires in the music-room, the mirror swung, the light traveled on the scale, the arrow was moved by Dr. Guthrie, and her varying emotions were recorded indelibly upon the revolving sheet of paper, recorded in such a way as to show their intensity and reveal to the trained scientist much of the mental condition of the subject."
Kennedy and Dr. Guthrie now conversed in low tones. Once in a while I could catch a scrap of the conversation—"not an epileptic," "no abnormal conformation of the head," "certain mental defects," "often the result of sickness or accident."
"Every time that woman appeared there was a most peculiar disturbance," remarked Dr. Guthrie as Kennedy took the roll of paper from him and studied it carefully.
At length the light seemed to break through his face.
"Among the various kinds of insanity," he said, slowly measuring his words, "there is one that manifests itself as an irresistible impulse to steal. Such terms as neuropath and kleptomaniac are often regarded as rather elegant names for contemptible excuses invented by medical men to cover up stealing. People are prone to say cynically, 'Poor man's sins; rich man's diseases.' Yet kleptomania does exist, and it is easy to make it seem like crime when it is really persistent, incorrigible, and irrational stealing. Often it is so great as to be incurable. Cases have been recorded of clergymen who were kleptomaniacs and in one instance a dying victim stole the snuff-box of his confessor.
"It is the pleasure and excitement of stealing, not the desire for the object stolen, which distinguishes the kleptomaniac from the ordinary thief. Usually the kleptomaniac is a woman, with an insane desire to steal for the mere sake of stealing. The morbid craving for excitement which is at the bottom of so many motiveless and useless crimes, again and again has driven apparently sensible men and women to ruin and even to suicide. It is a form of emotional insanity, not loss of control of the will, but perversion of the will. Some are models in their lucid intervals, but when the mania is on them they cannot resist. The very act of taking constitutes the pleasure, not possession. One must take into consideration many things, for such diseases as kleptomania belong exclusively to civilization; they are the product of an age of sensationalism. Naturally enough, woman, with her delicately balanced nervous organization, is the first and chief offender."
Kennedy had seated himself at the table and was writing hastily. When he had finished, he held the papers in his hand to dry.
He handed one sheet each to Bentley and Donnelly. We crowded about. Kennedy had simply written out two bills for the necklace and the collar of pearls.
"Send them in to Mr. Willoughby," he added. "I think he will be glad to pay them to hush up the scandal."
We looked at each other in amazement at the revelation.
"But what about Annie Grayson?" persisted Donnelly.
"I have taken care of her," responded Kennedy laconically. "She is already under arrest. Would you like to see why?"
A moment later we had all piled into Dr. Guthrie's car, standing at the door.
AT the cozy little Grayson villa we found two large-eyed
detectives and a very angry woman waiting impatiently. Heaped
upon a table in the living-room was a store of loot that readily
accounted for the ocular peculiarity of the detectives.
At the cozy little Grayson villa we found two large-eyed
detectives and a very angry woman waiting impatiently.
The jumble on the table contained a most magnificent collection of diamonds, sapphires, ropes of pearls, emeralds, statuettes, and bronze and ivory antiques, books in rare bindings, and other baubles which wealth alone can command. It dazzled our eyes as we made a mental inventory of the heap. Yet it was a most miscellaneous collection. Beside a pearl collar with a diamond clasp were a pair of plain leather slippers and a pair of silk stockings. Things of value and things of no value were mixed as if by a lunatic. A beautiful neck ornament of carved coral lay near a half-dozen common linen handkerchiefs. A strip of silk hid a valuable collection of antique jewelry. Besides diamonds and precious stones by the score were gold and silver ornaments, silks, satins, laces, draperies, articles of virtu, plumes, even cutlery and bric-à-brac. All this must have been the result of countless excursions to the stores of New York and innumerable clever thefts.
We could only look at each other in amazement and wonder at the defiance written on the face of Annie Grayson.
"In all this strange tangle of events," remarked Kennedy, surveying the pile with obvious satisfaction, "I find that the precise instruments of science have told me one more thing. Some one else discovered Mrs. Willoughby's weakness, led her on, suggested opportunities to her, used her again and again, profited by her malady, probably to the extent of thousands of dollars. My telegraphone record hinted at that. In some way Annie Grayson secured the confidence of Mrs. Willoughby. The one took for the sake of taking; the other received for the sake of money. Mrs. Willoughby was easily persuaded by her new friend to leave here what she had stolen. Besides, having taken it, she had no further interest in it.
"The rule of law is that everyone is responsible who knows the nature and consequences of his act. We have absolute proof that you, Annie Grayson, although you did not actually commit any of the thefts yourself, led Mrs. Willoughby on and profited by her. Dr. Guthrie will take care of the case of Mrs. Willoughby. But the law must deal with you for playing on the insanity of a kleptomaniac—the cleverest scheme yet of the queen of shoplifters."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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