Craig Kennedy Stories · The Diamond Maker (2/3)

Doctor Thornton shot a quick glance at Andrews, as if he would like to know just how much his visitor knew or suspected.

Andrews drew a paper from his pocket. “This is a copy of the death-certificate,” he said. “The Board of Health has furnished it to us. Our physicians at the insurance company tell me it is rather extraordinarily vague. A word from us calling the attention of the proper authorities to it would be sufficient, I think. But, Doctor, that is just the point. We do not desire publicity any more than you do. We could have the body of Mr. Morowitch exhumed and examined, but I prefer to get the facts in the case without resorting to such extreme measures.”

“It would do no good,” interrupted the doctor hastily. “And if you’ll save me the publicity, I’ll tell you why.”

Andrews nodded, but still held the death-certificate where the doctor was constantly reminded of it.

“In that certificate I have put down the cause of death as congestion of the lungs due to an acute attack of pneumonia. That is substantially correct, as far as it goes. When I was summoned to see Mr. Morowitch I found him in a semiconscious state and scarcely breathing. Mrs. Morowitch told me that he had been brought home in a taxicab by a man who had picked him up on William Street. I’m frank to say that at first sight I thought it was a case of plain intoxication, for Mr. Morowitch sometimes indulged a little freely when he made a splendid deal. I smelled his breath, which was very feeble. It had a sickish sweet odour, but that did not impress me at the time. I applied my stethoscope to his lungs. There was a very marked congestion, and I made as my working diagnosis pneumonia. It was a case for quick and heroic action. In a very few minutes I had a tank of oxygen from the hospital.

“In the meantime I had thought over that sweetish odour, and it flashed on my mind that it might, after all, be a case of poisoning. When the oxygen arrived I administered it at once. As it happens, the Rockefeller Institute has just published a report of experiments with a new antidote for various poisons, which consists simply in a new method of enforced breathing and throwing off the poison by oxidising it in that way. In either case⁠—the pneumonia theory or the poison theory⁠—this line of action was the best that I could have adopted on the spur of the moment. I gave him some strychnine to strengthen his heart and by hard work I had him resting apparently a little easier. A nurse had been sent for, but had not arrived when a messenger came to me telling of a very sudden illness of Mrs. Morey, the wife of the steel-magnate. As the Morey home is only a half-block away, I left Mr. Morowitch, with very particular instructions to his wife as to what to do.

“I had intended to return immediately, but before I got back Mr. Morowitch was dead. Now I think I’ve told you all. You see, it was nothing but a suspicion⁠—hardly enough to warrant making a fuss about. I made out the death-certificate, as you see. Probably that would have been all there was to it if I hadn’t heard of this incomprehensible robbery. That set me thinking again. There, I’m glad I’ve got it out of my system. I’ve thought about it a good deal since your man was here to see me.”

“What do you suspect was the cause of that sweetish odour?” asked Kennedy.

The doctor hesitated. “Mind, it is only a suspicion. Cyanide of potassium or cyanogen gas; either would give such an odour.”

“Your treatment would have been just the same had you been certain?”

“Practically the same, the Rockefeller treatment.”

“Could it have been suicide?” asked Andrews.

“There was no motive for it, I believe,” replied the doctor.

“But was there any such poison in the Morowitch house?”

“I know that they were much interested in photography. Cyanide of potassium is used in certain processes in photography.”

“Who was interested in photography, Mr. or Mrs. Morowitch?”

“Both of them.”

“Was Mrs. Morowitch?”

“Both of them,” repeated the doctor hastily. It was evident how Andrews’s questions were tending, and it was also evident that the doctor did not wish to commit himself or even to be misunderstood.

Kennedy had sat silently for some minutes, turning the thing over in his mind. Apparently disregarding Andrews entirely, he now asked, “Doctor, supposing it had been cyanogen gas which caused the congestion of the lungs, and supposing it had not been inhaled in quantities large enough to kill outright, do you nevertheless feel that Mr. Morowitch was in a weak enough condition to die as a result of the congestion produced by the gas after the traces of the cyanogen had been perhaps thrown off?”

“That is precisely the impression which I wished to convey.”

“Might I ask whether in his semiconscious state he said anything that might at all serve as a clue?”

“He talked ramblingly, incoherently. As near as I can remember it, he seemed to believe himself to have become a millionaire, a billionaire. He talked of diamonds, diamonds, diamonds. He seemed to be picking them up, running his fingers through them, and once I remember he seemed to want to send for Mr. Kahan and tell him something. ‘I can make them, Kahan,’ he said, ‘the finest, the largest, the whitest⁠—I can make them.’ ”

Kennedy was all attention as Dr. Thornton added this new evidence.

“You know,” concluded the doctor, “that in cyanogen poisoning there might be hallucinations of the wildest kind. But then, too, in the delirium of pneumonia it might be the same.”

I could see by the way Kennedy acted that for the first time a ray of light had dawned upon him in tracing out the case. As we rose to go, the doctor shook hands with us. His last words were said with an air of great relief, “Gentlemen, I have eased my conscience considerably.”

As we parted for the night Kennedy faced Andrews. “You recall that you promised me one thing when I took up this case?” he asked.

Andrews nodded.

“Then take no steps until I tell you. Shadow Mrs. Morowitch and Mr. Kahan, but do not let them know you suspect them of anything. Let me run down this Poissan clue. In other words, leave the case entirely in my hands in other respects. Let me know any new facts you may unearth, and some time tomorrow I shall call on you, and we will determine what the next step is to be. Good night. I want to thank you for putting me in the way of this case. I think we shall all be surprised at the outcome.”

It was late the following afternoon before I saw Kennedy again. He was in his laboratory winding two strands of platinum wire carefully about a piece of porcelain and smearing on it some peculiar black glassy granular substance that came in a sort of pencil, like a stick of sealing-wax. I noticed that he was very particular to keep the two wires exactly the same distance from each other throughout the entire length of the piece of porcelain, but I said nothing to distract his attention, though a thousand questions about the progress of the case were at my tongue’s end.

Instead I watched him intently. The black substance formed a sort of bridge connecting and covering the wires. When he had finished he said: “Now you can ask me your questions, while I heat and anneal this little contrivance. I see you are bursting with curiosity.”

“Well, did you see Poissan?” I asked.

Kennedy continued to heat the wire-covered porcelain. “I did, and he is going to give me a demonstration of his discovery tonight.”

“His discovery!”

“You remember Morowitch’s ‘hallucination,’ as the doctor called it? That was no hallucination; that was a reality. This man Poissan says he has discovered a way to make diamonds artificially out of pure carbon in an electric furnace. Morowitch, I believe, was to buy his secret. His dream of millions was a reality⁠—at least to him.”

“And did Kahan and Mrs. Morowitch know it?” I asked quickly.

“I don’t know yet,” replied Craig, finishing the annealing.

The black glassy substance was now a dull grey.

“What’s that stuff you were putting on the wire?” I asked.

“Oh, just a byproduct made in the manufacture of sulphuric acid,” answered Kennedy airily, adding, as if to change the subject: “I want you to go with me tonight. I told Poissan I was a professor in the university and that I would bring one of our younger trustees, the son of the banker, T. Pierpont Spencer, who might put some capital into his scheme. Now, Jameson, while I’m finishing up my work here, run over to the apartment and get my automatic revolver. I may need it tonight. I have communicated with Andrews, and he will be ready. The demonstration will take place at half-past eight at Poissan’s laboratory. I tried to get him to give it here, but he absolutely refused.”

Half an hour later I rejoined Craig at his laboratory, and we rode down to the Great Eastern Life Building.

Andrews was waiting for us in his solidly furnished office. Outside I noted a couple of husky men, who seemed to be waiting for orders from their chief.

From the manner in which the vice-president greeted us it was evident that he was keenly interested in what Kennedy was about to do. “So you think Morowitch’s deal was a deal to purchase the secret of diamond-making?” he mused.

“I feel sure of it,” replied Craig. “I felt sure of it the moment I looked up Poissan and found that he was a manufacturer of electric furnaces. Don’t you remember the famous Lemoine case in London and Paris?”

“Yes, but Lemoine was a fakir of the first water;” said Andrews. “Do you think this man is, too?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out tonight before I take another step,” said Craig. “Of course there can be no doubt that by proper use the electric furnace will make small, almost microscopic diamonds. It is not unreasonable to suppose that some day someone will be able to make large diamonds synthetically by the same process.”

“Maybe this man has done it,” agreed Andrews. “Who knows? I’ll wager that if he has and that if Morowitch had bought an interest in his process Kahan knew of it. He’s a sharp one. And Mrs. Morowitch doesn’t let grass grow under her feet, when it comes to seeing the main chance as to money. Now just supposing Mr. Morowitch had bought an interest in a secret like that and supposing Kahan was in love with Mrs. Morowitch and that they⁠—”

“Let us suppose nothing, Mr. Andrews,” interrupted Kennedy. “At least not yet. Let me see; it is now ten minutes after eight. Poissan’s place is only a few blocks from here. I’d like to get there a few minutes early. Let’s start.”

As we left the office, Andrews signalled to the two men outside, and they quietly followed a few feet in the rear, but without seeming to be with us.

Poissan’s laboratory was at the top of a sort of loft building a dozen stories or so high. It was a peculiar building, with several entrances besides a freight elevator at the rear and fire-escapes that led to adjoining lower roofs.

We stopped around the corner in the shadow, and Kennedy and Andrews talked earnestly. As near as I could make out Kennedy was insisting that it would be best for Andrews and his men not to enter the building at all, but wait downstairs while he and I went up. At last the arrangement was agreed on.

“Here,” said Kennedy, undoing a package he had carried, “is a little electric bell with a couple of fresh dry batteries attached to it, and wires that will reach at least four hundred feet. You and the men wait in the shadow here by this side entrance for five minutes after Jameson and I go up. Then you must engage the night watchman in some way. While he is away you will find two wires dangling down the elevator shaft. Attach them to these wires from the bell and the batteries⁠—these two⁠—you know how to do that. The wires will be hanging in the third shaft⁠—only one elevator is running at night, the first. The moment you hear the bell begin to ring; jump into the elevator and come up to the twelfth floor⁠—we’ll need you.”

As Kennedy and I rode up in the elevator I could not help thinking what an ideal place a downtown office building is for committing a crime, even at this early hour of the evening. If the streets were deserted, the office buildings were positively uncanny in their grim, black silence with only here and there a light.

The elevator in the first shaft shot down again to the ground floor, and as it disappeared Kennedy took two spools of wire from his pocket and hastily shoved them through the lattice work the third elevator shaft. They quickly unrolled, and I could hear them strike the top of the empty car below in the basement. That meant that Andrews on the ground floor could reach the wires and attach them to the bell.

Quickly in the darkness Kennedy attached the ends of the wires to the curious little coil I had seen him working on in the laboratory, and we proceeded down the hall to the rooms occupied by Poissan, Kennedy had allowed for the wire to reach from the elevator-shaft up this hall, also, and as he walked he paid it out in such a manner that it fell on the floor close to the wall, where, in the darkness, it would never be noticed or stumbled over.

Around an “L” in the hall I could see a ground-glass window with a light shining through it. Kennedy stopped at the window and quickly placed the little coil on the ledge, close up against the glass, with the wires running from it down the hall. Then we entered.

“On time to the minute, Professor,” exclaimed Poissan, snapping his watch. “And this, I presume, is the banker who is interested in my great discovery of making artificial diamonds of any size or colour?” he added, indicating me.

“Yes,” answered Craig, “as I told you, a son of Mr. T. Pierpont Spencer.”

I shook hands with as much dignity as I could assume, for the role of impersonation was a new one to me.

Kennedy carelessly laid his coat and hat on the inside ledge of the ground-glass window, just opposite the spot where he had placed the little coil on the other side of the glass. I noted that the window was simply a large pane of wire-glass set in the wall for the purpose of admitting light in the daytime from the hall outside.

The whole thing seemed eerie to me⁠—especially as Poissan’s assistant was a huge fellow and had an evil look such as I had seen in pictures of the inhabitants of quarters of Paris which one does not frequent except in the company of a safe guide. I was glad Kennedy had brought his revolver, and rather vexed that he had not told me to do likewise. However, I trusted that Craig knew what he was about.

We seated ourselves some distance from a table on which was a huge, plain, oblong contrivance that reminded me of the diagram of a parallelopiped which had caused so much trouble in my solid geometry at college.

“That’s the electric furnace, sir,” said Craig to me with an assumed deference, becoming a college professor explaining things to the son of a great financier. “You see the electrodes at either end? When the current is turned on and led through them into the furnace you can get the most amazing temperatures in the crucible. The most refractory of chemical compounds can be broken up by that heat. What is the highest temperature you have attained, Professor?”

“Something over three thousand degrees Centigrade,” replied Poissan, as he and his assistant busied themselves about the furnace.

We sat watching him in silence.

“Ah, gentlemen, now I am ready,” he exclaimed at length, when everything was arranged to his satisfaction. “You see, here is a lump of sugar carbon⁠—pure amorphous carbon: Diamonds, as you know, are composed of pure carbon crystallised under enormous pressure. Now, my theory is that if we can combine an enormous pressure and an enormous heat we can make diamonds artificially. The problem of pressure is the thing, for here in the furnace we have the necessary heat. It occurred to me that when molten cast iron cools it exerts a tremendous pressure. That pressure is what I use.”