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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id00766" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER X</h2> <h5 id="id00767">AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART</h5> There was a moment of silence. "Briefly put, doctor, the case is this," said Adam Adams. "I want to know if there is anything known to the medical world, a powder or something of that sort, strong enough to kill a person if he should breathe of it." "A powder strong enough to kill a person?" The brow of the old physician contracted. "It would have to be very powerful to do that. You mean if a person was boxed up with it—like one killed by gas?" "No, not at all. I mean a powder that could be held to a person's nose and mouth in the open, when it would make that person sick and give him cramps perhaps." "And kill him?" "Yes." The old doctor rubbed his hands in thought. "That is a subject for speculation. Certain cyanide compounds might be powerful enough to do so under certain conditions. Any real dry powder would choke a person if he got a big dose of it. I heard of a boy who came near dying as the result of breathing in a quantity of extra dry licorice powder. But he was smothered and did not have cramps." "Nothing in the shape of any foreign compound? You once showed me a Turkish liquid that burnt when water was poured on it, and dyed everything blood red." "Ah, yes, the fozeska, something truly dangerous. But I know of nothing— But hold!" The doctor clapped his hands together. "Yes! yes! That would do it, that and that only." "What?" "I had a sample of it given to me some six months ago. It was called yamlang-peholo, and was made in China, from the roots of the yamlang bush—a rare growth found only in the western part of the country. By many Chinamen the yamlang bush is supposed to be accursed, and whenever they come near one they utter a prayer for deliverance from its evils. If you sleep near the yamlang bush it will make you very sick." "And that powder, what did it look like?" "It was blue at first but on contact with the air quickly changed to brownish-white and lost itself, it was so fine." "Evaporated?" "You can call it that if you wish. It was intense. I held it at arms' length, yet it made me sick and I had cramps for over an hour afterwards." "It would have killed you if you had placed it to your mouth or nose?" "Not the slightest doubt of it." "May I ask where you got the stuff?" "It was imported into this country by a drug firm merely as a curiosity. They put it up in tiny vials which I suppose were sent around to different persons like myself. It was a dangerous piece of business and I gave them no credit for doing it." "What was the name of the firm?" "I would not tell everybody, but I know I can trust you to keep a secret. The firm was Alexander & Company, of Rochester, who stand very high in the trade. I buy many things from them, from time to time, and their traveling man, a Mr. Ostrello, gave me the powder when he called. He told me how the firm had experimented on a dog and an ox. Both died in less than two minutes, and each with cramps. But after death neither animal showed the least trace of the poison." "Wasn't this Ostrello afraid to handle the stuff?" "Not as much as I was. He said he was a bit used to it. I told him I didn't want to get used to it. Have another glass of wine?" "No, I prefer to smoke, thanks just the same. I am interested in this yamlang, as you call it. Where can I get the stuff?" "No more of it can be had. I rather think they got afraid of it. Wait, I'll get the vial it was in. Perhaps there is a whiff left in it." "Thanks, but do you think I want to die?" queried the detective, and gave a laugh. When the empty vial was produced he opened it and took a short sniff. Then he drew his breath in sharply. A faint odor was perceptible, the same odor he had detected in the carpet on the upper hallway of the Langmore mansion. "Do you smell it?" questioned the physician. "Yes, but not very well. I don't think it will affect me much." "I trust not, my dear Adams. We cannot afford to lose you. Now, what is it all about?" "Another case, that's all. I don't feel like talking about it just yet. I'll give you the particulars some other time." "And have I helped you?" "I think you have." "Of course there are other powders—and there is chloroform—" "I think we have struck a clue in this. But I must be going." "What, so soon!" Rudolph Calkey looked hurt. "I was thinking you'd stay the day out. We could chat over old times—I'll order an extra supper—" "No, not to-day. When this case is settled, I'll come over and we'll make an evening of it." And then the detective had to fairly tear himself from the doctor and the house. They were old friends and had worked on many a case together. Once back in his office Adam Adams smiled grimly to himself. "Now, Mr. Tom Ostrello, it looks as if we had you good and hard," he murmured. "You were seen around the place at the time of the murder by Cephas Carboy, you left the bit of paper in the library, you quarrelled at one time with Mr. Langmore and also quarrelled with your mother. The murder was committed by means of that deadly Chinese powder, and you are one of the few persons in this country who knew of the heathenish compound. If you are innocent I rather reckon you have a heap of explanations to make." There were two callers who took an hour of the detective's time, and then he prepared to return to Sidham, to learn if possible more concerning Tom Ostrello, and if anybody besides Cephas Carboy had seen him around that vicinity on the morning of the tragedy. "Letty, I may not be back to-night," he remarked, as he came out into the general office. "And it may be that I'll not be back to-morrow." "All right, Uncle Adam. What shall I tell Mr. Capes?" "Tell him that that bond matter must wait. He'll have to get those numbers if he possibly can. The other record was destroyed." As Adam Adams spoke he drew closer to the desk at which his assistant was sitting. He glanced down at an envelope lying there, and started slightly. "Where did this come from, Letty?" he questioned. The envelope was postmarked New York and the upper left-hand corner bore the notice: Return in 10 days to Alexander & Company, Wholesale Druggists, 22-32 Wadley Street, Rochester, N. Y. The girl glanced at the envelope and then at her employer and blushed deeply. "Oh, why that—that is a note from a friend of mine." "A gentleman friend, I suppose." "Yes, Uncle Adam. I met him last winter, at Mrs. Dally's reception. He is a traveling salesman for this house," she pointed to the notice on the envelope. "He wants me to go to the theatre with him, and I expect to go. Mrs. Dally says he is a very nice young man. We—we have been out a number of times." And the girl blushed again. "I know some parties connected with that firm. What's the young man's name, Letty?" "Mr. Tom Ostrello." "Indeed! And he has invited you to go to the theatre with him?" "Yes. Then you know him, Uncle Adam? I didn't dream of that. Don't you think he is—is rather nice?" "Evidently you think so." For some reason the detective could scarcely steady his voice. He was a bachelor, with only some distant relatives, and he thought a good deal of his protegée and her welfare. "I—I do, Uncle Adam. He treats me so nicely. I—I—don't you approve of him?" she went on hastily, searching his face for the smile that usually rested there when he spoke to her. "Why, I—er—I don't know him so well as all that, Letty." For the first time in his life he was visibly confused. "You say he has called on you a number of times?" "Yes, and he has taken me out, let me see, I guess it must be a dozen times all told. I—I wanted to speak of this before, but I—well, I couldn't bring it around. I hope you'll approve, Uncle Adam." "Approve? Of your going out with him?" "Yes, and—and—" The girl hesitated again. Then she arose and buried her face on his shoulder. "Oh! don't you understand, Uncle Adam?" "Letty!" "He is very nice—I know you'll like him when you get to really know him. Of course he hasn't much money, but I don't care for that. You always said money didn't count for so much anyway—that it was character—and he's got that." "Hum!" For the life of him Adam Adams could not speak. He felt himself growing hot and cold by turns. He caught the girl closer. Never had he loved his friend's daughter so much as now. "I hoped you would approve," she went on, shyly. "I—of course I didn't want to leave you—you've been so very good to me since papa and mamma died. But—but Tom doesn't seem to want to wait. He has asked me twice now and—and—I don't know how I am going to put him off. He seems so miserable when I say wait." "Asked you to marry him?" "Yes." "And he wants you to go to the theatre with him—now?" "The invitation is for to-night—he sent it last week. He has been traveling out of town, but he said he would be back some time to-day. I want you to meet him." She paused. "Isn't it all right, Uncle Adam?" He did not answer, and she gazed at him curiously. Then the look in his face made her draw back, slowly and uncertainly. At that moment he felt that the occupation of a detective was the most detestable in the world. "You—you know something?" she gasped. "Oh, Uncle Adam, what is it?" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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