Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 214, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 September 1915 — The Strange Adventures of Christopher Poe [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Strange Adventures of Christopher Poe

Sforfea of Strong* Coms Sotvrd to Sacrwr oy a Banior Ftotocftog

By ROBERT CARLTON BROWN

(Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Ch Win >

For a period of several weeks Christopher Poe had enjoyed the let-down of routine desk work. He had resumed his usual workaday life after rounding up a band of counterfeiters at Coney, and classifying their histories in "Volume H" for future reference. One. Monday morning as he sat at his desk opening mall, a chance visitor dropped In with the alarming news that a mutual friend, Boudinot Riggs, was dead. "Boudinot dead?*’ cried Poe, jumping up to throw a light outer coat over his thin office suit, cut Oxford style. "I must go there directly.” "Poisoned, too, Doctor Robinson says. Just met him on the way home to make a test of Boudinot's gouty blood,” said the informant, a fellowbanker. * Christopher Poe waited for nothing else. Old Boudinot Riggs was a distant relation, a temperamental dilettante, sort of a fat, grown-up bad boy, jwho had inherited a fondness for beauty and Indolence, together with something between three and four million beautiful but not too indolent dollars which yielded money interest that Boudinot managed to keep very active, hemmed In as he was by a household of women, Including a kindly old dependent who nursed him, a somewhat shrewish sister who despised him, a young lady secretary who took the place of a business man’s stenographer, and a raft of interested outsiders, poor relations, a lady barber, a lady shirt-maker, a girl who sold him cigarettes, and a petite French manicure. Three of these dependents were . most Important in his life—Mrs. Groves, the nurse, because she mothered him, Miss Riggs, his sister, because she bothered him, and Miss Mig-> non Moquln, because she manicured the squat pink nails of which he was very proud. In consideration of the varying degrees of his interest in these estimable ladies Boudinot had made a will, more or less publicly, in which he left three million to Miss-Mignon Moquin, a half million to his faithful old nurse, and a thousand dollars each to his expectant sister, who’ had no private fortune, his secretary, his cook, and a little scullery maid who polished his boots each night and left them before bis door each morning, after the English fashion. It was this second maid who opened the door to Christopher Poe that afternoon of Boudinot’s death. It was Mrs. Groves, the nurse, red-eyed and trembling, who pressed Poe’s hand with sincere emotion and led him to Miss Riggs, who had just been called back by the news of her brother’s death from Yonkers, where she had gone on a visit that morning. Poe took the cold hand Miss Riggs thrust out to him mechanically. “Isn’t there something I can do?" he asked. “No, everything is quite all right” “But being Boudinot’s friend and banker, I thought—” for your being his banker,” she said, throwing up her head abruptly, “I’ll attend to that after this. Perhaps you don’t know that Boudinot came to his senses last night and changed my name for Miss Moquin’s in that silly will of his?” “No!” cried Poe in surprise, glancing at Mrs. Groves, whose eyes were so big and somber and sad, as though with a concealed story, that Poe asked sharply, “Did you know of this?” The nervous, birdlike little woman looked straight at Miss Riggs, and said in a direct, level tone: “If you hadn’t slandered Miss Moquin and —and driven him to it he wouldn’t have done it This morning when you said you wished he was dead, and slammed the door in his face, he asked me to take him In his. wheel-chair to Miss Moquln, so he could see If you told the truth last night!" Miss Riggs drew up her thin, cordy neck, and* swallowed hard as Mrs. Groves paused before continuing in a higher key: “Oh, I’m going to speak out now. I’ve kept quiet in this hell of a house long enough!” She trembled with emotion. "I was the only one that ever took care of him; I saw that his eggs were poached, just so; I nursed him when his foot was so bad he swore at everybody;!—” “And you’re well paid for it!” snapped Miss Riggs in a voice that sounded like a slap in the face. ‘He left you half a million.” Mrs. Groves’ face had bunched together in an agonized knit. “How can you talk like that, with him lying in there!” she cried. “It isn’t money I'm speaking of, though God Shows he wouldn’t have left me a cent if he’d listened to the things you said against me.” “You lie!” screamed Miss Riggs in tremulous rage. “Miss Riggs,” put In Poe calmly, touching her softly on the shoulder. “Your brother,” he indicated the adjoining room.' “This will rest till later, when —” “Oh, I don’t care about him. What did he ever oo for me?” she burst out violently, a hysterical, dry sob escaping ner .

AT THE MANICURE SHOP

"Try to calm yourself, Mias Riggs," Poe put in softly, adding in a casual tone, “Have they found yet what kind of poison was used?" “Poison!" Miss Riggs jumped to her feet, drew her arms down taut in an effort at self-control, her face went dead white, and she glanced quickly from Mrs. Groves to Poe, both watching her keenly. “Well, what kind of poison do they think It was, and who do you think did It?* she asked In a dry voice, each word an effort. “Oh, it hasn’t gone that far," said the banker in a concerned tone. -“I learned qf it from a friend, and stopped to see Doctor Robinson before I came here. He was making a test of the blood; said as far as he'd gone all indications pointed to prussic acid.” "Prussic acid!” cried Miss Riggs, and Mrs. Groves hovered closer, looking from one to the other with awed, hollow eyes. “Yes, three grains of which, less than a drop, absorbed by the blood will cause death,” said Poe calmly, his eyes on the carpet, though he saw Miss Riggs glance furtively at Mrs. Groves and her expression grow hard. “Then Miss Moquln disliked being cut out of the will?” She forced a laugh. "You mean you think she —” “Either Miss Moquln or his nurse.” She pointed an unsteady finger at Mrs. Groves. "Oh, I’m sure you’re quite too wrought up by the announcement I made: I should have been more thoughtful.” There was shrewdness In Poe’s tone. Mrs. Groves put a timid hand on his arm, and asked tremulously: “Who do you think did it, Mr. Poe?” “My dear lady, I only wish I knew," said Poe vibrantly, adding, “We all wish we knew, don’t we, Miss Riggs?” She replied sullenly: "I don’t care who pois—how Boudinot died, only if that little French manicure did It It would confirm my opinion of her." “Where is her place?” asked Poe casually. “Is she near here?” “Ask Mrs. Groves; she generally wheeled him there,” said Miss Riggs evasively, dropping her eyes sullenly as Poe looked at her. “Not two blocks away, just at the corner, on Broadway," replied Mrs. Groves with eager promptness. Poe picked up his hat, saying, “If I can do anything, you will feel free to call on me, won’t you, Miss Riggs?" The pinch-nosed, aristocratic woman rose, and fixed her beadlike eyes on him. "There won’t be anything,” she said decidedly. "Boudinot will be buried at once, and I shall take my money and go to Europe to live the rest of my life." “I hope you may," said the banker, boding. "Why shouldn’t I?” • "Oh, the state might make inquiries,” he turned to explain, “that ia if Boudinot was really poisoned. That might detain you." “I don’t see how they could detain me!” she cried. “Why, I wasn’t even here when he died." “But you hadn’t left home more than an hour or so before; when the state makes an inquiry, it is apt to want to keep track of everybody immediately concerned, but I hope if there is an in* vestlgation it will not trouble either you or Mrs. Groves."

As he stepped into the hall, Mrs. Groves hovered solicitously near, and asked in an awed whisper: “Would you like to see the body?” “Not now; later, if I —still, I rather think I would." Christopher Poe changed his mind abruptly, and stepped into the room. As Doctor Robinson had already told him, there was not a single bodily indication of how Boudinot Riggs had died; not a bruise, not a scratch. While Mrs. Groves answered a call to another part of the house, Poe made a hasty but minute examination of the exposed skin, finding but little on which to base a vague theory forming in his mind. Then, a worried look expressing itself in the two thoughtful grooves joining his nostrils with the corners of his lips, he left the house abruptly, and crossed to Broadway, where, from a booth in a corner drug store, he called up his friend Doctor Robinson, with whom he sometimes worked. “Hello, this is Poe," he said, on getting the doctor at the other end of the wire. “Found out for sure?” “Yes, no doubt at all. Dilute hydrocyanic acid. I used the ammonia-fer-rous sulphate test. Probably not more than three grains absorbed, 1 should say,” came the answer. “Do you think he drank it?” “No. There was no odor of it about his mouth, but the blood shows it. I can’t imagine how it was introduced. There wasn't a scratch on his body, as I told you.” '/I “Delay reporting it for two hours, will yon? It may save some trouble to several people.** S- \ “On your say-so, of course, Poe. Got anything to work on?” “Not much so far. Let’s see, it’s

about three o’clock now. Say six thirty. Be at home then?” “Yes. Come to dinner.” “If I feel I can finish and turn over the right person without outside help, I will; otherwise I’ll *phone you. Good-by." Poe hung up the receiver and left the booth, stopping to buy a half-dozen orangewood sticks at the counter. While the druggist was waiting on him, Poe asked if there was a manicure shop in the neighborhood. “Miss Moquin’s, on the opposite corner,” the druggist nodded through his window. “The news stand is right in front of it there. “I see. Thanks. The name sounds French?" He raised his brows questloningly. “I imagine she is. But I don’t know. She doesn’t come in here.” His line of inquiry being promptly cut off, Christopher Poe slipped his purchase into a side pocket and strolled out He sauntered across the street opening the package in his pocket as he went, and purposely jabbing himself in the cuticle of the forefinger with one of the sharp sticks just before entering the manicure parlor, which consisted of a single small room with a petite showcase of hair goods and toilet articles In front, and a Japanese screen across one corner, concealing a nook in which Miss Mignon Moquln held and manicured hands, gentlemen’s preferred. She stood behind her showcase as Poe entered, a radiant little French woman, a coquette with a sprightly, fascinating manner. “What can I do for monsieur?” she said prettily, tripping forward, and gazing up into his face with ingenuous concern. “I’m needing a manicure badly, I guess,” he said, exhibiting his hand, none too soft and well cared for. “Oh, monsieur!” she gasped fetchingly, “you do not treat ze little nails with respect You have a hurt too.” She gazed at the finger-tips with intimate personal concern, bringing

them instinctively toward her lips as though she would kiss the bruise; then letting them drop and starting back consciously, blushing in practiced alarm. “Ah, monsieur, too busy. I suppose,” she said, making her mouth into a pretty little questioning zero and leaning toward him. “Come, sit down. Ze nails shall soon be better; zey shall recover.” She led him gently by the arm, and helped him sit down as though she were placing an egg-shell china teacup on a narrow plate rack in the dining room. Now, monsieur,” she said, taking his hand and giving it such a gentle, concerned pressure that Poe simulated having succumbed to her charm, and breathed softly. “You have a nice, comfortable little place here.” “Oh, sir, you are so kind,” she said, forgetting her French for the moment in remembering to blush delicately, like a pink poppy petal. “Can you put these nails back In shape?” he asked. “You’ve quite alarmed me. I mustn’t let them go so long again.” “You shall see, monsieur. You must come often to have a manicure.” She drew a pan full of water from a small coll heater in the corner, shaved some scented soap into it, tested its warmth with her little finger daintily, and then placed his left hand gently into it. “We will leave sat hand cooking, monsieur, while I prepare zia one.” She lisped just the least bit, looking Up at him with a sprightly smile, and extending his fingers on her aproned knee. . “There are little stains in the tiny cracks around your nail. I must use my little orange stick and ongoline to get them out, monsieur, and then we will soak it, and pretty soon it shall act better. You will get a hang nail there if it is not fixed.” She indicated the bruise Poe had inflicted on himself. “I had a customer this morning

with a bad one, but yours is not so serious. It was most difficult to get se stain out for him, be cried with pain sometimes when the stick slipped, but monsieur will be more brave," she said glibly, busily pushing back the hard cuticle about the bruised finger-tip by means of her little yellow orange stick dipped in stain-remover. “Ouch!” cried Poe, simulating distress as Miss Moquln slipped the stick carefully under the cuticle. “I won’t be as brave as the fellow this morning if you keep that up.”

“Then put both hands over to cook, monsieur,” she said, placing the pan more conveniently. “I cannot see you suffer.” “If I bad a hang-nail, too, I’m afraid I’d be like that fellow you had this morning. I’d holler!” “Oh, monsieur, like him!” she cried, her eyes drooping toward him languishingly. "He is fat and so funny. Monsieur is—different The gentleman this morning was so nervous. He jumped when I touched him, he was so excited he could hardly breathe, and his attendant had to help him out of ze shop into his wheel chair like a baby.” She put both hands on her knees and laughed. “Oh, he was so funny, gasping for breath like a fish when he left and jumping like a scared rabbit Men are funny when they have a little hurt, and I did not stick him at all hard. And the ongoline does not burn. Men cannot bear pain!” drooping her eyes at him again. “Yes, you’re right” said Poe, interrupting her breezy chatter. “That reminds me; I want to buy a bottle of ongoline.” He nodded toward the show case on the other side of the screen. Miss Moquin skipped to the front to get the bottle, and Poe took advantage of the half-minute he had managed to be alone by substituting two of the orange wood sticks he had bought for those Miss Moquin had left on the table before him. He also smelled hagfc ily of her open bottle of ongoline. When the manictfre returned, her customer had both hands soaking, and

was looking placidly at a Japanese print on the wall. She gave him the bottle, and went to work again deftly on his nails, tripping along with her gay little tongue from one subject to another, glibly. Poe, finding very little of vital interest in what she had to say, seemed impatient for the work to be finished, and when it was he paid generously, complimented her, and stepped into the street, stopping before the news stand to light a cigar, and buy a paper from the boy proprietor. He slipped a half-dollar into the youngster’s grimy palm, and turning his back to the manicure window, said softly: "Follow me around the corner, I want to speak to you a minute, and you can keep the change." The boy, true soldier of fortune, took his chance unhesitatingly and followed to the hallway into which Poe had quickly turned. "There’s a fat man comes ’most every day to the manicure shop, sometimes with an old woman who —” “Yes, I know ’em," the boy interrupted. "He pays a nickel for his paper, and swears at the woman; sometimes she wheels him here in a chair. He’s got gout" “That’s it Did you see him this morning when he entered the shop?" "Yes. He was pretty mad, I guess, red in the face, and didn’t seem to notice me." “And you saw him when he came out?” “Yes, he was worse then. Something seemed to have happened to him. He couldn't get his breath, and his eyes stared. I was waitin’ to sell him the paper, an’ I didn’t want to miss me nickel, so I kep* tabs on him through the window; ’fraid I’d miss him when he come out ” “Could you see the manicure table through the window from where you stood r* p “Yes." • ■ “And did you see when—" A man

turned mto the passage way and Poe pulled the boy aside, whispering the remainder of the sentence in his ear. “Yes! I seen her do IL I thought there was somethin’ funny." The boy looked up suspiciously, and edged away, asking, “How’d you know about itr "Never mind now,” said Poe. “Get a boy to watch your stand for the rest of the afternoon and I’ll give you two dollars.” “All right,” said the youngster promptly. Poe scribbled on the back of an envelope: "Robinson —Test these sticks for me. Call me up at Riggs’ as soon as finished. Keep the boy. P.” Writing Doctor Robinson’s address on a fold of the note, he wrapped Miss Moquln’s orange wood sticks in a clean handkerchief, and gave them to the boy with directions. Then he hurried back to the Riggs house by the most direct route, looking in the gutter as he went. Having almost reached the house and having found nothing, he crossed the street and walked back slowly on the other side. Suddenly he stopped, and, glancing about to see that he was unobserved, scooped up in an empty cigarette box a scattering of glass fragments. He smelled of the pieces, smiled, repeated softly, "Peach kernels," put his tongue to the moist surface of one bit of glass and said with satisfaction, “Bitter almonds." Then, squaring his broad shouders, he slipped the box Into his pocket, took a deep breath, and walked briskly to the Riggs house. There he was admitted by Miss Riggs herself, who raised her eyebrows critically, and asked why he had returned. “To make sure that the woman who murdered Boudlnot does not escape,'* he said in a direct tone. Miss Riggs went white and stepped back, Mrs. Groves running down the hall to support her. She recovered instantly, standing straight and stiff before the banker. "What do you mean?” she demanded through thin, trembly lips. "You have learned something?” “Everything.” "But I did not do it. You’re mad!” she cried, turning on Mrs. Groves and pointing an accusing finger. “You inean she did it?” “Try to calm yourself; I’ll explain." Poe turned quickly to Mrs. Groves, and asked: “Is there any ongollne in the house?” "No. There isn’t!” cried Miss Riggs, her muscles taut. "Explain! What do you mean by accusing me?" Mrs. Groves had slipped away silently at a significant signal from Poe. She returned with a plain bottle in her hand, while Miss Riggs was hysterically demanding an explanation. Poe took the bottle from Mrs. Groves’ fingers, uncorked and smelled it. As he was about to speak, the 'phone rang and the little second maid who always shined Boudinot’s shoes came forward to announce softly that Mr. Poe was wanted on the wire. The banker answered his call, recognizing the voice of Doctor Robinson at the other end. "So you found the same acid on the orange wood sticks?” he remarked. “Yes, pure prussic acid on one of them,” continued the doctor. “Good. I’ll dine with you—" Poe paused to look at his watch, “in half an hour; about six-thirty.” He hung up the receiver, and returned to the room where the two women awaited him, watching each other narrowly. "Mrs. Groves,” said Poe, turning to the nurse, and holding up the bottle she had brought him. *Why is there no label on this bottle? I thought ongolnie always came in a container with an embossed label something like this?" He took from his pocket the bottle he had purchased at Miss Moquin’s. Mrs. Groves gasped for a reply, gagged, and glared at him with halfopen mouth, unable to answer. Miss Riggs rose from her chair, and stepped to Poe’s side. “She was the poisoner!” she cried, leveling a long, trembling, red-tipped finger at the old attendant, whose eyes grew suddenly small and sharp, like a rat’s. “Yes,” answered Poe. "I suspected it from the moment I saw the hangnail on Boudinot’s finger. You are a clever poisoner, Mrs. Groves, and I can’t blame you for figuring that Miss Riggs might have had your legacy of half a million reduced to a thousand, after her success in making Boudinot change his bequest to Miss Moquin. Your only mistake was in keeping this ongollne when you emptied the original bottle to fill it with prussic acid." “What do you mean?” cried Miss Riggs. Mrs. Groves, a hunted, insane gleam in her eyes, crouched down, and searched in her skirt pocket as though for a handkerchief, keeping her eyes gimleted on Poe. ' As the banker turned to answer Miss Riggs, quick as a flash the old attendant brought out her hand, and flung the contents of a phial straight at Poe's head; he ducked just in time; the sulphuric acid struck and began eating its way into a choice Japanese tapestry which adorned the wall behind. She shot out of the room and scurried up the stairs like a cat Miss Riggs dashed to the door, screaming for William, the butler. "Come! Where is her room?” cried Poe, leaping up the stairs. "She’UTdo herself damage.” He turned the angle at the top in time to hear a crash behind a door at the left Trying the knob, ho found it locked, and bracing

his shoulder against ft managed to force it in, but too late to save tbo woman’s Ufa She lay across a footstool, a jagged wound in her neck where she had opened a jugular vein with an insane thrust of her sharp-pointed sewing shears. Poe shuddered and turned away. He slipped out through the bedroom door as Mias Riggs was entering. Going quietly downstairs he entered the telephone cabinet, and got Doctor Robinson on the wire. “Doctor,” he said slowly, *7 can’t come to dinner. You’d best come over to Riggs’ and make out a second death certificate. Mrs. Groves has committed suicide in a frenzy at being found out.” “Found out! What do you mean?" "It was she who bought the prussio acid you found in Boudinot’s blood and on the tip of one of the orange wood sticks I sent you.” “But explain, what was the motive?" "Sufficient" said Poe. “Last night Miss Riggs worked on Boudinot with stories about Miss Moquin, doubtless true, from my own observation. He made a new will, changing his sister to position of chief legatee. Mrs. Groves trembled tor her half-million, knowing that Miss Riggs hated her, probably with more or less good rear son. To make sure Miss Riggs wouldn’t have her cut off with a thousand, the old lady carried out a shrewd scheme she’d evidently figured out some time before when Boudinot disgusted her with his profanity and abuse.” "What was it? How’d she do it?" insisted Doctor Robinson breathlessly, “Have you proofs?” "Yes, plenty. The boy I sent to you with the orange wood sticks saw Mrs. Groves through the manicure shop window this morning deftly substituting an ongollne bottle filled with prussic acid for the real bottle of stain remover on the manicurist’s table. You see, Boudinot had a bad hang-nail on the forefinger of his left hand.” "Yes, I noticed it, but didn’t think it important enough to mention to you." said Doctor Robinson anxiously. "Naturally not But that was the bruise through which the drop of prussic was introduced to Boudinot’s blood. You see, Mrs. Groves often wheeled Boudinot to Miss Moquln’s, and had watched her clean with ongollne and an orange stick beneath the cuticle of his nails.” "Good Lord, man!” cried Doctor Robinson. "You don’t mean that she figured out the fiendish scheme of having the manicurist actually introduce the poison by dipping her orange wood stick into the substituted bottle and shoving the poison deep into the cracks and pores around the finger nails, thinking it was ongollne?" “That’s it exactly; it would throw the blame on the manicure If anythin" were discovered, you see," said Poe enthusiastically. “Mrs. Groves replaced the genuine bottle of ongollne before leaving, so nobody else would be killed, then she threw the bottle of prussic into the gutter on the way home with Boudinot, gasping for breath and already dying, as graphically described by the manicurist and the newsboy. I found the pieces of glass, recognized bits of the ongollne label, and identified the poison by smell and taste. Not a bad scheme for an old lady; only slip she made was in thriftily saving in a plain bottle the ongollne she had to pour out to get the prussio acld into the right container so the manicurist wouldn’t suspect”