“Ether phosphore, phosphorated ether,” commented Kennedy, reading the label to himself. “A remedy from the French Codex, composed, if I remember rightly, of one part phosphorus and fifty parts sulphuric ether. Phosphorus is often given as a remedy for loss of nerve power, neuralgia, hysteria, and melancholia. In quantities from a fiftieth to a tenth or so of a grain free phosphorus is a renovator of nerve tissue and nerve force, a drug for intense and long-sustained anxiety of mind and protracted emotional excitement—in short, for fast living.”
He uncorked the bottle, and we tasted the stuff. It was unpleasant and nauseous. “I don’t see why it wasn’t used in the form of pills. The liquid form of a few drops on gum arabic is hopelessly antiquated.”
The elevator door opened with a clang, and a well-built, athletic looking man of middle age with an acquired youngish look about his clothes and clean-shaven face stepped out. His face was pale, and his hand shook with emotion that showed that something had unstrung his usually cast-iron nerves. I recognised Burke Collins at once.
In spite of his nervousness he strode forward with the air of a man accustomed to being obeyed, to having everything done for him merely because he, Burke Collins, could afford to pay for it and it was his right. He seemed to know whom he was seeking, for he immediately singled out O’Connor.
“This is terrible, terrible,” he whispered hoarsely. “No, no, no, I don’t want to see her. I can’t, not yet. You know I thought the world of that poor little girl. Only,” and here the innate selfishness of the man cropped out, “only I called to ask you that nothing of my connection with her be given out. You understand? Spare nothing to get at the truth. Employ the best men you have. Get outside help if necessary. I’ll pay for anything, anything. Perhaps I can use some influence for you some day, too. But, you understand—the scandal, you know. Not a word to the newspapers.”
At another time I feel sure that O’Connor would have succumbed. Collins was not without a great deal of political influence, and even a first deputy may be “broke” by a man with influence. But now here was Kennedy, and he wished to appear in the best light.
He looked at Craig. “Let me introduce Professor Kennedy,” he said. “I’ve already called him in.”
“Very happy to have the pleasure of meeting you,” said Collins, grasping Kennedy’s hand warmly. “I hope you will take me as your client in this case. I’ll pay handsomely. I’ve always had a great admiration for your work, and I’ve heard a great deal about it.”
Kennedy is, if anything, as impervious to blandishment as a stone, as the Blarney Stone is itself, for instance. “On one condition,” he replied slowly, “and that is that I go ahead exactly as if I were employed by the city itself to get at the truth.”
Collins bit his lip. It was evident that he was not accustomed to being met in this independent spirit. “Very well,” he answered at last. “O’Connor has called you in. Work for him and—well, you know, if you need anything just draw on me for it. Only if you can, keep me out of it. I’ll tell everything I can to help you—but not to the newspapers.”