“First, to my laboratory,” interposed Craig. “It will take only a few minutes.”
We drove up to the university and stopped on the campus while Craig hurried into the Chemistry Building to get something.
“I like your professor of criminal science;” said Andrews to me, blowing a huge fragrant cloud of smoke.
I, for my part, liked the vice-president. He was a man who seemed thoroughly to enjoy life, to have most of the good things, and a capacity for getting out of them all that was humanly possible. He seemed to be particularly enjoying this Morowitch case.
“He has solved some knotty cases,” was all I said. “I've come to believe there is no limit to his resourcefulness.”
“I hope not. He's up against a tough one this trip, though, my boy.”
I did not even resent the “my boy.” Andrews was one of those men in whom we newspaper writers instinctively believe. I knew that it would be “pens lifted” only so long as the case was incomplete. When the time comes with such men they are ready to furnish us the best “copy” in the world.
Kennedy quickly rejoined us, carrying a couple of little glass bottles with ground-glass stoppers.
Morowitch & Co. was, of course, closed when we arrived, but we had no trouble in being admitted by the Central Office man who had been detailed to lock the barn door after the horse was stolen. It was precisely as Mr. Andrews had said. Mr. Kahan showed us the safe. Through the top a great hole had been made—I say made, for at the moment I was at a loss to know whether it had been cut, drilled, burned, blown out, or what-not.
Kennedy examined the edges of the hole carefully, and just the trace of a smile of satisfaction flitted over his face as he did so. Without saying a word he took the glass stopper out of the larger bottle which he had brought and poured the contents on the top of the safe near the hole. There it lay, a little mound of reddish powder.