I pictured to myself the series of fearful works of mischief and terror that might follow, a curse on the thief worse than that of the weirdest curses of the Orient, the danger to the innocent, and the fact that in the hands of a criminal it was an instrument for committing crimes that might defy detection.
“There is nothing more to do here now,” he concluded. “I can see nothing for the present except to go back to New York. The telltale burn may not be the only clue, but if the thief is going to profit by his spoils we shall hear about it best in New York or by cable from London, Paris, or some other European city.”
Our hurried departure from New York had not given us a chance to visit the offices of the Radium Corporation for the distribution of the salts themselves. They were in a little old office building on William Street, near the drug district and yet scarcely a moment’s walk from the financial district.
“Our head bookkeeper, Miss Wallace, is ill,” remarked Denison when we arrived at the office, “but if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be glad to do it. We depend on Miss Wallace a great deal. Haughton says she is the brains of the office.”
Kennedy looked about the well-appointed suite curiously.
“Is this another of those radium safes?” he asked, approaching one similar in appearance to that which had been broken open already.
“Yes, only a little larger.”
“How much is in it?”
“Most of our supply. I should say about two and a half grams. Miss Wallace has the record.”
“It is of the same construction, I presume,” pursued Kennedy. “I wonder whether the lead lining fits closely to the steel?”