The seaman nodded. The inspector left the cabin and went to the captain to explain the situation. He requested the seaman be detained on the freighter pending a chemical test of the powder.
“It looks like heroin,” the inspector said. “If it is, we’ll have to take him into custody.”
“How long will it take to make the test?” the skipper asked. “We’re sailing tomorrow afternoon. If this man is in trouble, I’ll have to take on another seaman.”
“We should know the results before you sail,” the inspector said. “I’ll be in touch with you.”
The sack of powder was sent to the Baltimore Customs laboratory with an urgent request for a quick test. It was turned over to tall, lanky Edward Kenney, who had received his training as a chemist at the University of Maine, Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Johns Hopkins University. Kenney was among the small group of men and women who had found the Customs laboratories to be a daily adventure in solving riddles posed by the legal necessity of identifying and classifying a bewildering variety of imports which poured into the United States daily from all parts of the world.
The analysis of the powder taken from the seaman was one of the routine chores which posed no problem for Kenney. The test for heroin was negative—and he sent his findings to the chief chemist to be relayed to the inspector on the case.
A few minutes later, Kenney received a telephone call from the inspector. “Mr. Kenney,” he said, “I just can’t believe that report you made on the powder I seized from the seaman. If ever I saw a guilty man, this one is guilty. Would you mind running another test?”
“I’m sure the report was correct,” Kenney said, “but if it will make you feel better, I’ll make another test. Would you like to come over and watch?”
“I certainly would,” the inspector said.
When the inspector arrived at the laboratory, Kenney took a sampling from the powder and placed it in a glass container. Then he picked up a bottle of liquid from a cabinet.