Pandemonium now reigned in the court room. Two reporters rushed to the telephone booths. The police made no exception for the men of the press. For some minutes the confusion was too great for any voice to be heard. Finally the inspector succeeded in making himself heard, his big, booming tones dominating the uproar.
“Mr. Coroner,” he began, “nothing but the necessity of preventing a crafty scoundrel from making his escape could justify my interference with your jurisdiction. I am an officer sworn to uphold the dignity of your court as well as that of any other judge or official. But I knew, if there was a grain of truth in the story that young woman on the stand was telling, the villain certainly could not be without interest in this inquest. He would not dare to come himself, nor would he dare to remain ignorant of what might transpire. Some trusted agent must be present.”
“Will you continue your story, Miss Prettyman?” asked Mr. Bailey, with more courtesy than he had yet shown the girl.
In a firmer voice, inspired with the hope that her story was gaining credence, Tessie resumed her narrative.
“Bill wrote the prescription in words I could not understand. He said it was Latin. I studied a little Latin in school, but not that kind. He called it medical Latin; besides, the writing was very cramped and would have been hard to read even in English. The last part of it I could not make out at all.
“‘He’s an artist,’ said Bill, ‘this druggist you will visit—a man of parts, though deformed, yet in his art, a creature of meticulous skill. Fussy he is, too, about his prescriptions—he will always have them very proper and formal.’
“The prescription bore no address.
“‘Where must I take the prescriptions?’ I asked him.
“‘On 42nd Street,’ he said, ‘off Broadway, look for a taxicab, not one of the big companies—there is a coat of arms on the door, with a figure nine above it. Tell the driver Bill sent you with a prescription. He will take you to the place. It is a long ride, but you need have no fear.’
“I went to 42nd Street and Broadway, as Bill had told me, but I saw so many cars that I thought he had tricked me. None of the cars stood more than a few seconds. While I stood there bewildered, staring at the doors of all the taxis, one stopped opposite me. The driver motioned to me and then I noticed that the door had a coat of arms and a figure nine. The traffic was stopped for an instant. He opened the door for me to step in. The moment I was in he closed the door and drove off. At first I thought he was crazy, for he drove around the block three times, then went over to Sixth Avenue and drove almost recklessly. After that, he turned again two or three times and I recognized Broadway. We never left Broadway again until we reached Tarrytown. We passed a number of fine estates, and several towns, all new to me, for I had never been so far on that road before. But I did notice that we never turned until we had passed Tarrytown. Some distance beyond Tarrytown—it may have been a few miles—the driver took a turn to the left toward the river, until we came to quite a woods. It looked like part of some big estate that had not been well kept or from which its owner had been absent a long time. Weeds grew tall, the fences were broken and it looked quite deserted.