We parted and John and I started down the corridor. We had gone but a few steps when exclaiming, “There, I’ve left my stick,” I turned swiftly back, recovered the letter from its place in the waste basket, and emerged with my cane. Silently we walked down the broad avenue until, just before we reached my office, I turned sharply.
“Come in here,” I said, dragging John into a café. We sat down at one of the small tables. “You used to do the Smithsonian and scientific stories for your paper, didn’t you?” I asked.
John was sitting staring into vacancy. He paid no attention to my question and I repeated it twice before he turned nervously with a shake of the head and asked sharply, “What is it?”
I repeated the question once more.
“Yes,” he said abstractedly.
“Well, who do you know that owns any radium?”
He thought for a moment and said slowly, “Why, the Smithsonian people have a little, of course, and there’s some in half a dozen places in the city.”
“But from whom could we get some most easily?” I inquired.
“Oh! I know,” he answered. “Dorothy Haldane has some. She’s here in Washington working with part of her brother’s radium, and she’s with her cousin Mrs. Hartnell.”