McCarty nodded.
“You’ll mind there’s only one thing can resist it and that’s lead. This is all that is left of Henry Orbit—the six bullets from his revolver!”
CHAPTER XXIII
THE ADVICE OF EX-ROUNDSMAN MCCARTY
“Shall we go on?” the inspector asked. It was nearly midnight and the intervening time since that dreadful twilight hour in the laboratory had been taken up with the formalities necessarily resultant upon the final tragedy. He, McCarty and Dennis were alone in Orbit’s sitting-room once more, for the two other officials had returned to headquarters. As he spoke he took from his pocket the remaining pages of the diary.
“That’s what Orbit wanted,” McCarty replied in a subdued tone. “He’s left the soul of him, such as it was, in those papers and though ’tis not a thing I’d like to let loose on the world, we know the worst of him and we ought to know the rest.”
Dennis was still benumbed from the successive shocks of the day. He said nothing but his eyes, as the inspector sorted the papers, followed the movements of his hands in awed fascination.
“‘Wednesday night.’” The other settled himself to read. “‘For the third time in a week I have taken life, but the reaction is not the same. The mental exhilaration came but the thrill is gone, or rather it has changed into another sensation I have never known before. Is it fear? I honestly do not know. To-day I finished generating the gas for the third time and then, sure that I had the formula by heart, I destroyed it so that my knowledge should be absolute, mine alone. The longing for a worthwhile experiment with it became an obsession and in actual agony, torment, I seated myself at the organ to seek peace.
“‘But for the first time music brought no relief to my mind and I felt stifling. I went to one of the windows to open it, and saw the French maid, Lucette, from next door, with little Maude Bellamy. The child had a new blue balloon and the thought came to me that if it were filled with the poison gas and they were in a closed room—! I invited them in to hear the organ and gave Maude some candy. As I had hoped she forgot her toy and dropped it. I picked it up and excused myself for a moment—only a moment, just long enough to hasten to my laboratory, deflate the balloon and fill it again with the gas.
“‘When I returned to the conservatory Lucette and the baby were still occupied with the candy. I handed the balloon to the child and then seated myself once more before the organ. Handel’s “Largo” came to me and how I played! The thought that at any instant that toy might burst tingled in my brain and I found myself listening for it, tortured with suspense because it did not come. I stole a glance at my guests finally. They were seated side by side on the marble bench with the towering cactus just behind them, its spikes reaching out over their shoulders. If the balloon were to float toward one of them, if a breath of air should waft it against one of those gigantic thorns, as the child was holding it now, straight up into the air—!
“‘A louder, almost crescendo movement came just then in the music and I touched the swell pedal with my foot, urging the keys beneath my fingers. The shutters of the swell-box were forced open, the current of air rushed out with the swift volume of sound. But rising even above that glorious harmony there came a sudden, sharp report! I dared not cease playing lest others in the house might have heard it, I did not even dare to look around. Never has the “Largo” seemed so interminable, but at last, just as I came to the end, I heard—the patter of Maude’s feet! The baby had escaped me!