heard of him and his queer theories about creating life from inert matter? What has he done now?”
“I don’t know whether it’s something he did or something that was done to him, but anyway he’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
“That’s the point I want you to help me clear up. I don’t know. His daughter ’phoned the office this morning and asked for me. When I got on the wire I could hardly understand her, she was so hysterical.
Sobbed out something about her father being gone and a human skeleton lying on the floor of his laboratory. I jumped in the car and took Hirsch, the finger-print expert out there with me. We found the frightened girl weeping in the arms of a motherly neighbor, who informed us that the laboratory was on the second floor.
“The whitened skeleton of Professor Townsend, fully clothed in garments that hung like rags on a scarecrow, lay on the floor of the laboratory,”
“You made sure, of course, that it really was the skeleton of the Professor.”
“Beyond the least shadow of doubt. In the first place it was clothed in the professor’s garments. His watch with his name in the back was ticking in the vest pocket. His monogrammed ring, a present from his daughter, circled a bony finger. On the bones of his right forearm were the marks of a fracture that had healed and the skull was slightly indented above the right temple. These marks resuited from an automobile accident in which the professor was injured two years ago. To make assurance doubly sure, we called in his dentist who readily identified his own work on the teeth.”
“When was the professor last seen alive?”
“That is the feature that makes the affair so uncanny. He was alive, and apparently normal mentally and physically, at dinner last evening.” “Most amazing!” exclaimed Dr. Dorp. “Suppose we go out—”
“Just what I was going to suggest.” replied the chief. “My car is waiting outside. Would you care to accompany us, Mr. Evans?”
“He would perish from curiosity if he couldn’t see the thing through now,” said the doctor when I hesitated. “Come along with us, old man. If two minds are better than one, then surely three minds are superior to two.”
We piled into the chief’s roomy roadster and were soon speeding toward the house of mystery.
Two Mysterious Deaths
PRESENTLY the car stopped before a two-story brick house. Its upper windows, with shades half drawn, appeared to stare down at us with a look of sly cunning as if endeavoring to conceal some fearful secret.
A short chunky individual, smooth-faced and with a decidedly florid complexion, met us at the door. Chief McGraw introduced him as Hirsch, the fingerprint expert.
“All alone, Hirsch?” asked the chief, looking iabout as we entered the spacious living room.
“Might as well be,” replied Hirsch. “Miss Townsend is in her room with a neighbor. The cook and housemaid are out in the kitchen, scared green.” “Coroner been here?”
“No. He called me up about twenty minutes ago and said he had an inquest to attend to on the south side. Told me he didn’t know how soon he could get here, but it would be several hours, at least.” “How about the prints ?”
“All the finger prints in the laboratory seem to have been made by the same person, evidently the professor.'”
“Hum. Better ’phone headquarters right away and have them send Rooney out. He might come in handy to guard the death room in case the coroner is late.”
“All right sir. I’ll call up right away.”
“Now gentlemen,” said the chief, turning to the doctor and me, “let us go upstairs.”
We followed him up the thickly carpeted stairway and along A broad corridor at the end of which he opened a door.
I started involuntarily at sight of the grinning, ghastly thing that lay on the floor. Not so Dr. Dorp. He knelt beside it and examined it minutely, his keen gray eyes alert for every detail. He even touched his fingers to the white forehead and
“I don’t know whether it’s something he did or something that was done to him, but anyway he’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
“That’s the point I want you to help me clear up. I don’t know. His daughter ’phoned the office this morning and asked for me. When I got on the wire I could hardly understand her, she was so hysterical.
Sobbed out something about her father being gone and a human skeleton lying on the floor of his laboratory. I jumped in the car and took Hirsch, the finger-print expert out there with me. We found the frightened girl weeping in the arms of a motherly neighbor, who informed us that the laboratory was on the second floor.
“The whitened skeleton of Professor Townsend, fully clothed in garments that hung like rags on a scarecrow, lay on the floor of the laboratory,”
“You made sure, of course, that it really was the skeleton of the Professor.”
“Beyond the least shadow of doubt. In the first place it was clothed in the professor’s garments. His watch with his name in the back was ticking in the vest pocket. His monogrammed ring, a present from his daughter, circled a bony finger. On the bones of his right forearm were the marks of a fracture that had healed and the skull was slightly indented above the right temple. These marks resuited from an automobile accident in which the professor was injured two years ago. To make assurance doubly sure, we called in his dentist who readily identified his own work on the teeth.”
“When was the professor last seen alive?”
“That is the feature that makes the affair so uncanny. He was alive, and apparently normal mentally and physically, at dinner last evening.” “Most amazing!” exclaimed Dr. Dorp. “Suppose we go out—”
“Just what I was going to suggest.” replied the chief. “My car is waiting outside. Would you care to accompany us, Mr. Evans?”
“He would perish from curiosity if he couldn’t see the thing through now,” said the doctor when I hesitated. “Come along with us, old man. If two minds are better than one, then surely three minds are superior to two.”
We piled into the chief’s roomy roadster and were soon speeding toward the house of mystery.
Two Mysterious Deaths
PRESENTLY the car stopped before a two-story brick house. Its upper windows, with shades half drawn, appeared to stare down at us with a look of sly cunning as if endeavoring to conceal some fearful secret.
A short chunky individual, smooth-faced and with a decidedly florid complexion, met us at the door. Chief McGraw introduced him as Hirsch, the fingerprint expert.
“All alone, Hirsch?” asked the chief, looking iabout as we entered the spacious living room.
“Might as well be,” replied Hirsch. “Miss Townsend is in her room with a neighbor. The cook and housemaid are out in the kitchen, scared green.” “Coroner been here?”
“No. He called me up about twenty minutes ago and said he had an inquest to attend to on the south side. Told me he didn’t know how soon he could get here, but it would be several hours, at least.” “How about the prints ?”
“All the finger prints in the laboratory seem to have been made by the same person, evidently the professor.'”
“Hum. Better ’phone headquarters right away and have them send Rooney out. He might come in handy to guard the death room in case the coroner is late.”
“All right sir. I’ll call up right away.”
“Now gentlemen,” said the chief, turning to the doctor and me, “let us go upstairs.”
We followed him up the thickly carpeted stairway and along A broad corridor at the end of which he opened a door.
I started involuntarily at sight of the grinning, ghastly thing that lay on the floor. Not so Dr. Dorp. He knelt beside it and examined it minutely, his keen gray eyes alert for every detail. He even touched his fingers to the white forehead and
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