“Hum,” commented Craig, “this was apparently written on the outside wrapper of a paper folded about some sal-ammoniac and quicklime.  It goes on: 

* * * * *

“’Just drop the whole thing in, paper and all.  Then if you feel a faintness from the medicine the ammonia will quickly restore you.  One spoonful of the headache-powder swallowed quickly is enough.’”

* * * * *

No name was signed to the directions, but they were plainly written, and “paper and all” was underscored heavily.

Craig pulled out some letters.  “I have here specimens of writing of many persons connected with this case, but I can see at a glance which one corresponds to the writing on this red death-warrant by an almost inhuman fiend.  I shall, however, leave that part of it to the handwriting experts to determine at the trial.  Thurston, who was the man whom you saw enter the Boncour bungalow as you left—­the constant visitor?”

Thurston had not yet regained his self-control, but with trembling forefinger he turned and pointed to Halsey Post.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen,” cried Kennedy as he slapped the telegram that had just come from New York down on the table decisively, “yes, the real client of Kerr & Kimmel, who bent Thurston to his purposes, was Halsey Post, once secret lover of Vera Lytton till threatened by scandal in Danbridge—­Halsey Post, graduate in technology, student of sympathetic inks, forger of the Vera Lytton letter and the other notes, and dealer in cyanides in the silver-smithing business, fortune-hunter for the Willard millions with which to recoup the Post & Vance losses, and hence rival of Dr. Dixon for the love of Alma Willard.  That is the man who wielded the poisoned pen.  Dr. Dixon is innocent.”

THE INVISIBLE RAY

BY ARTHUR B. REEVE

“I won’t deny that I had some expectations from the old man myself.”

Kennedy’s client was speaking in a low, full-chested, vibrating voice, with some emotion, so low that I had entered the room without being aware that any one was there until it was too late to retreat.

“As his physician for over twelve years,” the man pursued, “I certainly had been led to hope to be remembered in his will.  But, Professor Kennedy, I can’t put it too strongly when I say that there is no selfish motive in my coming to you about the case.  There is something wrong—­depend on that.”

Craig had glanced up at me and, as I hesitated, I could see in an instant that the speaker was a practitioner of a type that is rapidly passing away, the old-fashioned family doctor.

“Dr. Burnham, I should like to have you know Mr. Jameson,” introduced Craig.  “You can talk as freely before him as you have to me alone.  We always work together.”

I shook hands with the visitor.