We were leaning forward expectantly, horrified by the thought that perhaps, after all, the Record was correct.

“Now,” resumed Kennedy, his tone changing, “suppose we try a little experiment—­one that was tried very convincingly by the immortal Liebig.  Here is a sponge.  I am going to soak it in gin from this bottle, the same that Mr. Langley was drinking from on the night of the—­er—­the tragedy.”

Kennedy took the saturated sponge and placed it in an agate-iron pan from the kitchen.  Then he lighted it.  The bluish flame shot upward, and in tense silence we watched it burn lower and lower, till all the alcohol was consumed.  Then he picked up the sponge and passed it around.  It was dry, but the sponge itself had not been singed.

“We now know,” he continued, “that from the nature of combustion it is impossible for the human body to undergo spontaneous ignition or combustion in the way the scientific experts of the past century believed.  Swathe the body in the thickest of non-conductors of heat, and what happens?  A profuse perspiration exudes, and before such an ignition could possibly take place all the moisture of the body would have to be evaporated.  As seventy-five per cent or more of the body is water, it is evident that enormous heat would be necessary—­moisture is the great safeguard.  The experiment which I have shown you could be duplicated with specimens of human organs preserved for years in alcohol in museums.  They would burn just as this sponge—­the specimen itself would be very nearly uninjured by the burning of the alcohol.”

“Then, Professor Kennedy, you maintain that my brother did not meet his death by such an accident” asked James Langley.

“Exactly that, sir,” replied Craig.  “One of the most important aspects of the historic faith in this phenomenon is that of its skilful employment in explaining away what would otherwise appear to be convincing circumstantial evidence in cases of accusations of murder.”

“Then how do you explain Mr. Langley’s death?” demanded Harrington.  “My theory of a spark from a cigar may be true, after all.”

“I am coming to that in a moment,” answered Kennedy quietly.  “My first suspicion was aroused by what not even Doctor Putnam seems to have noticed.  The skull of Mr. Langley, charred and consumed as it was, seemed to show marks of violence.  It might have been from a fracture of the skull or it might have been an accident to his remains as they were being removed to the anteroom.  Again, his tongue seemed as though it was protruding.  That might have been natural suffocation, or it might have been from forcible strangulation.  So far I had nothing but conjecture to work on.  But in looking over the living-room I found near the table, on the hardwood floor, a spot—­just one little round spot.  Now, deductions from spots, even if we know them to be blood, must be made very carefully.  I did not know this to be a blood-spot, and so was very careful at first.