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TEe BLACK BOX
By E. PHILLIPS OP PEN HEIM
(i
Author of'"The Moving , Novelized from the motion picture drama of the
Finger," “'The Prince of same name produced by the Universal Film
Sinners,” "Anna, the Manufacturing Company. Illustrated with pho-
Adcentureis,” etc. tographs from the motion picture production.
SYNOPSIS.
Sanford Quest, master criminologist of
Hie world, linds that in bringing to Justice
Mncdougal, tlie murderer of Lord Ash
leigh’s daughter, he has hut just begun
a life-ond-denth struggle with a mysteri
ous master criminal. In a hidden hut in
Professor Ashlelgh's garden lie lias seen
an ape skeleton and a living creature,
half monkey, half man, destroyed by Are.
In his rooms have appeared black boxes
containing notes, signed by a pair of
armless hands. and Lenora. his as
sistants, Amspect Craig, the professor’s
servant, "if a double murder. The black
boxes continue to appear in uncanny
fashion Craig, captured, escapes to Port
Said. Quest and his party follow, and be
yond into the desert. They are captured
by Mongars, escape with Craig as their
captive, and turn him over to Inspector
French in San Francisco. He escapes iri
a train wreck, outgenerals his pursuers,
and goes hack to New York, where he
dies while Quest is attempting to hypno
tize him into confession.
FIFTEENTH INSTALLMENT
CHAPTER XXXV.
.The' first shock was over. Craig’s
body had been removed, and the girls
had taken Mary, half stunned with
grief, to their room. French and
Quest were left alone.
“That is some disappointment,”
the former remarked, gloomily.
“It is a disappointment,” Quest
said, slowly, “which may clear the
way to bigger things.”
"What’s in your mind now?” French
inquired.
Quest shook his head.
“A turmoil. First of all, where is
the professor?”
"Must have scooted right away
home,” French suggested. "He was
looking pretty sick all the time. Guess
it must have been a powerful shock
for him, and he isn't so young as he
used to be.”
“Give me that paper of Craig's
again,” Quest asked
The inspector produced the docu
ment from his inner pocket, and
Quest, stretching it out upon his knee,
read it word for word.
“Never to communicate or to have
anything to do with anyone of the
name of Ashleigh, eh?” he remarked,
as he handed it back again. “Rather
a queer provision, that, French.”
“I've been thinking that myself,” the
inspector admitted.
Quest glanced at the clock.
“Well,” he said, “if you’re ready,
inspector, we'll be getting along.”
The two men drove to the outskirts
of the city almost in silence. The
professor's house seemed more than
ever deserted as they drew up at the
front door. They entered without
Tinging and crossed the hall towards
the library. On the threshold Quest
paused and held up his finger.
"Someone is in there,” he whispered,
stepping quickly forward. “Come!”
He threw open the door. The room
•was empty, yet both Quest and French
•were conscious of a curious convic
tion that it had been occupied with
in the last few seconds.
“Queer, but it seemed to me I heard
someone,” French muttered.
"I was sure of it,” Quest replied.
They stood still for a moment and
listened. The silence in the empty
house was almost unnatural. Quest
turned away with a shrug of the
shoulders.
“At any rate.” he said, “Craig’s dy
ing thoughts must have been truth
ful. Come.”
He led the way to the fireplace,
went down on his knees and passed
his hands over the bricks. The third
one he touched, shook. He tapped
it —without a doubt it was hollow.
With his penknife he loosened the
mortar a little and drew it out easily.
The back was open. Inside was the
black box.
“Craig’s secret at last!” French
muttered, hoarsely. “Bring it to the
light, quick!”
They were unemotional men, but the
moment was supreme. The key to
the mystery of these trafflcal weeks
was there in their hands! Their eyes
almost devoured those few hastily
scrawled words buried with so much
carp:
See Page 62, January Number,
American Medical Journal, 1905.
They looked at one another. They
repeated vaguely this most common
place of messages. As the final result
of their strenuous enterprise, these
cryptic words seemed pitifully inade
quate. Quest's face darkened. He
crumpled the paper in his fingers.
“There must be some meaning in
this,” he muttered. “It can’t be alto
gether a fool’s game we re on. Wait.”
He moved towards a table which
usually stood against the wall, but
which had obviously been dragged
out recently into the middle of the
room. It was covered wfth bound
volumes. Quest glanced at one and
exclaimed softly:
' American Medical Journal. 1905!
French, there's something in this mes
sage. after all.”
He turned over the pages rapidlv.
Then he came to a stop. Page 61
was there; page 62 had been neatly
removed with a pair of scissors.
“The professor!” he cried. “The
professor’s been at work here!”
The two men stood looking at one
another across the table. Strange
(Copyright, 1915, by Otis F. Wood.)
thoughts were framing themselves in
the brains of both of them. Then
there came a startling and in its way
a dramatic interlude. Through the
empty house came the ringing of the
electric bell from the front door, shrill
and insistent. Without a moment's
hesitation, Quest hurried out and
French followed him. On the doorstep
was another surprise. Lenora and
Laura were there, the former carry
ing a small, black-bound volume.
"Don’t be cross,” she begged,
quickly. "We just had to come. I-ook!
We picked this up underneath the
chair where Craig was sitting. It
must have slipped from his pocket,
rou see what is written on it? —
Diary of John Craig.”
Quest took it in his hand.
“Say, this ought to be interesting,"
he remarked. “Come along.”
They passed into the library.
French lingered behind for a moment
and caught them up just as they were
opening the book underneath the elec
tric lamp.
“See here what I’ve found!” he ex
claimed. “It was just by the side of
the wall there. Where’s that maga
zine?”
He spread out the piece of paper —it
fitted exactly into the empty space.
They all read together:
Professor Ashleigh, after being bit
ten by the anthropoid, rapidly devel
oped hydrophobia of a serious nature.
After treatment with a new serum the
patient was relieved of the hydropho
bic symptoms, but to my horror this
mild-mannered, humane man seems
possessed at times of all the charac
teristics of the brutal anthropoid—
cunning, thievery, brutality. I do not
know what may come of this. I hesi
tate to put even these words on to
paper. I am doubtful as to what
course, in the interests of humanity,
I ought to take.
(Signed) JAMES MERRILL, M. D.
Editor’s Note—Just as we go to
press, a cable announces the terrible
death of Doctor Merrill, the writer of
the above notes. He was attacked by
wild animals whilst alone in a South
American jungle, and torn to pieces.
There was a queer little silence
among the company. No one seemed
inclined for speech. They looked at
one another in dumb, wondering hor
ror. Then Quest drew a penknife
from his pocket and with a turn of his
wrist forced the lock of the diary.
They all watched him with fascinated
eyes. It was something to escape
from ' their thoughts. They leaned
over as he spread the book out be
fore him. Those first two sentences
were almost in the nature of a dedica
tion:
For ten years I have protected my
master, Prof. Edgar Ashleigh, at the
cost of my peace of mind, my happi
ness, my reputation. This book, even
though it be too late to help me, shall
clear my reputation.
Quest closed the volume.
“French,” he decided, “we must find
the professor. Will you have your
men search the house and grounds im
mediately?”
The inspector left the room like a
dazed man. They could hear him giv
ing orders outside.
"The next page,” Lenora begged.
one page more!”
Quest hesitated for a moment. Then
he turned it over. All three read
again:
Ten years of horror, struggling all
the while to keep him from that other
self, that thing of bestiality, to keep
his horrible secret from the world, to
cover up his crimes, even though
their shadow should rest upon me.
Now Sanford Quest has come. Will
this mean discovery?
"Another page,” Quest said. “Don’t
you see where it is leading us? We
have the truth here. Wait!”
He strode hastily to the door. French
and one of the plain-clothes men were
descending the stairs.
"Well?” Quest asked, breathlessly.
“The professor is not in the house,”
French reported. “We are going to
search the grounds.”
Quest returned to the library.
Lenora clung to his arm. The diary
lay still upon the table.
Quest opened the volume slowly.
Again they all read together:
The evil nature is growing stronger
every day. He is developing a sort
of ferocious cunning to help him in
his crimes. He wanders about in the
dark, wearing a black velvet suit
with holes for his eyes, and leaving
only his hands exposed. I have
watched him come into a half-dark
ened room and one can see nothing
but the hands and the eyes; some
times if he closes his eyes, only the
hands.
“Mrs. Rheinholdt!” Qfaest muttered.
The door was suddenly opened and
French entered.
“Beaten!” he exclaimed, tersely.
“You haven't .found him?” Quest
asked.
French shook his head.
“We’ve searched every room, every
cupboard, every scrap of the cellar
in the place," he announced. “We've
been into every corner of the grounds,
searched it all backwards and for
THE DOUGLAS ENTERPRISE, DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
wards. There’s no sign of the profes
sor.”
Quest pocketed the diary.
"You’re perfectly certain that he
is not in this house or anywhere upon
the premises?”
"Certain sure!” French replied.
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, we'd better get back,” he
said.
They were on the point of starting,
the chauffeur with his hand upon the
starting handle, French with the
steering wheel of the police car al
ready in his hand. And then the little
party seemed suddenly turned to
stone. For a few breathless seconds
not one of them moved. Out into the
clammy night air came the echoes of
a hideous, inhuman, blood-curdling
scream. Quest was the first to re
cover himself. He leaped from his
seat and rushed back across the emp
ty hall into the study, followed a lit
tle way behind by French and the
others. An unsuspected panel door
which led into the garden stood slight
ly ajar. The professor, with his hand
on the back of a chair, was staring
at the fireplace, shaking as though
with some horrible ague, his face dis
torted, his body curiously hunched
up. He seemed suddenly to have
dropped his humanity, to have fallen
back into the world of some strange
creatures. He heard their footsteps,
but he did not turn his head. His
hands were stretched out in front
of him as though to keep away from
his sight some hateful object.
“Stop him!” he cried. “Take him
away! It's Craig—his spirit! He
came to me in the garage, he followed
me through the grounds, he mocked
at me when I hid in the tree. He’s
there now, kneeling before the fire
place. Why can’t I kill him! He
is coming! Stop him, someone!”
No one spoke or moved; no one, in
deed, had the power. Then at last
Quest found words.
“There is no one in the room, pro
fessor,” he said, “except us.”
The sound of a human voice seemed
to produce a str. nge effect. The pro
fessor straightened himself, shook his
head, his hands dropped to his side,
ghastly pale, but his smile was once
more the smile of the amiable natu
ralist.
“My friends,” he said, “forgive me.
I am very old, and the events of these
last few hours have unnerved me.
Forgive me.”
He groped for a moment and sank
into a chair. Quest fetched a decan
ter and a glass from the sideboard,
pouud out some wine and held it to
his lips. The professor drank it eag
erly.
“My dear friend,” he exclaimed,
“you have saved me. I have some
thing to tell you, something I must tell
you at once, but not here. I loathe
this place. Let me come with you
to your rooms.”
"As you please,” Quest answered,
calmly.
He gripped Quest's arm. In silence
they passed from the room, in silence
they took their places once more
in the automobiles, in silence they
drove without a pause to Quest’s
rooms. The professor made his way
at once to his favorite easy chair,
threw off his overcoat and leaned
back.
“Quest,” lie pronounced, “you are
the best friend I have in my life! It
is you who have rid me of my great
burden. Tell me —help me a little
with my story —have you read that
page from the Medical Journal which
1 iHI Hi
H gap Jf'
The Professor Sat There Like a Fig
ure of Stone.
Craig has kept locked up all these
years?”
“We have all read it,” Quest re
plied.
"It was forged,” the professor de
clared, firmly, "forged by Craig. All
the years since he has blackmailed
me. 1 have been his servant and his
tool. I have been afraid to speak. At
last I am free of him. Thank God!”
"Craig, after all,” French muttered.
Lenora stood a little apart with
a faint frown upon her forehead.
She touched Quest on the shoulder.
“Mr. Quest,” she murmured, “he is
lying! ”
Quest turned his head. His lips
scarcely moved.
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
"He is lying!” Lenora insisted. "I
tell you there’s another creature
there, something we don't understand.
Let me bring the electro-thought
transference apparatus; let us read
his mind. If I am wrong. I will go
down on my knees and beg for for
giveness."
Quest nodded. Lenora hastened to
the farther end of the room, snatched
the cloth from the instrument and
wheeled down the little mirror with
its coils and levers. The professor
watched her. Slowly his face changed.
The benevolence faded away, his teeth
for a moment showed in something
which was almost a snarl.
"You believe me?” he cried, turn
ing to Quest. “You are not going
to try that horrible thing on me —Pro-
fessor Lord Ashleigh? I am all broken
up. I am not fit for it. Look at my
hands, how they shake.”
"Professor,” Quest said, sternly, “we
are surrounded by the shadow of pome
terrible deeds for which as yet there
is no explanation. I do not say that
we mistrust you, but I ask you to
submit to this test.”
“I refuse!” the professor replied,
harshly.
“And I insist,” Quest muttered.
The professor drew a little breath.
He sat back in his chair. His face
became still, his lips were drawn
closely together. Lenora wheeled up
the machine and with deft fingers ad
justed the fittings on one side. Quest
himself connected it up on the other.
The professor sat there like a figure
of stone. The silence in the room
was so intense that the ticking of
the small clock upon the mantel piece
was clearly audible. The very atmos
phere seemed charged with the thrill
and wonder of it. Never before had
Quest met with resistance so com
plete and immovable. Sternly he con
centrated the whole of his will power
upon his task. Almost at once there
was a change. The professor fell
back in the chair. The tense self-con
trol had passed from his features,
his lips twitched. Simultaneously,
the mirror for a moment was clouded
—then slowly a picture upon it gath
ered outline and substance. There
was a jungle, strange, tall trees, and
brushwood so thick that it reached
to the waists of the two men who
were slowly making their way through
it. One was the professor, clearly
recognizable under his white sun hel
met; the other a stranger to all of
them. Suddenly they stopped. The
latter had crept a yard or so ahead,
his gun raised to his shoulder, his
eyes fixed upon some possible object
of pursuit. There was a sudden
change in the professor. They saw
him seize his gun by the barrel and
whirl it above his head. He seemed
suddenly to lose his whole
He crouched on his haunches, almost
like an animal, and sprang at the oth
er’s throat. They could almost hear
the snarl from his lips as the two
men went down together into the un
dergrowth. The picture faded away.
“Doctor Merrill!” Lenora faltered.
“Then it was not wild beasts which
killed him.”
Almost immediately figures again
appeared in the mirror. There was a
small passage which seemed to lead
from the back entrance of a house;
the professor, with a black mantle,
Craig followed him, pleading, expostu
lating. They saw the conservatory
for a minute, and then blackness. The
professor was leaning against a mar
ble basin. There was nothing to be
seen of him but his eyes and hands.
They saw him listen for a moment
or two in cold, unresponsive silence,
then stretch out his hand and push
Craig away. The picture glowed and
faded and glowed again. Then they
saw through the gloom the figure of
a woman approach, a diamond neck-'
lace around her neck. They saw the
hands steal out and encircle her
throat—and then more darkness, si
lence, obscurity. The mirror was
empty once more.
“Mrs. Rheinholdt’s jewels!” Lenora
cried. “What next? Oh! my God
what next?”
Their eyes ached with the strain,
but there was not one of them who
couid even glance away from the mir
ror. It was Quest's study which slow
ly appeared then. The Salvation
Army girl was there, talking to the
professor. They saw him leave her,
they saw him look back from the
door, a strange, evil glance. Then the
secretary entered and spoke to her.
Once more the door opened. The
hands were there, stretching and
reaching, a paper-weight gripped in
the right-hand fingers. They saw it
raised above the secretary’s head, they
saw the other hand take the girl by
the throat and push her towards the
table. A wild scream broke from
Lenora's lips. Quest wavered for a
"He Is Dead!” Quest Declared.
moment. The picture faded out.
“Oh, stop it!” Lenora begged.
“Haven’t we seen enough? We know
the truth now. Stop it or I shall die!”
The criminologist made no reply.
His eyes were still fixed upon the pro
fessor, who showed some signs of re
turning consciousness. He was grip
ping at his collar. He seemed to have
difficulty with his breathing. Quest
suddenly braced himself. He pushed
Lenora back.
“One more,” he muttered. “There’s
something growing in his mind. I can
feel it. Wait!”
Again they all turned towards the
mirror. They saw the hallway of Ash
leigh house, the pictures upon the
walls, they could almost feel the quiet
silence of night. They saw the pro
fessor come stealing down the stairs.
He was wearing the black velvet suit
with the cowl in his hand. They
watched him pause before a certain
door, draw on the cowl and disappear.
Through the opening they could see
Lord Ashleigh asleep in bed, the moon
light streaming through the open win
dow across the counterpane. They
saw the professor turn with a strange,
horrible look in his face and close the
door. Lenora burst into sobs.
“No more!” she shrieked. “No
more, or I shall go mad!”
Quest leaned forward and released
their victim. The whole atmosphere
of the place seemed immediately to
change. Lenora drew a long, convul
sive breath and sank into a chair. The
professor sat up and gazed at them
all with the air of a man who has
just awakened from a dream.
"Have I, by any chance, slept?” he
asked. “Or —”
He never finished his sentence. His
eyes fell upon the mirror, the metal
band lying by his side. He read the
truth in the faces still turned towards
him. He rose to his feet. There was
another and equally sudden t change in
his demeanor and tone. He carried
himself with the calm dignity of the
scientist.
“The end of our struggle, I pre
sume?” he said to Quest, pointing to
the metal band. “You will at least ad
mit that I have shown you fine sport.”
No one answ’ered him. Even Quest
had barely yet recovered himself. The
professor shrugged his shoulders.
“I recognize, of course,” he said,
gravely, “that this is the end. A per
son in extremis has privileges. Will
you allow me to write just a matter of
twenty lines at your desk?”
Silently Quest assented. The profes
sor seated himself in the swing chair,
eftew a sheet of paper towards him,
dipped the pen in the ink and began
to write. Then he turned around and
reached for his own small black bag
which lay upon the table. Quest
caught him by the wrist.
“What do you want out of that, pro
fessor?” he inquired.
“Merely my own pen and ink,” the
professor expostulated. “If there is
anything I detest in the world, it is
violet ink. And your pen, too, is ex
ecrable. As they are to be the last
words I shall leave to a sorrowing
world, I should like to write them in
my own fashion. Open the bag for
yourself, if yoq will. You can pass
me the things out.”
Quest opened the bag, took out a
pen and a small glass bottle of ink.
He handed them to the professor, who
started at once more to write. Quest
watched him for a moment and then
turned away to French. The profes
sor looked over his shoulder and sud
denly bared his wrist. Lenora seized
her employer by the arm.
“Look!” she cried. “What is he go
ing to do?”
Quest swung around, but he was too
late. The professor had dug the pen
into his arm. He sat in his chair and
laughed as they all hurried towards
him. Then suddenly he sprang to his
feet. Again the change came into
his face which they had seen in the
mirror. French dashed forward to
wards him. The professor snarled,
seemed about to spring, then suddenly
once more stretched out his hands to
show that he was helpless and handed
to Quest the paper upon which he had
been writing.
“You have nothing to fear from me.”
he exclaimed. “Here is my last mes
sage to you. Sanford Quest. Read it —
read it aloud. Always remember that
this waa not your triumph, but mine.”
Quest held up the paper. They all
read. The professor’s letters were
carefully formed, his handwriting per
fectly legible:
Ycj have been a clever opponent,
Sanford Quest, but even now you are
to be cheated. The wisdom of the ages
outreaches yours, outreaches it and
triumphs.
Quest looked up quickly.
“What the devil does he mean?” he
muttered.
The professor’s arms shot sudden
ly above his head. Again that strange
animal look convulsed his features.
He burst into a loud, unnatural laugh.
“Mean, you fool?” he cried, holding
out his wrist, which was slowly turn
ing black. “Poisoned! That is what
it means!”
They all stared at him. Quest
seized the ink bottle, revealed the
false top and laid it down again with
a little exclamation. Then, before
they could realize it the end came.
The professor lay, a crumpled-up
heap, upon the floor.
*******
Quest swung round in his chair as
French entered the room and held out
his left hand.
“Glad to see you, French. Help
yourself to a cigar.”
“I don't know as I want to smoke
this morning just at present, thank
you,” French replied.
"Nothing wrong, eh?”
"The fact of it is,” French explained,
"I should like a few words with Miss
Laura.”
Quest laughed shortly.
“Why on earth couldn’t you say
so?" he observed. “Never knew you
bashful before, inspector. She’s up in
the laboratory. I’ll ring for someone
to show you the way.”
Quest touched the bell and his new
secretary entered almost at once.
“Take Inspector French up into the
laboratory,” Quest directed. See you
later, French.”
"Yes —perhaps—I hope so,” the in
spector replied nervously.
Quest watched him disappear with
a puzzled smile. Then he sat down
at his desk, drew a sheet of paper to
wards him and began to write:
My Dear Inspector:
I am taking this opportunity of let
ting you know that out of deference to
the wishes of the woman I hope soon
to marry, I am abandoning the haz
ardous and nerve-racking profession
of criminology for a safer and happier
career. You will have, therefore, to
find help elsewhere in the future.
With best wishes. Yours,
SANFORD QUEST.
He left the sheet of paper upon the
desk and, ringing the bell, sent for
Lenora. She appeared in a few mo
ments and came over to his side.
“What is it, Mr. Quest?” she asked.
He gave her the letter without re
mark. She read it through and, turn
ing slowly around, looked at him ex
pectantly.
"How's that seem to you?” he
asked, reaching out his hand for a
cigar.
“Very sensible, indeed,” she replied.
“It’s no sort of life, this, for a mar
ried man,” Quest declared. “You
The Sound of a Human Voice Seemed
to Produce a Strange Effect.
agree with me there, don't you, Len
ora?”
‘Yes!” she admitted, a little faintly.
The secretary entered the room,
helped Quest on with his coat and
handed him his hat.
"If you are quite ready, Lenora.”
“Ready!” she exclaimed. “Where
are we going?”
Quest sighed.
"Fancy having to explain all these
things!” he said, taking her arm. ‘T
just want you to understand, Lenora,
that I've waited —quite long enough.
Parkins, - ’ he added, turning to his
secretary, “if anyone calls, just say
that my wife and I will be back early
in the afternoon. And you'd better
step upstairs to the laboratory and
give my compliments to Inspector
French, and say that I hope he and
Miss Laura will join us at Delmon
ico's for luncheon at one o’clock.” i
"Very good, sir,” the man replied.
Lenora's face was suddenly trans
formed. She passed her arm through
Quest's. He stooped and kissed her
as he led her towards the door.
“You understand now, don’t you?”
he whispered, smiling down at her.
“I think so,” she admitted, with a
little sigh of content.
THE END.