“I glanced at the headlines,” responded Cranston, “but I did not read the details. Are the victims recovering?”
“Their condition had not changed at three o’clock this afternoon. I received a report from the physician in charge — Doctor Seton Lagwood.”
“I have heard of him. A specialist in such maladies as sleeping sickness.”
“Yes. Somewhat radical in his methods of treatment, I understand, and therefore the very man to handle these cases.”
“Why so?”
“Because the victims were overcome by what appears to be a new malady. A more conservative physician would not give these cases the thorough attention that Lagwood has exhibited. I believe that the coincidence was most fortunate.”
“To what coincidence do you refer?”
“The episode,” explained Barth, “took place in an apartment building not far from the Talleyrand Hospital. Hence the victims were taken there for treatment. The Talleyrand chances to be the one Manhattan hospital that relies solely upon Doctor Lagwood in cases of this sort.”
“Quite a coincidence,” responded Cranston. “What of the case which now summons you, commissioner?”
“It concerns the death of a chemist named Troxton Valdan,” stated Barth. “Nothing to do with last night’s occurrence. We proved conclusively that crime was absent at the apartment of Seth Tanning. But there is evidence of crime at Troxton Valdan’s.
“Detective Cardona — acting inspector for the present — is under instructions to notify me of any unusual cases that he encounters. He called me at the club to tell me of this one. It appears that Troxton Valdan was found dead in his laboratory; and the evidence balances between foul play and accidental death. The very type of case that requires my personal attention.”
WHEN the limousine pulled up in front of Valdan’s house, a policeman appeared and saluted the commissioner. The officer led the way up the brownstone steps and down the inner stairway into the large laboratory. Here Barth and Cranston were met by Joe Cardona, who led them into the smaller room. They viewed Valdan’s body. Barth looked toward the police surgeon who had just completed an examination.
“Death was instantaneous, commissioner,” reported the physician. “Caused by a fracture at the back of the skull. His head must have received a terrific blow.”
“A fall from the ladder would have been sufficient?”
“Yes. The man looks like he was a healthy specimen; but he is certainly well along in his sixties. Vertigo would not be unexpected. The effort of climbing the ladder could have caused it.”
“Then the evidence points to accidental death.”
Barth made this statement in a tone of assurance. It brought a smile from Cardona, who was standing by. The detective invariably encountered a problem when he dealt with the police commissioner. Barth had a tendency to be over-critical of Cardona’s judgment; to form conclusions that were designed to belittle the detective’s theories. In this case, Cardona had waited for Barth to form a half-baked decision; and the commissioner had fallen for the ruse.
“Quite simple,” amplified Barth, turning to Cranston. “One must avoid the usual tendency that is a common fault of police investigators. The average detective attempts to connect crime with every death that he views.
“Here we have a dead man — well advanced in years — lying with fractured skull at the foot of a ladder. It is obvious that he opened that high drawer” — Barth pointed toward the ceiling — “and lost his balance. The fall killed him. Of course, Cardona” — the commissioner smiled indulgently as he turned to the detective — “I must commend you for notifying me so promptly regarding this case. Even though my judgment merely supports the obvious conclusion, you showed wisdom in bringing me to this scene.”
“Just a moment, commissioner,” remarked the detective. “There is one point about this case that I didn’t have a chance to explain. This room is not exactly as it was just after the death of Troxton Valdan.”
“Ah!” Barth’s countenance changed suddenly. “You mean that you have found some piece of evidence? Or that something has been removed?”
“Neither,” replied Cardona. “I have touched nothing.”
“But you have made some change since your arrival?”
“None. The room is exactly as I found it. But it is not as it was when these men” — Cardona indicated Benzig and Crowder — “when these employees of Valdan’s entered.”
“What!” exclaimed Barth. “You mean that they deliberately muddied matters?”
“Not at all,” declared Cardona. “On the contrary, commissioner, they performed a very simple and necessary action immediately after they opened the door.”
“What was that?” demanded Barth, perplexed.
“They turned on the light,” responded Cardona, with a smile.
WAINWRIGHT BARTH stood staring. His bald head glistened, while his eyes blinked through the pince-nez spectacles. Caught off guard, the commissioner was still puzzled. While Barth stood silent, Cardona spoke.
“Taking the obvious, commissioner,” the detective stated, “we can agree that Valdan was on that ladder, looking through the file. But it is not logical that he was doing it without any light. You can’t go through a filing cabinet in a pitch dark room.”
“You should have told me this when I arrived,” snapped Barth. “This places a different aspect on the entire case. Come; let me hear what the witnesses have to say.”
“Here are their statements.”
“Let them repeat them, in brief.”
Cardona beckoned Benzig forward. The assistant was nervous. Cardona introduced him, then ordered the man to repeat his story.
“I was in here with Mr. Valdan,” testified Benzig. “He had just returned from a trip out of town. He was annoyed because he did not find the evening newspaper on his table. So I took the opportunity to go and find Crowder.”
“Why?” quizzed Barth.
“Because it was Crowder’s duty to leave the newspaper here, I crossed the outer laboratory. Then I heard the door of this room close. I decided that Mr. Valdan wanted to be alone. In fact, I thought sir — but I can not be quite sure — that I heard Mr. Valdan slide the bolt after he had closed the door.”
“Was that his custom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because he had experiments of his own. I never ventured to inquire into their nature. My work was in the outer laboratory. Mere routine, sir.”
“What did you do after the door closed?” inquired Barth.
“I continued upstairs,” resumed Benzig. “I looked for Crowder. I called but he did not answer. So I went up to the second floor — that is, the third floor, if you count this as the first—”
“I understand. Proceed.”
“When I came down, I found Crowder. He had come from the kitchen, sir. I mentioned the matter of the newspaper. He was quite surprised. He stated that he had placed it in this little laboratory. So he came along with me, to inform Mr. Valdan of the fact.”
“Then you both returned together?”
“Yes, sir. We should have knocked at the door; but I opened it without thinking. I was surprised to note that the light was out. Crowder pressed the switch, sir. Then — then we saw the body.”
BARTH cocked his head and studied the mild-faced assistant. Benzig seemed to shrink under the commissioner’s eagle gaze. Barth waved Benzig aside and spoke to Crowder.
“Your story,” ordered the commissioner.
“I was in the kitchen,” stated the solemn servant. “I was preparing a light supper for Mr. Valdan. I chanced to come out into the hallway; I found Benzig there. He told me that he had been calling for me and that he had looked about on the upper floor.
“Then he mentioned the newspaper, sir. So I came down here with him. Benzig opened the door. I turned on the light. I saw Mr. Valdan’s body.”