: Arthur B. Reeve
: The Silent Bullet
: Books on Demand
: 9783734758492
: 1
: CHF 2.70
:
: Krimis, Thriller, Spionage
: English
: 334
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
"It has always seemed strange to me that no one has ever endowed a professorship in criminal science in any of our large universities." Craig Kennedy laid down his evening paper and filled his pipe with my tobacco. In college we had roomed together, had shared everything, even poverty, and now that Craig was a professor of chemistry and I was on the staff of the Star, we had continued the arrangement. Prosperity found us in a rather neat bachelor apartment on the Heights, not far from the University."Why should there be a chair in criminal science?" I remarked argumentatively, settling back in my chair."I've done my turn at police headquarters reporting, and I can tell you, Craig, it's no place for a college professor. Crime is just crime. And as for dealing with it, the good detective is born and bred to it. College professors for the sociology of the thing, yes; for the detection of it, give me a Byrnes.""On the contrary," replied Kennedy, his clean-cut features betraying an earnestness which I knew indicated that he was leading up to something important,"there is a distinct place for science in the detection of crime. On the Continent they are far in advance of us in that respect. We are mere children beside a dozen crime-specialists in Paris, whom I could name."

II. The Scientific Cracksman


"I'm willing to wager you a box of cigars that you don't know the most fascinating story in your own paper to-night," remarked Kennedy, as I came in one evening with the four or five newspapers I was in the habit of reading to see whether they had beaten the Star in getting any news of importance.

"I'll bet I do," I said,"or I was one of about a dozen who worked it up. It's the Shaw murder trial. There isn't another that's even a bad second."

"I am afraid the cigars will be on you, Walter. Crowded over on the second page by a lot of stale sensation that everyone has read for the fiftieth time, now, you will find what promises to be a real sensation, a curious half-column account of the sudden death of John G. Fletcher."

I laughed."Craig," I said,"when you put up a simple death from apoplexy against a murder trial, and such a murder trial; well, you disappoint me—that's all."

"Is it a simple case of apoplexy?" he asked, pacing up and down the room, while I wondered why he should grow excited over what seemed a very ordinary news item, after all. Then he picked up the paper and read the account slowly aloud.

  JOHN G. FLETCHER, STEEL MAGNATE, DIES SUDDENLY

   SAFE OPEN BUT LARGE SUM OF CASH UNTOUCHED


John Graham Fletcher, the aged philanthropist and steelmaker, was found dead in his library this morning at his home at Fletcherwood, Great Neck, Long Island. Strangely, the safe in the library in which he kept his papers and a large sum of cash was found opened, but as far as could be learned nothing is missing.

It had always been Mr. Fletcher's custom to rise at seven o'clock. This morning his housekeeper became alarmed when he had not appeared by nine o'clock. Listening at the door, she heard no sound. It was not locked, and on entering she found the former steel-magnate lying lifeless on the floor between his bedroom and the library adjoining. His personal physician, Dr. W. C. Bryant, was immediately notified.

Close examination of the body revealed that his face was slightly discoloured, and the cause of death was given by the physician as apoplexy. He had evidently been dead about eight or nine hours when discovered.

Mr. Fletcher is survived by a nephew, John G. Fletcher, II., who is the Blake professor of bacteriology at the University, and by a grandniece, Miss Helen Bond. Professor Fletcher was informed of the sad occurrence shortly after leaving a class this morning and hurried out to Fletcherwood. He would make no statement other than that he was inexpressibly shocked. Miss Bond, who has for several years resided with relatives, Mr. and Mrs. Francis Greene of Little Neck, is prostrated by the shock.

"Walter," added Kennedy, as he laid down the paper and, without any more sparring, came directly to the point,"there was something missing from that safe."

I had no need to express the interest I now really felt, and Kennedy hastened to take advantage of it.

"Just before you came in," he continued,"Jack Fletcher called me up from Great Neck. You probably don't know it, but it has been privately reported in the inner circle of the University that old Fletcher was to leave the bulk of his fortune to found a great school of preventive medicine, and that the only proviso was that his nephew should be dean of the schoo