“Now I found,” he went on, “that the religious complexes were extremely few; as I expected the erotic were many. If you will look over the three lists you will find something queer about every such word as, ’child, ‘to marry,’ ‘bride,’ ‘to lie,’ ‘stork,’ and so on. We’re on the right track. That woman does know something about that child.”
“My eye catches the words ‘to sin,’ ‘to fall,’ ‘pure,’ and others,” I remarked, glancing over the list.
“Yes, there’s something there, too. I got the hint for the drug from her hesitation over ‘needle’ and ‘white.’ But the main complex has to do with words relating to that child and to love. In short, I think we are going to find it to be the reverse of the rule of the French, that it will be a case of ‘cherchez l’homme.’”
Early the next day Kennedy, after a night of studying over the case, journeyed up to the sanitarium again. We found Dr. Klemm eager to meet us.
“What is it?” asked Kennedy, equally eager.
“I overheard some surprising things over the vocaphone,” he hastened. “Hazleton called. Why, there must have been some wild orgies in that precious set of theirs, and, would you believe it, many of them seem to have been at what Dr. Maudsley calls his ‘stable studio,’ a den he has fixed up artistically over his garage on a side street.”
“I couldn’t get it all, but I did hear her repeating over and over to Hazleton, ‘Aren’t you all mine? Aren’t you all mine?’ There must be some vague jealousy lurking in the heart of that ardent woman. I can’t figure it out.”
“I’d like to see her again,” remarked Kennedy. “Will you ask her if I may?”
THE ENDS OF JUSTICE
A few minutes later we were in the sitting room of her suite. She received us rather ungraciously, I thought.
“Do you feel any better?” asked Kennedy.
“No,” she replied curtly. “Excuse me for a moment. I wish to see that maid of mine. Clarisse!”
She had hardly left the room when Kennedy was on his feet. The bottle of white tablets, nearly empty, was still on the table. I saw him take some very fine white powder and dust it quickly over the bottle. It seemed to adhere, and from his pocket he quickly drew a piece of what seemed to be specially prepared paper, laid it over the bottle where the powder adhered, fitting it over the curves. He withdrew it quickly, for outside we heard her light step, returning. I am sure she either saw or suspected that Kennedy had been touching the bottle of tablets, for there was a look of startled fear on her face.
“Then you do not feel like continuing the tests we abandoned last night?” asked Kennedy, apparently not noticing her look.
“No, I do not,” she almost snapped. “You—you are detectives. Mrs. Hazleton has sent you.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Hazleton has not sent us,” insisted Kennedy, never for an instant showing his surprise at her mention of the name.