# Unseen Hands/Chapter 9
### CHAPTER IX
#### DOCTOR MC CUTCHEN'S THEORY

ON leaving the physician's office, Odell made his way to the establishment of the beauty expert He found Monsieur Florian to be an excitable, dapper little Frenchman with a piping voice and the manners of a dancing-master.
The detective introduced himself as a friend of the Lorne family; and Monsieur Florian was profuse in his regret at the untimely death of his client, and only too willing to demonstrate each phase of his treatment in order to prove that it could not have left Mrs. Lorne in a condition which would be conducive to blood-poisoning from the needle-prick.
Odell departed satisfied that nothing further was to be learned there, and after a hasty, belated luncheon he visited the offices of each of the specialists who had been called into consultation by Doctor Adams. Doctor Kelland was out on a case and Doctor Day gave the detective practically the same account of Mrs. Lorne's fatal illness as had Doctor Adams; it was only when he reached the great McCutchen that a ray of enlightenment came to him and he found an unexpected ally.
That internationally famous specialist on blood-diseases was a big enough man to admit the possibility of a mistake ​in the diagnosis of the case, even before Odell disclosed the fact of the substituted needle; and when that was demonstrated to him he sprang from his chair and paced the floor, striking his clenched fist into the cupped palm of his other hand.
"Good God, what fools we were! What arrant fools! That goes to show you, Sergeant, how even those of us who think we stand at the top of our profession take too much for granted. There was no suggestion of foul play, the outward indications were identical with those of septicemia of the ordinary kind; and we looked no farther than our noses, even though we were battling for a life."
"Were you the first specialist called in consultation with Doctor Adams, sir?" asked Odell.
"No, the last; Kelland was called first, then Day. It was only when it was realized that the patient was sinking that I was sent for; and it was too late then for me to do anything for her, even if I had discovered the truth. Her heart would not have withstood the effect of any drastic treatment. I looked over the record of the case thoroughly and found practically nothing to suggest, for they had tried everything known to medical science." He was still pacing the floor; but now he turned and faced the detective squarely. "I should have known then that there was something vitally wrong, but appearances deceived me. I own that I had some misgivings at first, but Kelland and Day were so positive and the patient so far gone that I permitted my judgment to be swayed, although I was not satisfied in my own mind; I could not understand why the patient had not responded to the treatment."
He recommenced his restless promenade, and Odell was ​silent for a moment or two. At last he remarked thoughtfully:
"It is a pity that there was no autopsy. I suppose it is too late now, Doctor McCutchen?"
"No. The autopsy must take place now, although I doubt that it will disclose anything of value toward revealing the truth. There are some poisons, you know, which can be introduced in just such a manner as by the prick of a needle that leave absolutely no trace in the system, and their effect is quick and sure; but they are rare and beyond the reach of a layman." He paused beside the desk. "I presume it would be unprofessional for me to ask if the family have any reason to suspect that Mrs. Lorne's death was not the result of sheer accident other than the fact that the needle was substituted?"
"I will tell you this, Doctor, under the seal of professional secrecy. You have heard of the tragic accident which befell Mrs. Lorne's eldest son only last week when while shaving he severed the jugular vein and died before help could reach him? I have good reason, amounting almost to proof, that his was not the hand which held the razor," Odell replied very gravely. "In addition to that, two attempts have been made since upon the lives of two other members of the family; and there is not the slightest clue to the identity of the murderer. These later attempts had they been successful would both have passed as accidents also, but for the fact that the guilty person had grown bolder and left unmistakable traces of his handiwork behind."
"Great heavens, this is frightful!" The specialist sank into his chair. "I read of young Mr. Chalmers's death, of course, but looked upon it unquestioningly as an accident. ​I had noted his highly nervous condition at the time when I was called in consultation on his mother's case, and the newspaper account of the manner of his death appeared plausible enough. It is a horrible thing to believe, because taken in connection with the probable poisoning of his mother it points to the work—"
He hesitated and the detective finished the sentence for him.
"Of someone on the inside, some member of the household? Exactly, Doctor."
"But there is no clue, you say, to the identity of that someone? Has not Mr. Lorne any suspicion, any theory to advance?"
"Mr. Lorne was one of the intended victims himself and is too ill now to give me any information; but from the few words I did exchange with him I believe him to be as much in the dark as I am. They haven't an enemy in the world that I have been able to discover, Doctor; and the attorney who has been their family lawyer for many years has supplied me with the most minute details of their history." Odell paused. "If the crimes are not the work of someone in the house, there is at least a member of the household who has a guilty knowledge of them, for there must have been an accomplice inside to admit him. But I am taking up your valuable time, Doctor?"
"You are not, Sergeant," the specialist replied with emphasis. "A frightful mistake has been made by myself and my colleagues, and I want to do all that I can to retrieve it. Unfortunately, I was called in too late to save Mrs. Lorne in any event, as I told you; but I feel equally culpable with the others. Did you tell Doctor Day what ​you have told me about the substitution of the needle?"
"No, Doctor. Merely that the family physician had admitted that the case stumped him from the beginning. The medical examiner will notify them both as well as Doctor Kelland and yourself of the time which will be settled upon for the exhumation of the body and the autopsy." The detective rose as if on the point of departure. "In the meantime, while the necessary formalities are being arranged, I wonder if you could give me something to work on?"
"I should be only too happy to, Sergeant. This is going to be rather a blow to my colleagues and myself when the truth reaches the public. But I'm not thinking of that now; all I want is to see justice done; and to be honest I feel a certain amount of professional curiosity. I'm anxious to know what poison was used and how we were all so cleverly hoodwinked." Doctor McCutchen's keen eyes narrowed behind their tortoise-rimmed glasses. "I'll be glad to have you call upon me for any help that I may be able to give you."
A discreet knock sounded upon the door, and at the specialist's impatient bark of admission a white-clad attendant put her head inside.
"Doctor, will you see—"
"Nobody this afternoon. Not at home until six!" He interrupted her shortly, and as the head withdrew he turned to the detective. "What information can I give you, Sergeant?"
"You spoke just now of certain poisons which might have been used and which would leave no traces in the system, Doctor. Will you tell me about them and where they might ​be obtained by someone not a member of the medical profession?"
"There are comparatively few—" The specialist broke off abruptly. "I tell you, there's something wrong with that poisoned-needle theory. I have made about as profound a study of toxicology as anyone in the country, and I do not know of any poison so introduced and leaving no trace which would produce that effect of a slowly progressing septicemia. There are some which would cause instant death and others which would merely paralyze. I naturally do not care to give an opinion before the autopsy, especially in view of the mistake which you have convinced me that my colleagues and I have made; but I don't mind advancing a theory for your consideration.
"What if that needle had not been poisoned in the sense you mean? What if it had merely been dipped in the serum from some other case of blood-poisoning? That is the one serious danger which surgeons have to face, you know, and which has brought about meticulous care in sterilization. The result would have been exactly what was seen in Mrs. Lorne's case at first."
"Yes; but she did not respond to any of the forms of treatment which were tried." Odell saw his carefully built-up theory falling to pieces. "You are positive, Doctor, that there is no poison?"
The specialist waved the question aside impatiently.
"I said 'at first,' Sergeant. Let us suppose, then, that Mrs. Lorne is really suffering from infection: let us suppose also that the would-be murderer or his confederate is right at hand, a trusted member of the household. As I ​remember, Doctor Adams was not called in until the third day and by that time the infection had spread well up into the lower arm. One of his first steps would be to make an incision near the original puncture for drainage. What if after this was accomplished and the first treatment had been finished but before the patient had begun to respond to it, the dressing had been removed and the incision reinfected? What if this were repeated until death ensued? Mrs. Lorne would have died from septicemia, true; but she would have been murdered as surely as if she had been stabbed through the heart."
"By George, I believe you have hit it, Doctor," Odell exclaimed. Then a shade of doubt crossed his face, to be as quickly suppressed, and he added hastily, "I'm going to act upon that theory at once. Thank you for giving me so much of your time."
"You will keep me informed of your progress?" the specialist asked as they shook hands.
"Surely; and you will hear from the medical examiner about the autopsy. Thank you again, sir, and good afternoon."
In the street once more, Odell turned his footsteps in the direction of the Meade house. The specialist's theory was ingenious; but had it been a wholly disinterested one? If it could be proven it would, of course, exculpate himself and his colleagues from all censure in the matter of their diagnosis; but there seemed on the face of it to be insuperable difficulties in the path of such an hypothesis. One or the other of the two nurses must have been constantly on guard, and Miss Meade had scarcely left her sister's bedside. Not even she would have been permitted to change ​the dressings; that could only have been done by Doctor Adams himself or the nurses—
The nurses! He made a mental note to learn all that he could about them at the earliest possible moment; but meanwhile the afternoon was advancing and much remained to be done before he reported to the captain of his bureau that night. Much that had occurred in the house of mystery that day had been inexplicable to him, and there were so many loose threads to be gathered together that he felt as if he were attempting to solve four problems at once. A score of questions were teeming in his brain, and not the least insistent of them was the significance of Gerda's hint about insanity.
When he reached the house Jane, who admitted him, informed him that the doctor had come and gone. He started toward the drawing-room but hearing the low murmur of voices paused.
"Who is here?" he asked.
"Oh, just Mr. Tad—Mr. Traymore, sir. The young gentleman who comes to see Miss Nan from next door," Jane simpered meaningly. "I'll call Miss Meade."
"No. Tell Miss Chalmers, the elder Miss Chalmers, that I would like to see her in the library at once, please."
"She's layin' down," Jane observed somewhat doubtfully. "She had hysterics all the morning and she told Gerda that she wasn't to be disturbed now by anybody."
"Take my message nevertheless." There was a sharp note of authority in his tone, and Jane scurried away.
The temperamental Miss Chalmers was not to be so easily bullied, however, and it was a good twenty minutes before she trailed languidly into the library with an air of ​injured innocence. Her lower lip was thrust out sullenly and there was a gathering storm in her eyes, but the detective gave no heed.
"Sit down, please. Miss Chalmers," he began in a brisk, business-like way. "You informed your family last night at the dinner-table, I believe, that you were going to leave the house to-day. Why?"
"That is my own affair." She ignored the chair to which he had motioned and stood very straight before him. "I do not choose to discuss it."
"But I do. You will be good enough to reply to my questions or I shall be compelled to resort to stronger measures than this informal interview." He paused and then added: "The attitude which you are taking in this matter might be construed to signify that you did not wish the person who has made these attempts on the lives of your stepfather and your brother to be apprehended."
Cissie drew a deep, convulsive breath, and her little fists clenched.
"What do you mean?" she demanded through set teeth. "How dare you say such hateful things to me? I have nothing to tell you that would be of any help in your investigation; and I resent your attitude, your impertinence!"
Her voice was shaking now and the storm broke into tears of hurt pride.
"I am very sorry," Odell's tones were coolly ironical, "but my dear young lady, you will find the attitude of my superiors far more than impertinent if you compel me to take you before them."
She sniffed in disdain and dried her tears.
"You would not dare!" she scoffed. "If you tried to ​charge me with knowing anything about the dreadful things that have been going on here—"
"I should bring no charge. You would merely be compelled to tell the truth. Your personal antagonism will not be permitted to interfere with the performance of my duty. Miss Chalmers, why did you announce your intention of leaving your home?"
"I didn't," she denied. "I said I would go and visit a girl friend for a few days; the atmosphere of this house had gotten on my nerves."
She spoke in a more subdued tone, but still sullenly.
"Then why did you tell your aunt this morning that you would not go near any of your friends and drag them into the notoriety of this case? Which was the falsehood, Miss Chalmers?"
"Neither. I—I changed my mind this morning, that is all."
"Where had you finally decided to go?"
Cissie hesitated and at length stammered:
"To—to a hotel. I would go anywhere to get away from this house. We are none of us safe here."
"Miss Chalmers, what precipitated your decision last night? Was it the outburst which your younger brother made at the table, the outburst in which he voiced the vague fears you had all entertained for the past week?"
"I suppose so," she shuddered. "It sounded so awful put into words. Of course, we are all dreadfully sorry for Rannie—you have heard that he is crippled?—and we try to be patient with his moods; but you haven't seen him, you don't know him, Sergeant Odell. He is so bitter, and his tongue is so ruthless, that you just can't have any real ​affection for him. I know it must sound disloyal to speak so of one's own brother; but he doesn't care for anyone. His only pleasure is to torment and wound others. Last night father threatened again to have him put away in a sanitarium; and I wish he would. Aunt Effie is the only one who has opposed that."
"Miss Meade is very much attached to him?"
"Well, I suppose she ought to be." Cissie shrugged. "It is her fault that he is a cripple."
"Miss Meade's fault?" Odell asked casually.
"Yes." There was a little vindictive gleam in her round blue eyes. "She dropped him when he was a baby, and he became hunchbacked. She has simply idolized him ever since—remorse, I imagine—and spoiled him dreadfully. None of the rest of us have ever counted with her; and she'd go through fire and water for him."
"Why did your stepfather suggest placing him in a sanitarium? Is his mind affected?" Odell's tone was still casual, and his eyes appeared to be fastened upon the paperweight which he was balancing between his fingers, but in reality he was watching each changing expression of the girl's face.
"No; I would scarcely say that." She smiled scornfully. "He is quite the most brilliant member of the family, but his cleverness is all warped, somehow. Father meant a sanitarium for cripples out in the country; for Rannie is really an invalid, you know. He spends most of his time in bed, with Aunt Effie nursing him and submitting to his abuse. After last night's scene when he mocked us all I—I felt as if my nerves just wouldn't stand any more."
"You were saying much the same thing to your aunt in ​the hall this morning, and when she stopped you she said she wished it had been you. What did she mean by that remark, Miss Chalmers?"
"That it had been me whom she dropped instead of Rannie, I imagine," Cissie flashed resentfully. "Aunt Effie is always like that when you say one word against Rannie."
"You say he is an invalid. Is he weak physically?"
"His spine troubles him a great deal at times, and he cannot walk very far; but he has tremendous strength in his hands and arms. He used to pinch us black and blue when he was in a temper as a child." Cissie halted suddenly, and when she spoke again there was a rising note of apprehension in her tones. "Why are you asking me all these questions about him. Sergeant Odell? Surely you don't suspect him of—of—"
"Do you, Miss Chalmers?" He shot the question at her; and she tossed her head indignantly, but not before he had seen her quail.
"Certainly not! How dare you insinuate such a thing! My brother a—murderer? You must be mad!" Her voice rose shrilly and then broke, and she sank into her chair and covered her face with both hands. "Oh, I don't know what to think! Some one of us must know! I am afraid—afraid!"