# How Many Cards?/Chapter 15

pp. 199–215.

### CHAPTER XV
#### WADE TERHUNE EXPERIMENTS

TO Jimmie Ballard's joy and gratitude he secured his "beat" and the Bulletin made the most of its exclusive story of Hill's arrest. McCarty put in a busy afternoon and promptly at a quarter before eight that night Dennis Riordan made his appearance at the other's rooms. He was spick and span in a new spring suit that seemed oddly bulky on his spare form and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a buoy above a collar several sizes too tight for even his thin neck, but although the night wind had the sharp edge of an approaching storm, beads of perspiration stood out upon his brow. He walked, too, with a singularly noiseless tread as he advanced to the table and laid thereon a pair of bright yellow, semi-transparent gloves.
The disapproval with which McCarty eyed them changed quickly to curiosity.
"Is it airs you're putting on, Denny, with your gloves? They look like rubber to me! If that's the latest style, you male fashion manikin—!"
"Rubber they are, and 'tis protection, not airs," interrupted Dennis with the defensive dignity of one anticipating ridicule. "And if 'twill interest you to know it, I've rubber soled boots on and rubberized clothes under these! I've no mind to let myself in for any shocks from Terhune's machines!"
"And I suppose along with your Saint Joseph in your pocket you've got a hare's foot and one of those little worsted Rintintins like Molly's husband brought back from France!" McCarty's tone sounded the depths of scorn. "There's an old ladies' home I've been contributing to for years in memory of my mother, with never a soul of my own to get the benefit of it, but I'm thinking 'twill be just the place for you, my lad!"
"Old woman or no!" Dennis retorted doggedly. "I'm taking no chances with Terhune and his devilments!"
McCarty shrugged.
"It's little worry you need to have about Mr. Terhune; 'tis only the brain he tries his little experiments on so you're perfectly safe!"
Dennis sniffed and pocketed the offending gloves, but made no reply and in silence they started for the apartments of the criminologist.
An angular young man with the face of a student opened the door to them and smiled pleasantly.
"Mr. Terhune told me that he was expecting you and your friend, Mr. McCarty. He is just completing the arrangement of his apparatus and he said that you were both to go to the consulting-room."
"Are we the first, Mr. Bassett?" Dennis hung back, deliberately making conversation with the laboratory assistant.
"Yes, Mr. Riordan. There will only be a small gathering this evening, I understand."
"Come on!" McCarty ordered impatiently. "I want to see what's doing!"
They found Terhune emerging from the familiar screen in one corner of the great bare room which now was furnished merely with a row of chairs facing what appeared to be a motion picture screen, and a single chair set forward and well at one side, like that of a teacher before a class.
"I thought you might come a little earlier, my dear McCarty, but there will still be time for me to explain our experiment this evening to you." Terhune shook hands in high good humor. "I see by the papers that you and Inspector Druet have followed the obvious course; I warned you against it, but I should have known how futile my effort would be. Take my word for it, McCarty, you will have to let the valet Hill go within twenty-four hours."
"I'd not be surprised, sir," McCarty responded quietly, but there was a sudden twinkle in his eye.
Dennis tugged surreptitiously at his sleeve.
"What is it, moving pictures?" he asked in a rasping whisper.
"Yes, of a sort, Riordan." Terhune himself answered with a smile. "You will merely see a series of numbers projected on the screen, but I will explain them to you later. I am using the old association test, McCarty, but in connection with a new and improved tonoscope called the vibratoscope.—Do you see this drum?"
He moved the screen aside as he spoke and displayed a large cylindrical case mounted upon a platform with supports at either end and a scale like a double foot-rule projected across but not touching its rounded side which was perforated with slanting rows of almost infinitesimal holes. Before it an upright brass arm held a needle pointer tipped with a tiny flickering flame.
"Look at that, now!" exclaimed Dennis, impressed. "And this vibrat—what you said, sir—what does it do?"
"It projects the vibrations of the human voice upon the screen out there, much in the manner of the motion picture machine," responded Terhune. "The original tonoscope merely registered the tonal quality, showing by a standardized scale whether it was sharp or flat, but with this amplified vibratoscope the vocal manifestations of emotion may be measured down to an accuracy of a hundredth of a tone or even finer.
"The vibrations of the voice, as you see now while I am speaking, cause that little flame on the needle to flicker, diminishing with the lowered degrees of a single tone and rising with its upward trend. Inside that cylindrical case is a large drum which contains some thirty-six thousand holes arranged in rows so as to represent a series of tone shadings covering the entire range of the human voice from a murmur to a shriek. In a tonoscope there are only eighteen thousand holes which form merely an octave. Do you follow me?"
McCarty was studying the apparatus closely but Dennis nodded.
"Yes, sir," he said somewhat uncertainly. "I'm quite a ways behind but I misdoubt I'll catch up when I see it actually working on the screen. And we don't have to hold any little bulbs nor wires nor anything?"
"No, merely to listen and watch. I shall not ask you nor McCarty to take any more active part in to-night's test."
"But just how does this work, Mr. Terhune?" McCarty asked.
"By the revolution of the inner drum you see," explained the criminologist. "I set it in motion when the test starts. If the speaker sounds middle C—which in the original tonoscope makes two hundred and fifty-six vibrations a second—the line on the drum which has two hundred and fifty-six holes will seem to remain stationary while all the other rows are continuing to move; the line which stands still points to that number on the horizontal scale and is then projected on the screen. The numbers on the vibratoscope, however, are differently graded. In action the process is almost instantaneous, so that sound is seen at practically the same time that it is heard.—Ah, good evening, Mr. O'Rourke!"
He stepped from behind the screen and drew its panel hastily across after him so that the earlier arrivals were for the time being hidden from the new-comer and Dennis whispered confidentially:
"Honest to God, Mac, did you understand one single word of all that discourse? I did not, but small matter of that so long as 'tis not my voice that contraption is taking account of! If I've only to watch the screen he can start the show whenever he wants.—What was it he said about an association test? What kind of an association is it? Are we all supposed to be members of the club?"
"No, you loon!" McCarty responded with a low chuckle. "He means the association of one word to another; he mentions a word and you tell what it brings up in your mind, what it means to you."
"If it's education he wants he could buy a dictionary for the meaning of words," Dennis remarked. "That is, providing he could pick out one that had the answer in he wanted; I've never seen one yet."
"'Tis to find out what's on the mind of the person he's questioning," explained McCarty patiently. "I've seen him work it before, on the stepfather of that girl who was supposed to have been thrown from the window of the Glamorgan, only without any little recording machine.—There's Waverly and Cutter now! I wonder how many more are coming?"
A moment later the dry, precise tones of George Alexander were heard and following upon his heels came Inspector Druet.
"Our gathering is complete now," Terhune announced. "McCarty, come out from behind that screen. Gentlemen, you all know the inspector's deputy, Mr. McCarty, I think. This is a colleague of his, Mr. Riordan.—Now, if you will all be seated in that row of chairs facing the projection sheet I will explain the method of this little test; you will find it almost childishly simple."
Waverly turned with a subdued guffaw and a joking aside to Nicholas Cutter, but the latter did not respond and the gravity of his face remained unbroken as he advanced and seated himself at one end of the row of chairs. Waverly dropped into the next with O'Rourke beside him, then Alexander, Inspector Druet and McCarty, with Dennis bringing up at the farther end. Bassett entered only to efface himself silently behind the screen and Terhune took the chair at one side, drawing a sheaf of papers from his pocket.
"You will see merely a series of numbers on the screen," he began. "They will mean nothing to you and are intended for my guidance, but I want you to keep your attention focused upon them nevertheless, even while you are replying to my questions. Understand, gentlemen, there is nothing arbitrary about this, for I have no authority to cross-examine you even if I desired to do so, and you are of course at liberty to reply or not as you choose. If my questions seem to you to be unduly personal, please remember that this is merely a scientific experiment, a short cut to minor details upon which we desire enlightenment and which you may have forgotten or retained merely in your subconscious memory. I am going to read to you, one at a time, a brief list of words and after each I would like you to reply in a single word if possible, telling me just what impression that word has conveyed to you; not a definition but an expression of the relative thought it brings to your mind. For an elementary instance, if I mentioned the word 'feather' you might associate it with 'bird,' or 'hat,' or 'pillow,' or 'duster,' or 'quill pen.' Do I make myself clear?"
"Damned silly little game to me!" Waverly grunted. "Why not 'Button, button'?"
"Perhaps that would not be inappropriate, Mr. Waverly!" Terhune retorted in perfect good humor. "Are you ready, Bassett?"
"Ready, sir." The reply came promptly from behind the screen and immediately a low humming sound reached their ears.
They all sat in silence while Terhune shuffled his papers for a moment and then spoke:
"We will commence with you, Mr. O'Rourke, if you don't object." At his first utterance a number had flashed upon the projection sheet and mechanically the eyes of all save the man he addressed turned to it, only to see it vanish and be replaced in rapid succession by others varying only slightly in value. "You understand what I require, do you not?"
"I think so." Mr. O'Rourke cleared his throat. "You just want to know my first thought after hearing the word. Isn't that it?"
"Precisely. We will start, then, with the word 'life.'"
"Enjoyment!" The reply came with a boyish chuckle and forgetting the warning as to brevity he added: "A good time!"
McCarty, as he listened, thought it very like the graceless young scamp of long ago, and the naïve candor of the admission seemed to arouse an infectious amusement, for a little smile came to the faces of all except Alexander.
"Enjoyment." Terhune spoke in a deliberate monotone.
"That's what I said," responded O'Rourke. "You wanted the truth, you know."
"You mistake me, Mr. O'Rourke. I was not commenting. 'Enjoyment' is the second word."
"Oh, sport!"
"Money."
"Debts, may the devil take them!" ejaculated the irrepressible young man ruefully. The numbers, now, were flashing jerkily before them.
"Love." Terhune's voice was levelly impersonal, but when the reply came, after a pause, it was in a lower, almost reverent tone with all the banter gone from it:
"Wife."
"Friend," went on Terhune.
"Nicholas Cutter!" This came with a smile and a sidelong glance.
"Creveling."
A longer pause than before, and then O'Rourke replied very gravely:
"Death."
"Scandal."
"Lies!" the young man exclaimed, flushing.
"Grief."
"Tony." The unexpected answer came promptly, as though O'Rourke's thoughts had been abruptly switched into a new channel and his voice was filled with warm-hearted tenderness and regret.
"Shot."
"Had to be." The fact that this was an impersonal test had evidently been forgotten. "There was no other way."
"Murder."
"Nothing of the sort!" indignantly. "It was a mercy to the poor brute!"
Wade Terhune folded the first paper, upon which as he voiced his questions he had been making rapid annotations, with alternate glances from O'Rourke to the projection sheet.
"That will do, Mr. O'Rourke," he said with a smile. "We have been at cross purposes during the latter part of the test, but your replies are significant, nevertheless. May I ask who 'Tony' is, or was?"
"My dog." O'Rourke's tones trembled slightly. "The finest setter in the county—I brought him from home, you see—and he was nearer human than anything that ever ran on four legs! He was old and blind but my wife wouldn't hear of anything being done to him until to-day, when the vet. said he was suffering from a cancer. I put him out of his misery myself with a single shot."
"I understand now." Terhune selected another paper from the slips he held upon his knee. "Mr. Waverly, can we induce you to play in our little game next?"
"Go ahead!" Waverly responded, with a somewhat uneasy grin. "It's your move!"
Terhune's tone fell again to a monotone.
"My first word is: 'Creveling.'"
"Suicide," responded Waverly doggedly after a moment's deliberation. He glanced covertly at Cutter and wet his thick lips with the tip of his tongue.
"Cause."
"Crazy!" The reply came with a note of defiance.
"Supper."
Waverly opened his lips to speak and then halted, while an angry red suffused his heavy, pendulous cheeks. At length with a sneering attempt at flippancy, he answered:
"Food."
"Butler," Terhune continued as though he had not noted the evasion.
"Sneak!" growled Waverly and then drew his breath in sharply with belated caution.
"Quarrel."
"Temper." He was evidently holding himself under guard now.
"Woman."
"Trouble." This was accompanied by a shrug and a leer, but his thin tones showed the strain he was under and his eyes turned not to his interrogator but to Cutter, like those of a dog to his master.
"Love." Terhune droned monotonously.
"Infatuation!" There was ineffable contempt in the tone.
"Revenge."
"Foolish!" Waverly could no longer pretend not to comprehend the trend of the examination and his small eyes snapped viciously from between the rolls of fat which all but blotted them out.
"Blood." Terhune's steady voice seemed to cut deeper into the thick hide of Waverly's sensibilities and the veins stood out suddenly upon the latter's brow.
"Say, what in hell are you getting at?" he demanded. "I've humored you with your absurd inquisition and your damned contrivances long enough!"
"That is a very satisfactory reply, Mr. Waverly," Terhune responded, unmoved. "I have only one more word to suggest to you and that is 'alibi.'"
"It's one word too many, you pettifogging meddler!" Waverly sprang from his chair. "You claim that this is only a scientific experiment and under cover of it you dare to insult people with a lot of infernal insinuations and innuendoes you haven't the nerve to come out with openly! Try this grand stand play of yours on some other sucker; I'm through!—Coming, Nick?"
"No. I haven't had my turn yet, and I confess I am interested." Cutter smiled inscrutably into the angry face looking down upon him and made no change in his easy, relaxed attitude. "You're acting like an ass, Doug! Sit down and calm yourself."
"Not I! You can be the goat if you want to, but I'm off. Inspector, if you or any other of the accredited authorities want me you know where to find me." He flung himself from the room and they heard him fumbling in the hall for his hat and stick, and then the resounding slam of the entrance door.
"Disgusting exhibition!" George Alexander commented with dignity. "I never could understand why Eugene tolerated such a boor! Mr. Terhune, like Mr. Cutter, I find your experiment profoundly interesting. Pray continue. Personally, I feel that this otherwise regrettable interruption has somewhat cleared the air."
Knowing Terhune's ultimate purpose, McCarty nearly choked and glanced at Dennis, who responded with an expectant grin. The inspector was eyeing Terhune quizzically.
"I shall not be long now." The criminologist smiled an acknowledgment of the older man's remark. "Mr. Cutter, may I trouble you next?"
"With pleasure." Cutter turned toward him. "I am quite at your service."
"Thank you. What, then, does the word 'friend' suggest to you?"
"Eugene Creveling," Cutter's tone held just the decorous touch of sorrow and regret.
"Trouble."
"Mental and imaginary, if any," he replied as though to himself.
"Weakness."
"Lack of restraint."
The figures which appeared on the projection sheet now were almost stationary, and when they changed at all varied only slightly. It seemed to McCarty as though Cutter were imitating, perhaps unconsciously, the monotonous pitch of his interrogator's voice.
"Attack."
A bare moment elapsed before the reply but it was sufficient to suggest a hint of hesitation.
"Paroxysm."
"Guest."
"Friend." This time there was no pause but the figures changed and flickered before their eyes.
"Gun."
Cutter turned with an apologetic shrug to Terhune.
"There's only one thought which that word could bring to my mind under the circumstances and the only one word which expresses it is 'whose'?"
Terhune nodded in comprehension.
"Passion."
"Curios." Cutter's voice lifted in relief to its accustomed level.
"Anger."
"Rage." Was there a shade of studied carefulness in the precision with which the mere casual definition was uttered?
"Fear."
"Apprehension.
"Doom." For the first time Terhune lowered his own voice impressively, but Cutter only shrugged once more as he made his final reply.
"Fate."
"That is all, thank you, Mr. Cutter." Terhune slipped the paper upon which as before he had been scribbling into his pocket and took up the last remaining sheet. "I shall not detain any of you gentlemen long now. Mr. Alexander, you have heard the words to which the others have replied; will you aid me now in my final test?"
"Willingly, although I must confess that I cannot quite see of what value these tests may be, nor what bearing they can have upon the distressing affair you are investigating. Will you explain your purpose to us afterward? I am highly curious."
"Oh, yes." Terhune smiled once more. "I will make my meaning and purpose quite clear to you. You were Mr. Creveling's partner and closer to him, perhaps, than any one in this room. The words I mention to you will therefore be of more intimate suggestion than those offered to the others as guides to their various trains of thought and will cover a much wider range. I trust that you will reply with the first thought which comes to you in connection with them. Let us take the word 'brother.'"
"Dead." Alexander started nervously and during the utterance of that monosyllable the figures changed three times on the luminous sheet.
"Will." Terhune studied the numerals attentively.
"Document."
"Ward."
"My niece." Alexander spoke shortly and there was a certain dry note in his voice as though all at once he ceased to find the experiment as interesting as he had previously asserted.
"Birth."
"Lineage." The slight, elderly figure drew itself up with unconscious hauteur in the big chair.
"Money."
"Er—capital." He wilted a little but his head with its graying Vandyke beard was still held proudly erect.
"Loan."
"Debt." Alexander caught himself up with a sharply drawn breath.
"Marriage."
A pause ensued and then, faintly:
"Orange blossoms."
To McCarty it seemed a trivial enough rejoinder and yet for some reason it appeared to afford Terhune obvious satisfaction.
"Prosperity."
"Luxury."
"Speculation."
"Risk." Alexander's tones quivered a little but whether from excitement or some other emotion McCarty could not determine.
"Bankruptcy."
"Loss."
"Hypothecation."
"Pledging—security." Alexander swallowed with a visible effort.
"Restitution."
"Giving back—!" Alexander half rose from his chair. "Really, Mr. Terhune, these words seem meaningless to me! I find myself giving you mere definitions—which you stated at the beginning you did not desire—because they awaken no answering chord in my mind. Frankly, I don't understand what you are attempting to do!"
"You will in just a moment, Mr. Alexander." Terhune took his eyes for a fleeting second from the projection sheet. "Tell me what comes to your mind with the word 'bookkeeper.'"
"War," Alexander responded promptly and then seemed to stiffen.
"Theft."
"Jewels." There had been another slight pause.
Terhune smiled but he shook his head.
"Exposure."
"Disgrace!" The reply came in a mere whisper.
"Lower left-hand drawer." It was the first time that Terhune had suggested a phrase instead of a single word and McCarty looked at him in amazement, but his eyes were quickly drawn to the older man.
"I—I don't know what you mean!" Alexander stammered.
"What did Grayson, your bookkeeper, have in the lower left-hand drawer of his desk?" Terhune suddenly dropped all pretense of continuing the test, but in the tensity of the moment no one save McCarty and Inspector Druet appeared to note the fact. "What did you take from that drawer on Wednesday afternoon and then put back again? You were seen with it in your hands! You were seen when you removed it a second time on Thursday, just before closing hour. What was it, Mr. Alexander?"
"I don't know! I don't understand you!" Alexander's fingers twitched nervously. "I—I took nothing from that drawer—"
"Shall I tell you?" Terhune interrupted swiftly. "It was Grayson's army pistol. Where is it now? What did you do with it?"
"I—I took it home—!" The voice quavered and died away into silence and Alexander sat gazing as though fascinated into the face of his inquisitor.
"For what purpose?" Terhune could not quite conceal the hint of exultation which crept into his tones nor the glance of triumph which he shot at the inspector and McCarty.
But as though by a miracle George Alexander seemed to have recovered his poise and he braced himself in his chair.
"I shall not tell you," he spoke with quiet dignity. "I perceive now that this evening's so-called scientific test has been but a farce, a trick! As you have yourself stated, I am at liberty to reply or not as I choose. In this instance I do not choose."
"Then suppose I tell you?" Terhune rose and towered above the frail, dapper figure in the chair. "You have been unfortunate in your speculations in Wall Street for years and when your brother died and his will appointed you the guardian of his daughter and her two hundred thousand dollars, you were on the brink of ruin. Her money tided you over that crisis but you continued to speculate with it until little by little you lost it all. You were at your wit's end, for she would soon have come of age and demanded the accounting you could not give, when Creveling came along and wanted to marry her. She had no love for him but he offered to go into partnership with you and you brought all the influence and pressure to bear upon her that you could command.
"Knowing the man's dissolute character and unsavory reputation you nevertheless literally forced your niece into the marriage. But your partnership has not been a success and Creveling's extravagance has depleted even his once enormous capital. He demanded an accounting from you of the money left in trust with you for his wife and you are in no better position now to render such an accounting than you were when she was a girl; worse, in fact, for whereas she, for the sake of the family name, would have hushed the affair up, Creveling has threatened to expose and disgrace you, if not prosecute.
"He has been particularly abusive lately and you did not know what to do; humiliation, perhaps prison, stared you in the face. Did not a way out suggest itself to you, say, on Wednesday, Mr. Alexander? You changed your mind, though; you put the pistol back, but the next day you took it out once more and this time it disappeared with you—the next day, a few hours before Mr. Creveling was found shot."
"This is infamous!" Alexander exclaimed. "You are practically accusing, me of the murder of my partner, my niece's husband! You go too far, sir—!"
"I am prepared to go farther!" retorted Terhune. "After leaving your office you went directly to your rooms and did not leave them until dinner time. You dined at your club, played a rubber or two of bridge with your usual group of friends, and returned to your rooms once more at eleven. But you did not remain there, Mr. Alexander! You went out again at midnight and did not reappear for two hours or more. Where were you during that period?"
As though warding off a blow Alexander raised his hands to his stricken face and in the gesture there was something at once so helpless and so deeply humiliating that John O'Rourke sprang impulsively to his feet and placed his hand upon the older man's shoulder.
"Look here, sir!" he cried expostulatingly to Terhune. "You are carrying things a little too far! I don't know what you mean about the pistol and all that, but I do know Mr. Alexander and I know that what you are trying to accuse him of is not to be thought of for a minute!"
Alexander looked up with a faint tinge of color in his cheeks and a sudden flash of fire in his eyes.
"I thank you, my boy. After all, blood does tell, doesn't it?" Slowly he rose to his feet and confronted the criminologist. "I did take Grayson's pistol to my rooms on Thursday afternoon; I did go out again that night at twelve and I remained out for two hours or more. I do not propose to offer any explanation of my conduct to you; in fact I decline absolutely to speak further in your presence but if Inspector Druet and Mr. O'Rourke will accompany me to my rooms now I will produce the pistol which Grayson can identify, and I shall account for my actions to the proper authorities!"
"You will explain here and now!" thundered Terhune, but the inspector, who had also risen, touched his arm significantly.
"I wouldn't press him, if I were you," he said rapidly in an undertone. "If he can produce that pistol your case falls to the ground, you know, and you'll get us as well as yourself in a mighty awkward position. I'll go with him as he suggests and 'phone the result to you."
Terhune shrugged.
"I do not need nor desire any credit in this case, if that is what you fear!" he said with cold displeasure. "The police department are welcome to whatever public acclaim may be forthcoming, but having alone worked out the solution of the affair to this point I should naturally like to complete it!"
"Have you one scrap of real evidence against him, Mr. Terhune?" asked Inspector Druet earnestly as he led him aside. "The pistol that killed Creveling is down at Headquarters, you know. Have you one witness who can testify that Alexander was near the Creveling house at the time of the shooting? Remember his standing in the community! Have you any proof at all against him?"
"Nothing tangible that I could bring to your bureau and place upon your desk, perhaps!" Terhune conceded with a sneer. "After all, the case was extremely simple and being quite assured of the outcome I am willing to leave the mere details in your hands. My interest in it was purely psychological. Accompany him to his rooms by all means, but guard him well for you will find that he is the guilty man!"