# Larry Dexter, Reporter/Chapter 10

pp. 78–85.
CHAPTER X
WORKING UP THE CLEW
Mr. Newton placed the paper in his pocket. Then, as there seemed to be no further news of the robbery to get at the jewelry store, the three reporters hurried back to the Leader office.
There, after Larry and Jones had written out their parts of the story, they turned them over to Mr. Newton, who was to arrange the whole article in proper shape. Larry, soon after this, was sent out on another assignment, and did not get a chance to see Mr. Newton until late that afternoon.
“What are you going to do to-night, Larry?” asked his friend, as they were about to leave for home.
“Nothing special, Mr. Newton. I don't do any studying during the summer nights, though I guess I need it.”
“No, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” responded Mr. Newton, with a smile. “Study is a good thing, but you need recreation also. Do you want to make a call with me?”
“I guess so. Where is it?”
“To a chemist's.”
“What's up?” asked Larry.
“Well, don't say anything about it,” went on Mr. Newton, in a low tone, “but we may be able to work up a clew in that burglary story.”
“You mean that safe robbery we were up to this morning?”
“That's the one. I think the paper you found may prove of value. But I want to be sure of my ground before I go any further. So if you will come to the chemist's with me to-night we'll see what may develop.”
Larry didn't see how a scrap of paper with a few blue finger-marks on it was going to be much of a clew to discover safe-blowers by, but he said nothing.
It was arranged that he was to call at Mr. Newton's house after supper. He found the older reporter waiting for him, and they took a car.
“Of course, I needn't tell you to keep quiet about this,” said Mr. Newton. “I haven't said anything, even to Mr. Emberg, about it, for fear I might be mistaken, and get laughed at for my pains.”
“I'll not say anything,” promised Larry.
In a short while they found themselves at the office of the chemist. The place was shut up, but Mr. Newton seemed to know where the scientist lived, for he rang a bell a few houses off, and, when a girl answered the door, asked:
“Is Mr. Hosfer in?”
“He is, but he's very busy.”
“Just tell him Mr. Newton wants to see him,” said Larry, and the girl, with an air as much as to say that her errand would be fruitless, hurried off, leaving the two reporters standing on the steps.
“Not very polite,” said Mr. Newton, as they waited.
The girl was soon back.
“Mr. Hosfer will see you,” she said, with a very different air. “You must excuse me, but you see there are so many thieves about.”
“I assure you we're not thieves,” said Mr. Newton. “The umbrellas and hats in the hall were perfectly safe.”
The girl laughed, and Mr. Newton joined in. In the midst of the merriment Mr. Hosfer, who was an old gentleman wearing iron-bowed spectacles that seemed lost under his shaggy eyebrows, shuffled into the room.
“Ah, it is my old friend of the newspaper,” he exclaimed. “What terrible scandal have you been writing up now? What horrible murder, what soul-racking suicide, what terrible mystery, what awful, terrible, horrible, monstrous, impossible tale have you been concocting, my dear friend?” And he laughed as though it was the most delightful thing in the world to have sensations of the most pronounced kind served up for breakfast, dinner, and supper.
“Nothing at all, Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. Newton. “We have nothing only the most ordinary news to-day.”
“Tut! tut! Nonsense! I know better,” was the reply. “I know you would not be satisfied with that. You will take a story of a little child getting lost, and make a fearful, blood-curdling mystery of it.”
For it was Mr. Hosfer's opinion that all reporters were of the sensational class, who loved to dress simple facts up in word-garments of red and green ink. He could not seem to get over the notion, and perhaps it was because he seldom read a paper, being too busy with his many experiments.
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked the chemist, rubbing his hands. “Have you a sample of blood for me to analyze, or a dead body you want me to boil up in a test-tube? Trot it out,” and he smiled.
“I don't know whether you will be able to help us or not,” said Mr. Newton, who had known the chemist for a long time, and who had frequently come to him for information concerning stories where chemistry played a part.
“I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee to solve impossibilities. I can't tell what you had for breakfast by looking at your hat, as some reporters think a detective can. Besides, I'm not a detective.”
“This is strictly in your line,” said Mr. Newton, pulling the piece of paper with blue marks on it from his pocket, and holding it out to the chemist. “What is that?”
The chemist looked at it without touching it. He bent over closer, and applied his nose to it.
“It will not bite you,” said Mr. Newton.
“I know it will not,” was the answer. “But I want to get every impression I can from it before I take it into my hands. After I have handled it I cannot detect the odor as plainly, providing there is an odor, as there happens to be in this case. Now, what do you want me to do?” and he took the blue-marked paper from Mr. Newton's fingers.
“What made those marks?” asked the reporter.
“There you go!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. “You think I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes. I can't tell what made 'em at a moment's glance. I doubt if even Sherlock Holmes could. I might make a guess, and hit it, or I might not. Probably not. I could say they were ink, or from a typewriter ribbon, or from bluing that was used at the weekly wash, or from water colors, or from oil colors, or—or some chemical. I'm inclined to think they're some chemical, but, of course, it's only a guess. You see, I only have one chance among a good many certainties of guessing. I must make an analysis.”
“That's exactly what we want you to do,” said Mr. Newton. “Can you do it now?”
“WE ARE COMING ON, WE SHALL BE THERE PRESENTLY.”
Larry Dexter, Reporter
“Oh, I s'pose I can,” was the answer. “I can neglect all my other work to do something that will turn out to be a terrible murder, a mysterious shooting, a horrible suicide, a forgery, a child-stealing, an attempt at arson, or something worse. I can do it, I s'pose, to please you, but——”
“You will do it,” said Mr. Newton, with a laugh. “I know you're as anxious to know what made those blue spots as I am. You're going to find out, too.”
“Yes, I am,” said Mr. Hosfer, suddenly. “I wouldn't do it for anyone else, but you've done me a number of favors, Mr. Newton, and I'd like to oblige you. Come into the laboratory.”
Followed by Larry, Mr. Newton accompanied Mr. Hosfer. The laboratory was in the rear of the house. It was a place well filled with all sorts of queer apparatus. There were rows of bottles containing oddly-colored liquids and solids, big flasks, small furnaces, pipes, odd machines, scales, an electrical apparatus, test tubes, alembics, retorts, crucibles, and all that goes to make up a chemist's workshop.
“Now after I start to work,” said Mr. Hosfer, “I don't want either of you to ask me a question. It bothers me, and I can't think. When I get through you may talk all you please.”
Without more ado he started in. He tore off a small piece of the paper, and put it to soak in a tube which contained some liquid. Another piece he placed in another tube. One piece he burned, and saved the ashes from it on a tiny dish. Still another piece he covered with some white substance. All the while he kept muttering to himself, like some old philosopher in search of the secret of transmuting base metals into gold.
After a little while he took up the tube in which he had placed the piece of blue paper. He poured into it a few drops of some liquid, and the stuff in the tube changed color.
“Ah, I thought so,” muttered Mr. Hosfer.
He rapidly made a number of other experiments, going through similar performances. He tested the ashes of the paper he had burned, and even applied a small portion of them to his tongue, making a wry face as he did so.
“We are coming on,” he murmured, nodding his head at Mr. Newton and Larry. “We shall be there presently.”
Mindful of the injunction neither of the reporters spoke. They watched Mr. Hosfer with interest.
Finally the experiments were over. The chemist holding a test tube, in which was some violet-colored liquid, came toward them.
“Are you ready to hear what I have to say?”
“Say on,” spoke Mr. Newton, in half tragic tones.
“Whatever else that paper may have had on it, and I have not gone far enough to say all the things that were on it, that paper contained nitric acid in some form.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Positively,” replied Mr. Hosfer.
Larry felt greatly disappointed. He had expected something that would point a clew to the burglars, and to learn that the paper had only been marked by an acid, was somewhat of a shock.
“Could nitric acid, such as is used in the explosive nitro-glycerine, produce that color?” was Mr. Newton's next question.
“Of course it could,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I knew you were coming to some terrible explosion, some awful blowing up of innocent persons, some catastrophe, some horrible cataclysm, some terrific disturbance of the laws of nature!”
“Not quite as bad as that,” said Mr. Newton. “But tell me this: If nitric acid made those marks, and nitro-glycerine could do it, would a person handling the explosive be likely to mark a paper in that fashion?”
“Most decidedly so,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I can refer you to——”
“Never mind!” interrupted Mr. Newton. “That is all I want to know.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked the chemist.
“I am going to look for the man who made those marks on the paper,” replied the reporter.
“How can you find him?” asked Larry, in surprise.
“By looking for a man with a blue hand,” was Mr. Newton's answer.