Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-07-07
THE PROBLEM
OF THE DESERTED HOUSE
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didn't know definitely what it all meant until
| knew was in the vault. No man may know
that Slow SuttOCatlOn, that hldeouS gaSplng
for breath minute after minute went by,
unless he has felt it. And, gentlemen, il | had
been killed one of the most valuable minds in
the sciences would have been lost. 1t would
have been nothing less than a catastrophe
He paused and settled back in that position
which was SO familiar to at least two of his
hearers.
When I got the telephone call" he re-
suned after a moment. it told me several
things beyond the obvious. The logic of it
all-and logic, gentlemen, is incontrovertibe-
was that some man in danger in danger
even as he talked to me- that he had tried to
reach me, seeking help, that the first inter-
ruption the wire came because perhaps he
was being choked and that the second came
the shot which wrecked the Instruments a
desperate eXpedient to prevent further con-
versation. The scene was quite clear in my
mind.
The wire was dead then. Central didn't
know the number There was no way to get
that number save by the tedious process of
testing the wires in the exchange and that
might have taken days. 1t took only two
hours or So fortunately; but | got the num-
Der at last from which was called; that is,
got wire which was inexplicably dead, and
assumed the rest. The number of that wire
was forty-one-seventeen. The records showed
the street and number of the house where it
came from. Therefore went there. Before |
went | took the precaution of calling up police
headquarters to see if any report of a murder
or attempted murder or anything unusual had
come in. Nothing had come in. This fact in
itself calculating. because vaguely 1T in
dicated that had been called. rather than the
police, because-wel perhaps because 1t was
not desirable for the police to know.
We'll. as | explained, | searched the house:
and by the way, Mr. Mallory l don't know if
YOU know the advantages of always holding
your dark lantern as far away from your body
as possible when going into dangerous places;
because II there Is danger, shot, say, the nat
ural impulse of the person who shoots is to aim
at the light incidentally this precaution
saved my life in the cellar. when feigned
death. But I'm going little ahead of myself.
Il found telephone number forty-one-seven-
teen, and there a heavy coat of dust on
the receiver. Obviously it had not been re-
Gently used. The line was dead, it is true,
but the instrument was in perfect condition.
There was no sign of a bullet mark anywhere
round or near it. If the bullet that was fired
had killed the man who had been using the
line it would not have deadened the wire:
therefore instantly saw that the line had been
tapped somewhere; that this instrument had
been cut off from it, and the instrument which
was demolished was the one on the branch
wire.
81 knew this. and was going to the window
to see if the wire led up or down, when heard
some one approaching. | first supposed that
the person, whoever it was, in the room
with me, the steps were SO distinct; but when
| flashed the light. intending at least to see
him. | knew he was above me. One loses the
sense of direction of sound, particularly in the
dark: and it is an incontestable fact that
footsteps, or any sound above be heard
more clearly than the same sound below.
Therefore l knew that some one in the
room above For what purpose? Possibly
to disconnect the branch wire on the telephone
line.
81 waited until the person, whoever it was,
came down and went his way; then found
the wire. and saw where the connection had
been made on it. Then | went straight down
to the subcellar There l saw this Folsom
lying the ground, bound. He was not
gagged: yet he didn't answer my questions;
obviously because he knew if he did he would
place himself in danger The shot was fired
at me- rather at my light, and went through
the farce which ultimately placed me in a coal
bin. Then | began to get definite idea of
things from the conversation, when CranStonS
name mentioned several times.
Folsom persisted in outspoken declara-
ton to reveal everything he knew, including
the story of my murder He insisted until he
placed himself in grave danger, and then.
under cover of utter darkness, | extended one
hand and pinched him twice on the ankle. He
knew then that | not dead, that | had
heard, and did the very thing | wanted him
to do-begged for his life. 1t was bit of
iustifiable dupcity. | knew if he was the
man his every act 50 far had indicated that he
would hunbug Cranston and the other