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The War Terror

A >> Arthur B. Reeve >> The War Terror



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THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES

THE WAR TERROR

BY ARTHUR B. REEVE


FRONTISPIECE BY WILL FOSTER




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

INTRODUCTION
I. THE WAR TERROR
II. THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC GUN
III. THE MURDER SYNDICATE
IV. THE AIR PIRATE
V. THE ULTRA-VIOLET RAY
VI. THE TRIPLE MIRROR
VII. THE WIRELESS WIRETAPPERS
VIII. THE HOUSEBOAT MYSTERY
IX. THE RADIO DETECTIVE
X. THE CURIO SHOP
XI. THE "PILLAR OF DEATH"
XII. THE ARROW POISON
XIII. THE RADIUM ROBBER
XIV. THE SPINTHARISCOPE
XV. THE ASPHYXIATING SAFE
XVI. THE DEAD LINE
XVII. THE PASTE REPLICA
XVIII. THE BURGLAR'S MICROPHONE
XIX. THE GERM LETTER
XX. THE ARTIFICIAL KIDNEY
XXI. THE POISON BRACELET
XXII. THE DEVIL WORSHIPERS
XXIII. THE PSYCHIC CURSE
XXIV. THE SERPENT'S TOOTH
XXV. THE "HAPPY DUST"
XXVI. THE BINET TEST
XXVII. THE LIE DETECTOR
XXVIII. THE FAMILY SKELETON
XXIX. THE LEAD POISONER
XXX. THE ELECTROLYTIC MURDER
XXXI. THE EUGENIC BRIDE
XXXII. THE GERM PLASM
XXXIII. THE SEX CONTROL
XXXIV. THE BILLIONAIRE BABY
XXXV. THE PSYCHANALYSIS
XXXVI. THE ENDS OF JUSTICE




INTRODUCTION


As I look back now on the sensational events of the past months
since the great European War began, it seems to me as if there had
never been a period in Craig Kennedy's life more replete with
thrilling adventures than this.

In fact, scarcely had one mysterious event been straightened out
from the tangled skein, when another, even more baffling, crowded
on its very heels.

As was to have been expected with us in America, not all of these
remarkable experiences grew either directly or indirectly out of
the war, but there were several that did, and they proved to be
only the beginning of a succession of events which kept me busy
chronicling for the Star the exploits of my capable and versatile
friend.

Altogether, this period of the war was, I am sure, quite the most
exciting of the many series of episodes through which Craig has
been called upon to go. Yet he seemed to meet each situation as it
arose with a fresh mind, which was amazing even to me who have
known him so long and so intimately.

As was naturally to be supposed, also, at such a time, it was not
long before Craig found himself entangled in the marvelous spy
system of the warring European nations. These systems revealed
their devious and dark ways, ramifying as they did tentacle-like
even across the ocean in their efforts to gain their ends in
neutral America. Not only so, but, as I shall some day endeavor to
show later, when the ban of silence imposed by neutrality is
raised after the war, many of the horrors of the war were brought
home intimately to us.

I have, after mature consideration, decided that even at present
nothing but good can come from the publication at least of some
part of the strange series of adventures through which Kennedy and
I have just gone, especially those which might, if we had not
succeeded, have caused most important changes in current history.
As for the other adventures, no question can be raised about the
propriety of their publication.

At any rate, it came about that early in August, when the war
cloud was just beginning to loom blackest, Kennedy was
unexpectedly called into one of the strangest, most dangerous
situations in which his peculiar and perilous profession had ever
involved him.




CHAPTER I

THE WAR TERROR


"I must see Professor Kennedy--where is he?--I must see him, for
God's sake!"

I was almost carried off my feet by the inrush of a wild-eyed
girl, seemingly half crazed with excitement, as she cried out
Craig's name.

Startled by my own involuntary exclamation of surprise which
followed the vision that shot past me as I opened our door in
response to a sudden, sharp series of pushes at the buzzer,
Kennedy bounded swiftly toward me, and the girl almost flung
herself upon him.

"Why, Miss--er--Miss--my dear young lady--what's the matter?" he
stammered, catching her by the arm gently.

As Kennedy forced our strange visitor into a chair, I observed
that she was all a-tremble. Her teeth fairly chattered.
Alternately her nervous, peaceless hands clutched at an imaginary
something in the air, as if for support, then, finding none, she
would let her wrists fall supine, while she gazed about with
quivering lips and wild, restless eyes. Plainly, there was
something she feared. She was almost over the verge of hysteria.

She was a striking girl, of medium height and slender form, but it
was her face that fascinated me, with its delicately molded
features, intense unfathomable eyes of dark brown, and lips that
showed her idealistic, high-strung temperament.

"Please," he soothed, "get yourself together, please--try! What is
the matter?"

She looked about, as if she feared that the very walls had eyes
and ears. Yet there seemed to be something bursting from her lips
that she could not restrain.

"My life," she cried wildly, "my life is at stake. Oh--help me,
help me! Unless I commit a murder to-night, I shall be killed
myself!"

The words sounded so doubly strange from a girl of her evident
refinement that I watched her narrowly, not sure yet but that we
had a plain case of insanity to deal with.

"A murder?" repeated Kennedy incredulously. "YOU commit a murder?"

Her eyes rested on him, as if fascinated, but she did not flinch
as she replied desperately, "Yes--Baron Kreiger--you know, the
German diplomat and financier, who is in America raising money and
arousing sympathy with his country."

"Baron Kreiger!" exclaimed Kennedy in surprise, looking at her
more keenly.

We had not met the Baron, but we had heard much about him, young,
handsome, of an old family, trusted already in spite of his youth
by many of the more advanced of old world financial and political
leaders, one who had made a most favorable impression on
democratic America at a time when such impressions were valuable.

Glancing from one of us to the other, she seemed suddenly, with a
great effort, to recollect herself, for she reached into her
chatelaine and pulled out a card from a case.

It read simply, "Miss Paula Lowe."

"Yes," she replied, more calmly now to Kennedy's repetition of the
Baron's name, "you see, I belong to a secret group." She appeared
to hesitate, then suddenly added, "I am an anarchist."

She watched the effect of her confession and, finding the look on
Kennedy's face encouraging rather than shocked, went on
breathlessly: "We are fighting war with war--this iron-bound
organization of men and women. We have pledged ourselves to
exterminate all kings, emperors and rulers, ministers of war,
generals--but first of all the financiers who lend money that
makes war possible."

She paused, her eyes gleaming momentarily with something like the
militant enthusiasm that must have enlisted her in the paradoxical
war against war.

"We are at least going to make another war impossible!" she
exclaimed, for the moment evidently forgetting herself.

"And your plan?" prompted Kennedy, in the most matter-of-fact
manner, as though he were discussing an ordinary campaign for
social betterment. "How were you to--reach the Baron?"

"We had a drawing," she answered with amazing calmness, as if the
mere telling relieved her pent-up feelings. "Another woman and I
were chosen. We knew the Baron's weakness for a pretty face. We
planned to become acquainted with him--lure him on."

Her voice trailed off, as if, the first burst of confidence over,
she felt something that would lock her secret tighter in her
breast.

A moment later she resumed, now talking rapidly, disconnectedly,
giving Kennedy no chance to interrupt or guide the conversation.

"You don't know, Professor Kennedy," she began again, "but there
are similar groups to ours in European countries and the plan is
to strike terror and consternation everywhere in the world at
once. Why, at our headquarters there have been drawn up plans and
agreements with other groups and there are set down the time,
place, and manner of all the--the removals."

Momentarily she seemed to be carried away by something like the
fanaticism of the fervor which had at first captured her, even
still held her as she recited her incredible story.

"Oh, can't you understand?" she went on, as if to justify herself.
"The increase in armies, the frightful implements of slaughter,
the total failure of the peace propaganda--they have all defied
civilization!

"And then, too, the old, red-blooded emotions of battle have all
been eliminated by the mechanical conditions of modern warfare in
which men and women are just so many units, automata. Don't you
see? To fight war with its own weapons--that has become the only
last resort."

Her eager, flushed face betrayed the enthusiasm which had once
carried her into the "Group," as she called it. I wondered what
had brought her now to us.

"We are no longer making war against man," she cried. "We are
making war against picric acid and electric wires!"

I confess that I could not help thinking that there was no doubt
that to a certain type of mind the reasoning might appeal most
strongly.

"And you would do it in war time, too?" asked Kennedy quickly.

She was ready with an answer. "King George of Greece was killed at
the head of his troops. Remember Nazim Pasha, too. Such people are
easily reached in time of peace and in time of war, also, by
sympathizers on their own side. That's it, you see--we have
followers of all nationalities."

She stopped, her burst of enthusiasm spent. A moment later she
leaned forward, her clean-cut profile showing her more earnest
than before. "But, oh, Professor Kennedy," she added, "it is
working itself out to be more terrible than war itself!"

"Have any of the plans been carried out yet?" asked Craig, I
thought a little superciliously, for there had certainly been no
such wholesale assassination yet as she had hinted at.

She seemed to catch her breath. "Yes," she murmured, then checked
herself as if in fear of saying too much. "That is, I--I think
so."

I wondered if she were concealing something, perhaps had already
had a hand in some such enterprise and it had frightened her.

Kennedy leaned forward, observing the girl's discomfiture. "Miss
Lowe," he said, catching her eye and holding it almost
hypnotically, "why have you come to see me?"

The question, pointblank, seemed to startle her. Evidently she had
thought to tell only as little as necessary, and in her own way.
She gave a little nervous laugh, as if to pass it off. But
Kennedy's eyes conquered.

"Oh, can't you understand yet?" she exclaimed, rising passionately
and throwing out her arms in appeal. "I was carried away with my
hatred of war. I hate it yet. But now--the sudden realization of
what this compact all means has--well, caused something in me to--
to snap. I don't care what oath I have taken. Oh, Professor
Kennedy, you--you must save him!"

I looked up at her quickly. What did she mean? At first she had
come to be saved herself. "You must save him!" she implored.

Our door buzzer sounded.

She gazed about with a hunted look, as if she felt that some one
had even now pursued her and found out.

"What shall I do?" she whispered. "Where shall I go?"

"Quick--in here. No one will know," urged Kennedy, opening the
door to his room. He paused for an instant, hurriedly. "Tell me--
have you and this other woman met the Baron yet? How far has it
gone?"

The look she gave him was peculiar. I could not fathom what was
going on in her mind. But there was no hesitation about her
answer. "Yes," she replied, "I--we have met him. He is to come
back to New York from Washington to-day--this afternoon--to
arrange a private loan of five million dollars with some bankers
secretly. We were to see him to-night--a quiet dinner, after an
automobile ride up the Hudson--"

"Both of you?" interrupted Craig.

"Yes--that--that other woman and myself," she repeated, with a
peculiar catch in her voice. "To-night was the time fixed in the
drawing for the--"

The word stuck in her throat. Kennedy understood. "Yes, yes," he
encouraged, "but who is the other woman?"

Before she could reply, the buzzer had sounded again and she had
retreated from the door. Quickly Kennedy closed it and opened the
outside door.

It was our old friend Burke of the Secret Service.

Without a word of greeting, a hasty glance seemed to assure him
that Kennedy and I were alone. He closed the door himself, and,
instead of sitting down, came close to Craig.

"Kennedy," he blurted out in a tone of suppressed excitement, "can
I trust you to keep a big secret?"

Craig looked at him reproachfully, but said nothing.

"I beg your pardon--a thousand times," hastened Burke. "I was so
excited, I wasn't thinking--"

"Once is enough, Burke," laughed Kennedy, his good nature restored
at Burke's crestfallen appearance.

"Well, you see," went on the Secret Service man, "this thing is so
very important that--well, I forgot."

He sat down and hitched his chair close to us, as he went on in a
lowered, almost awestruck tone.

"Kennedy," he whispered, "I'm on the trail, I think, of something
growing out of these terrible conditions in Europe that will tax
the best in the Secret Service. Think of it, man. There's an
organization, right here in this city, a sort of assassin's club,
as it were, aimed at all the powerful men the world over. Why, the
most refined and intellectual reformers have joined with the most
red-handed anarchists and--"

"Sh! not so loud," cautioned Craig. "I think I have one of them in
the next room. Have they done anything yet to the Baron?"

It was Burke's turn now to look from one to the other of us in
unfeigned surprise that we should already know something of his
secret.

"The Baron?" he repeated, lowering his voice. "What Baron?"

It was evident that Burke knew nothing, at least of this new plot
which Miss Lowe had indicated. Kennedy beckoned him over to the
window furthest from the door to his own room.

"What have you discovered?" he asked, forestalling Burke in the
questioning. "What has happened?"

"You haven't heard, then?" replied Burke.

Kennedy nodded negatively.

"Fortescue, the American inventor of fortescite, the new
explosive, died very strangely this morning."

"Yes," encouraged Kennedy, as Burke came to a full stop to observe
the effect of the information.

"Most incomprehensible, too," he pursued. "No cause, apparently.
But it might have been overlooked, perhaps, except for one thing.
It wasn't known generally, but Fortescue had just perfected a
successful electro-magnetic gun--powderless, smokeless, flashless,
noiseless and of tremendous power. To-morrow he was to have signed
the contract to sell it to England. This morning he is found dead
and the final plans of the gun are gone!"

Kennedy and Burke were standing mutely looking at each other.

"Who is in the next room?" whispered Burke hoarsely, recollecting
Kennedy's caution of silence.

Kennedy did not reply immediately. He was evidently much excited
by Burke's news of the wonderful electro-magnetic gun.

"Burke," he exclaimed suddenly, "let's join forces. I think we are
both on the trail of a world-wide conspiracy--a sort of murder
syndicate to wipe out war!"

Burke's only reply was a low whistle that involuntarily escaped
him as he reached over and grasped Craig's hand, which to him
represented the sealing of the compact.

As for me, I could not restrain a mental shudder at the power that
their first murder had evidently placed in the hands of the
anarchists, if they indeed had the electro-magnetic gun which
inventors had been seeking for generations. What might they not do
with it--perhaps even use it themselves and turn the latest
invention against society itself!

Hastily Craig gave a whispered account of our strange visit from
Miss Lowe, while Burke listened, open-mouthed.

He had scarcely finished when he reached for the telephone and
asked for long distance.

"Is this the German embassy in Washington?" asked Craig a few
moments later when he got his number. "This is Craig Kennedy, in
New York. The United States Secret Service will vouch for me--
mention to them Mr. Burke of their New York office who is here
with me now. I understand that Baron Kreiger is leaving for New
York to meet some bankers this afternoon. He must not do so. He is
in the gravest danger if he--What? He left last night at midnight
and is already here?"

Kennedy turned to us blankly.

The door to his room opened suddenly.

There stood Miss Lowe, gazing wild-eyed at us. Evidently her
supernervous condition had heightened the keenness of her senses.
She had heard what we were saying. I tried to read her face. It
was not fear that I saw there. It was rage; it was jealousy.

"The traitress--it is Marie!" she shrieked.

For a moment, obtusely, I did not understand.

"She has made a secret appointment with him," she cried.

At last I saw the truth. Paula Lowe had fallen in love with the
man she had sworn to kill!




CHAPTER II

THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC GUN


"What shall we do?" demanded Burke, instantly taking in the
dangerous situation that the Baron's sudden change of plans had
opened up.

"Call O'Connor," I suggested, thinking of the police bureau of
missing persons, and reaching for the telephone.

"No, no!" almost shouted Craig, seizing my arm. "The police will
inevitably spoil it all. No, we must play a lone hand in this if
we are to work it out. How was Fortescue discovered, Burke?"

"Sitting in a chair in his laboratory. He must have been there all
night. There wasn't a mark on him, not a sign of violence, yet his
face was terribly drawn as though he were gasping for breath or
his heart had suddenly failed him. So far, I believe, the coroner
has no clue and isn't advertising the case."

"Take me there, then," decided Craig quickly. "Walter, I must
trust Miss Lowe to you on the journey. We must all go. That must
be our starting point, if we are to run this thing down."

I caught his significant look to me and interpreted it to mean
that he wanted me to watch Miss Lowe especially. I gathered that
taking her was in the nature of a third degree and as a result he
expected to derive some information from her. Her face was pale
and drawn as we four piled into a taxicab for a quick run downtown
to the laboratory of Fortescue from which Burke had come directly
to us with his story.

"What do you know of these anarchists?" asked Kennedy of Burke as
we sped along. "Why do you suspect them?"

It was evident that he was discussing the case so that Paula could
overhear, for a purpose.

"Why, we received a tip from abroad--I won't say where," replied
Burke guardedly, taking his cue. "They call themselves the
'Group,' I believe, which is a common enough term among
anarchists. It seems they are composed of terrorists of all
nations."

"The leader?" inquired Kennedy, leading him on.

"There is one, I believe, a little florid, stout German. I think
he is a paranoiac who believes there has fallen on himself a
divine mission to end all warfare. Quite likely he is one of those
who have fled to America to avoid military service. Perhaps, why
certainly, you must know him--Annenberg, an instructor in
economics now at the University?"

Craig nodded and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. We had
indeed heard of Annenberg and some of his radical theories which
had sometimes quite alarmed the conservative faculty. I felt that
this was getting pretty close home to us now.

"How about Mrs. Annenberg?" Craig asked, recalling the clever
young wife of the middle-aged professor.

At the mere mention of the name, I felt a sort of start in Miss
Lowe, who was seated next to me in the taxicab. She had quickly
recovered herself, but not before I saw that Kennedy's plan of
breaking down the last barrier of her reserve was working.

"She is one of them, too," Burke nodded. "I have had my men out
shadowing them and their friends. They tell me that the Annenbergs
hold salons--I suppose you would call them that--attended by
numbers of men and women of high social and intellectual position
who dabble in radicalism and all sorts of things." "Who are the
other leaders?" asked Craig. "Have you any idea?"

"Some idea," returned Burke. "There seems to be a Frenchman, a
tall, wiry man of forty-five or fifty with a black mustache which
once had a military twist. There are a couple of Englishmen. Then
there are five or six Americans who seem to be active. One, I
believe, is a young woman."

Kennedy checked him with a covert glance, but did not betray by a
movement of a muscle to Miss Lowe that either Burke or himself
suspected her of being the young woman in question.

"There are three Russians," continued Burke, "all of whom have
escaped from Siberia. Then there is at least one Austrian, a
Spaniard from the Ferrer school, and Tomasso and Enrico, two
Italians, rather heavily built, swarthy, bearded. They look the
part. Of course there are others. But these in the main, I think,
compose what might be called 'the inner circle' of the 'Group.'"

It was indeed an alarming, terrifying revelation, as we began to
realize that Miss Lowe had undoubtedly been telling the truth. Not
alone was there this American group, evidently, but all over
Europe the lines of the conspiracy had apparently spread. It was
not a casual gathering of ordinary malcontents. It went deeper
than that. It included many who in their disgust at war secretly
were not unwilling to wink at violence to end the curse. I could
not but reflect on the dangerous ground on which most of them were
treading, shaking the basis of all civilization in order to cut
out one modern excrescence.

The big fact to us, just at present, was that this group had made
America its headquarters, that plans had been studiously matured
and even reduced to writing, if Paula were to be believed.
Everything had been carefully staged for a great simultaneous blow
or series of blows that would rouse the whole world.

As I watched I could not escape observing that Miss Lowe followed
Burke furtively now, as though he had some uncanny power.

Fortescue's laboratory was in an old building on a side street
several blocks from the main thoroughfares of Manhattan. He had
evidently chosen it, partly because of its very inaccessibility in
order to secure the quiet necessary for his work.

"If he had any visitors last night," commented Kennedy when our
cab at last pulled up before the place, "they might have come and
gone unnoticed."

We entered. Nothing had been disturbed in the laboratory by the
coroner and Kennedy was able to gain a complete idea of the case
rapidly, almost as well as if we had been called in immediately.

Fortescue's body, it seemed, had been discovered sprawled out in a
big armchair, as Burke had said, by one of his assistants only a
few hours before when he had come to the laboratory in the morning
to open it. Evidently he had been there undisturbed all night,
keeping a gruesome vigil over his looted treasure house.

As we gleaned the meager facts, it became more evident that
whoever had perpetrated the crime must have had the diabolical
cunning to do it in some ordinary way that aroused no suspicion on
the part of the victim, for there was no sign of any violence
anywhere.

As we entered the laboratory, I noted an involuntary shudder on
the part of Paula Lowe, but, as far as I knew, it was no more than
might have been felt by anyone under the circumstances.

Fortescue's body had been removed from the chair in which it had
been found and lay on a couch at the other end of the room,
covered merely by a sheet. Otherwise, everything, even the
armchair, was undisturbed.

Kennedy pulled back a corner of the sheet, disclosing the face,
contorted and of a peculiar, purplish hue from the congested blood
vessels. He bent over and I did so, too. There was an unmistakable
odor of tobacco on him. A moment Kennedy studied the face before
us, then slowly replaced the sheet.

Miss Lowe had paused just inside the door and seemed resolutely
bound not to look at anything. Kennedy meanwhile had begun a most
minute search of the table and floor of the laboratory near the
spot where the armchair had been sitting.

In my effort to glean what I could from her actions and
expressions I did not notice that Craig had dropped to his knees
and was peering into the shadow under the laboratory table. When
at last he rose and straightened himself up, however, I saw that
he was holding in the palm of his hand a half-smoked, gold-tipped
cigarette, which had evidently fallen on the floor beneath the
table where it had burned itself out, leaving a blackened mark on
the wood.

An instant afterward he picked out from the pile of articles found
in Fortescue's pockets and lying on another table a silver
cigarette case. He snapped it open. Fortescue's cigarettes, of
which there were perhaps a half dozen in the case, were cork-
tipped.

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