The Greatest Works of Arthur B. Reeve - 60 Titles in One Edition. Arthur B. Reeve
should like very much to have a talk with Dr. Goode," suggested Craig.
"By all means," agreed Myra eagerly. "I'll go over to his office with you. It is only next door."
"Then I'll wait here," said Lionel, rather curtly, I thought.
I fancied that there was a coolness that amounted to a latent hostility between Lionel and Dr. Goode, and I wondered about it.
Across the sparse lawn that struggled up under the deep shade of the trees stood a smaller, less pretentious house of a much more modern type. That was where Dr. Goode lived.
We crossed with Myra through a break in the hedge between the two houses. As we were about to pass between the two grounds, Kennedy's foot kicked something that seemed to have rolled down from some rubbish on the boundary line of the two properties, piled up evidently waiting to be carted away.
Craig stooped casually and picked the object up. It was a queer V-shaped little porcelain cone. He gave it a hasty look, then dropped it into his pocket.
Dr. Goode, into whose office Myra led us, was a youngish man, smooth-shaven, the type of the new generation of doctors. He had come to Norwood several years before and had struggled up to a very fair practice.
"Miss Moreton tells me," began Kennedy after we had been introduced, "that there is a theory that theirs is one of these so-called cancer houses."
The doctor looked at us keenly. "Yes," he nodded, "I have heard that theory expressed—and others, too. Of course, I haven't had a chance to verify it. But I may say that, privately, I am hardly prepared to accept it, yet, as a case of cancer house."
He was very guarded in his choice of words, but did not succeed in covering up the fact that he had a theory of his own.
I was watching both the young doctor and Myra. She had entered his office in a way that suggested that she was something more than a patient. As I watched them, it did not take one of very keen perception to discover that they were on very intimate terms indeed and thought very highly of each other. A glance at the solitaire on Myra's finger convinced me. They were engaged.
"You don't believe it, then?" asked Craig quickly.
The young man hesitated and shrugged his shoulders.
"You have a theory of your own?" persisted Craig, determined to get an answer.
"I don't know whether I have or not," he replied non-committally.
"Is it that you think it possible to produce cancer artificially and purposely?" shot out Craig.
Dr. Goode considered. I wondered whether he had any suspicions of which he would not speak because of professional ethics. Kennedy had fixed his eyes on him sharply and the doctor seemed uneasy under the scrutiny.
"I've heard of cases," he ventured finally, "where X-rays and radium have caused cancerous growths. You know several of the experimenters have lost their lives in that way—martyrs to science."
I could not help, somehow or other, thinking of Dr. Loeb. Did Dr. Goode refer indirectly to him? Loeb certainly was no martyr to science. He might be a charlatan. But was he a scientific villain?
"That may all be true," pursued Craig relentlessly, evidently bound to draw the young man out. "But it is, after all, a question of fact, not of opinion."
Myra was looking at him eagerly now and the doctor saw that she expected him to speak. It was more pressure than he could resist.
"I have long suspected something of the sort," he remarked in a low, forced tone. "I've had samples of the blood of the Moretons examined. In fact I have found that their blood affects the photographic plate through a layer of black paper. You know red blood cells and serum have a distinct power of reducing photo-silver on plates when exposed to certain radiations. In other words, I have found that their blood is, apparently, radioactive!"
Myra looked at him aghast. It was evidently the first time he had said anything about this new suspicion, even to her. The very idea was shocking. Could it be that someone was using these new forces with devilish ingenuity?
"If that's the case, who would be the most likely person to do such a thing?" shot out Craig.
"I wouldn't like to say," he returned, dodging, though we were all thinking of Dr. Loeb.
"But the motive?" demanded Craig. "What motive would there be?"
"Darius Moreton is very intimate with a certain person," he returned enigmatically. "It is even reported in town that he has left that person a large sum of money in his will in payment for his services, if you call them so, to the family."
He had evidently not intended to say so much and, although Craig tried in every way, he could not get the doctor to amplify what he had hinted at.
We returned to the Moreton house, Kennedy apparently much impressed by what Dr. Goode had said.
"If you will permit me," he asked, "I should like to have a few drops of blood from each of you."
"Goode tried that," remarked old Mr. Moreton. "I don't know that anything came of it. Still, I am not going to refuse, if Myra and Lionel agree."
Craig had already taken from his pocket a small case containing a hypodermic and some little glass tubes. There seemed to be no valid objection and from each of them he drew off a small quantity of blood. As he worked, I thought I saw what he had in mind. Could there be, I wondered, an X-ray outfit or perhaps radium concealed about the living rooms of the house? First of all, it was necessary to verify Dr. Goode's observations.
We chatted a few moments, then took leave of Myra Moreton.
"Keep up your courage," whispered Craig with a look that told her that he had seen the conflict between loyalty to her father and to her lover.
Lionel drove us back to the station in the car alone. Nothing of importance was said by any of us until we had almost reached the station.
"I can see," he said finally, "that you don't feel sure that it is a cancer house."
Kennedy said nothing.
"Well," he pursued, "I don't know anything about it, of course. But I do know this much—those doctors are making a good thing out of father and the rest of us."
The car had pulled up. "I've got no use for Loeb," the young man went on. "Still, I'd rather not that we had trouble with him. I'll tell you," he added in a burst of confidence, "he has a little girl who works for him, his secretary, Miss Golder. She comes from Norwood. I should hate to have anything happen to queer her. People used to think Goode was engaged to her before he took that office next to us and got ambitious. Father placed her with Dr. Loeb. If it's necessary to do anything with him, I wish you'd think whether she couldn't be kept out of it in some way."
"I'll try to do it," agreed Craig, as we shook hands and climbed on the early afternoon train back to the city.
Chapter XXIX
The Quack Doctors
Kennedy's first move was to go downtown to the old building opposite the City Hall and visit the post-office inspectors.
"I've heard of the government's campaign against the medical quacks who are using the mails," he introduced when we at last found the proper inspector. "I wonder whether you know a Dr. Adam Loeb?"
"Loeb?" repeated the inspector, O'Hanlon, who was in charge of the investigation which was then in progress. "Of course we know Loeb—a very slippery customer, too, with just enough science at his command to make the case against him difficult.
"I suppose," went on O'Hanlon, "you know that in Europe the popular furore about radium and its applications appeared earlier than it did here. But now we have great numbers of dishonest and fake radium cure establishments. Usually they have neither radium nor knowledge. They promise