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"I had a curiosity to know who had so strangely traced my actions." "But what was the poison?" asked Professor Gehren. "I think Mr. Jones has more than a suspicion," replied the doomed man, with a smile. "You will find useful references on yonder shelf, Mr. Jones." Moving across to the shelf, Average Jones took down a heavy volume and ran quickly over the leaves.
"How do you know it is quite near New York?" "Because Harvey Craig went there and back between noon and two o'clock, Professor Gehren says. Now, we've got to find such a place which is near a stretch of deserted, swampy ground, very badly infested with mosquitoes. I'd thought of the Hackensack Meadows, just across the river in Jersey." "That is all very well," said Bertram; "but why mosquitoes?"
On the day following Bertram's telephone, Professor Gehren entered Astor Court Temple, took the elevator to the ninth floor, and, following directions, found himself scanning a ground-glass window flaunting the capitalized and gilded legend, "Ad-Visor," commented the professor, rancorously. "A vicious verbal monstrosity!" He read on: ADVICE UPON ADVERTISING IN ALL FORMS Consultation Free. Step In
Average Jones knew Professor Gehren by sight, knew of him further by repute as an impulsive, violent, warm-hearted and learned pundit who, for a typically meager recompense, furnished sundry classes of young gentlemen with amusement, alarm and instruction, in about equal parts, through the medium of lectures at the Metropolitan University.
Professor Gehren bowed. "And you, Mr. Jones; are you a detective?" "No; merely a follower of strange trails by taste." "Ah. You have set yourself to a dark one. You wish to know how Telfik Bey" his eyes narrowed and glinted "came to his reward. Will you enter, gentlemen?" "I know this much," replied Average Jones as, followed by his friends, he passed through the door which their host held open.
But on his return to the city he was able to give a reproduction of the writing to Professor Gehren which convinced that anxious scholar that Harvey Craig had been alive and able to write not long before the time when the houseboat was set adrift. Some days after the recovery of the houseboat, Average Jones sat at breakfast, according to his custom, in the cafe of the Hotel Palatia.
"Did I understand you to imply that I am at liberty to accompany you?" inquired Professor Gehren. "If you care to take the risk." "Think there'll be excitement?" asked Bertram languidly. "I'd like to go along." Average Jones nodded. "One or a dozen; I fancy it will be all the same to Smith." "You think we'll find him dead." Young Mr. McIntyre leaped to this conclusion. "Count me in on it."
"Do you keep it on file?" "No." "Ah! That's a pity. Then you wouldn't know if one were missing?" The professor reflected. "Yes, there was a copy containing a letter upon Von Studeborg's recent experiments " "Can you recall the date?" "After the middle of June, I think." Average Jones sent for a file and handed it to Professor Gehren. "Is this it?" he asked, indicating the copy of June 18.
Presently Average Jones, opening a rear window, leaped to the ground, followed by the others, and came around the corner of the porch. The dead man lay with peaceful face. Professor Gehren uncovered. "God forgive him," he said. "Who shall say that he was not right?" "Not I," said the young assistant secretary in awed tones. "I'm glad he escaped. But what am I to do?
Ask for information about Harvey Craig." With absorbed intentness the other three listened to the one-sided conversation. "Hello!... May I speak to Mr. Harvey Craig's doctor?... This is Professor Gehren of the Metropolitan University... Thank you, Doctor. How is he?... Very grave?... Ah, has been very grave .... Wholly out of danger?... What was the nature of his illness?
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