Абрахам Меррит - Burn, Witch, Burn!

missed someone and skewered a stray dog. Carry this on a little further. Give one of these people power

and opportunity to loose death at random, death whose cause he is sure cannot be detected. He sits in

his obscurity, in safety, a god of death. With no special malice against anyone, perhaps-impersonal, just

shooting his arrows in the air, like Longfellow's archer, for the fun of it."

"And you wouldn't call such a person a homicidal maniac?" I asked, dryly.

"Not necessarily. Merely free of inhibitions against killing. He might have no consciousness of wrongdoing

whatever. Everybody comes into this world under sentence of death-time and method of execution

unknown. Well, this killer might consider himself as natural as death itself. No one who believes that

things on earth are run by an all-wise, all-powerful God thinks of Him as a homicidal maniac. Yet He

looses wars, pestilences, misery, disease, floods, earthquakes-on believers and unbelievers alike. If you

believe things are in the hands of what is vaguely termed Fate-would you call Fate a homicidal maniac?"

"Your hypothetical archer," I said, "looses a singularly unpleasant arrow, Braile. Also, the discussion is

growing far too metaphysical for a simple scientist like me. Ricori, I can't lay this matter before the police.

They would listen politely and laugh heartily after I had gone. If I told all that is in my mind to the medical

authorities, they would deplore the decadence of a hitherto honored intellect. And I would rather not call

in any private detective agency to pursue inquiries."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"You have unusual resources," I answered. "I want you to sift every movement of Peters and Hortense

Darnley for the past two months. I want you to do all that is possible in the same way with the others-"

I hesitated.

"I want you to find that one place to which, because of their love for children, each of these unfortunates

was drawn. For though my reason tells me you and Braile have not the slightest real evidence upon which

to base your suspicions, I grudgingly admit to you that I have a feeling you may be right."

"You progress, Dr. Lowell," Ricori said, formally. "I predict that it will not be long before you will as

grudgingly admit the possibility of my witch."

"I am sufficiently abased," I replied, "by my present credulity not to deny even that."

Ricori laughed, and busied himself copying the essential information from the reports. Ten o'clock struck.

McCann came up to say that the car was waiting and we accompanied Ricori to the door. The gunman

had stepped out and was on the steps when a thought came to me.

"Where do you begin, Ricori?"

"With Peters' sister."

"Does she know Peters is dead?"

"No," he answered, reluctantly. "She thinks him away. He is often away for long, and for reasons which

she understands he is not able to communicate with her directly. At such times I keep her informed. And

the reason I have not told her of Peters' death is because she dearly loved him and would be in much

sorrow-and in a month, perhaps, there is to be another baby."

"Does she know the Darnley woman is dead, I wonder?"

"I do not know. Probably. Although McCann evidently does not."

"Well," I said, "I don't see how you're going to keep Peters' death from her now. But that's your

business."

"Exactly," he answered, and followed McCann to the car.

Braile and I had hardly gotten back to my library when the telephone rang. Braile answered it. I heard

him curse, and saw that the hand that held the transmitter was shaking. He said: "We will come at once."

He set the transmitter down slowly, then turned to me with twitching face.

"Nurse Walters has it!"

I felt a distinct shock. As I have written, Walters was a perfect nurse, and besides that a thoroughly good

and attractive young person. A pure Gaelic type-blue black hair, blue eyes with astonishingly long

lashes, milk-white skin-yes, singularly attractive. After a moment or two of silence I said:

"Well, Braile, there goes all your fine-spun reasoning. Also your murder theory. From the Darnley

woman to Peters to Walters. No doubt now that we're dealing with some infectious disease."

"Isn't there?" he asked, grimly. "I'm not prepared to admit it. I happen to know Walters spends most of

her money on a little invalid niece who lives with her-a child of eight. Ricori's thread of common interest

moves into her case."

"Nevertheless," I said as grimly, "I intend to see that every precaution is taken against an infectious

malady."

By the time we had put on our hats and coats, my car was waiting. The hospital was only two blocks

away, but I did not wish to waste a moment. I ordered Nurse Walters removed to an isolated ward used

for observation of suspicious diseases. Examining her, I found the same flaccidity as I had noted in the

case of Peters. But I observed that, unlike him, her eyes and face showed little of terror. Horror there

was, and a great loathing. Nothing of panic. She gave me the same impression of seeing both within and

without. As I studied her I distinctly saw a flash of recognition come into her eyes, and with it appeal. I

looked at Braile-he nodded; he, too, had seen it.

I went over her body inch by inch. It was unmarked except for a pinkish patch upon her right instep.

Closer examination made me think this had been some superficial injury, such as a chafing, or a light burn

or scald. If so, it had completely healed; the skin was healthy.

In all other ways her case paralleled that of Peters-and the others. She had collapsed, the nurse told me,

without warning while getting dressed to go home. My inquiry was interrupted by an exclamation from

Braile. I turned to the bed and saw that Walters' hand was slowly lifting, trembling as though its raising

was by some terrific strain of will. The index finger was half-pointing. I followed its direction to the

disclosed patch upon the foot. And then I saw her eyes, by that same tremendous effort, focus there.

The strain was too great; the hand dropped, the eyes again were pools of horror. Yet clearly she had

tried to convey to us some message, something that had to do with that healed wound.

I questioned the nurse as to whether Walters had said anything to anyone about any injury to her foot.

She replied that she had said nothing to her, nor had any of the other nurses spoken of it. Nurse Robbins,

however, shared the apartment with Harriet and Diana. I asked who Diana was, and she told me that

was the name of Walters' little niece. This was Robbins' night off, I found, and gave instructions to have

her get in touch with me the moment she returned to the apartment.

By now Hoskins was taking his samples for the blood tests. I asked him to concentrate upon the

microscopic smears and to notify me immediately if he discovered one of the luminous corpuscles.

Bartano, an outstanding expert upon tropical diseases, happened to be in the hospital, as well as Somers,

a brain specialist in whom I had strong confidence. I called them in for observation, saying nothing of the

previous cases. While they were examining Walters, Hoskins called up to say he had isolated one of the

shining corpuscles. I asked the pair to go to Hoskins and give me their opinion upon what he had to show

them. In a little while they returned, somewhat annoyed and mystified. Hoskins, they said, had spoken of

a "leucocyte containing a phosphorescent nucleus." They had looked at the slide but had been unable to

find it. Somers very seriously advised me to insist upon Hoskins having his eyes examined. Bartano said