The first problem by Jacques Futrell. That strange, seemingly inexplicable chain of circumstances,
which had to do with the mysterious disappearance of a famous actress, Irene
Wallack, from her dressing room in a Springfield theater and the course of a
performance while the echo of tumultuous appreciation still rang in her ears. Was perhaps
the first problem which was not purely scientific, that the thinking machine was ever
asked to solve. The scientist's aid was enlisted in this case by Hutchinson Hatch
reporter. But I am a scientist, a logician, the thinking machine had
protested, I know nothing whatever of crime. No one knows that a crime
has been committed. The reporter hastened to say, there is something far beyond
the ordinary in this affair. A woman has disappeared, evaporated into thin air
in the hearing, almost in sight of her friends. The police can make
enough of it. It is a problem for a greater mind than theirs.
Professor van Dusen waived the newspaper man to a seat, and himself sank back
into a great cushioned chair, in which his diminutive figure seemed even more childlike
than it really was. Tell me the story, he said, petulantly,
all of it. The enormous yellow head rested against the chair back. The
blue eyes squinted steadily upward. The slender fingers were pressed tip to tip.
The thinking machine was in a receptive mood. Hatch was triumphant. He had
had only a vague hope that he could interest this man in an affair which
was as bizarre as it was incomprehensible. Miss Wallack is thirty years old and
beautiful. The reporter began as an actress. She has won high recognition,
not only in this country, but in England. You may have read something
of her in the daily papers. And if I never read the papers,
the other interrupted, curtly, go on. She is unmarried, and,
as far as anyone knows, had no immediate intention of changing her condition.
Patch resumed staring curiously at the thin face of the scientist. I presume she
had admirers. Most beautiful women of the stage have. But she is one
whose life has been perfectly clean, whose record is an open book. I
tell you this because it might have a bearing on your conclusion as to a
possible reason for her disappearance. Now, the actual circumstances of that disappearance.
Miss Wallack has been playing in Shakespearean repertoire. Last week she was in Springfield
on Saturday night, which concluded her engagement. There, she appeared as Rosalind
in As You Like It. The house was crowded. She played the first
two acts amid great enthusiasm, and this despite the fact that she was suffering
intensely from headache, to which she was subject at times. After the second
act, she returned to her dressing room, and just before the curtain went
up for the third the stage manager called her. She replied that she would
be out immediately. There seems no possible shadow of doubt that it was her
voice. Rosalind does not appear in the third act until the curtain has been
up for six minutes. When miss Wallock's cue came, she did not answer
it. The stage manager rushed to her door and again called her. There
was no answer. Then, fearing that she might have fainted, he went
in. She was not there. A hurried search was made without result,
and the stage manager finally was compelled to announce to the audience that the sudden
illness of the star would make it impossible to finish the performance, the curtain
was lowered and the search resumed. Every nook and corner back of the footlights
was gone over the stage door keeper William Megan, had seen no one go
out. He and a policeman had been standing at the stage door talking for
at least twenty minutes. It is therefore conclusive that miss Wallack did not leave
by that exit. The only other way it was possible to leave the stage
was over the footlights. Of course, she didn't go that way, yet
no trace of her has been found. Where is she the windows, asked
the Thinking Machine. The stage is below the street level, explained Hatch.
The window of her dressing room, Room A, is small and barred with
iron. It opens into an air shaft that goes straight up for ten feet,
and that is covered with an iron grating fixed in the granite. The
other windows on the stage are not only inaccessible, but are also barred with
iron. She could not have approached either of these windows without being seen by
other members of the company or the stage. Chance under this stage, suggested
the scientist. Nothing, the reporter went on. It is a large cemented
basement which was vacant. It was searched because There was, of course,
a chance that miss Wallack might have become temporarily unbalanced and wandered down there.
There was even a search made of the flies, that is, the galleries
over the stage where the men who worked the drop curtains are stationed. There
was silence for a long time. The thinking machine twiddled his fingers and continued
to stare upward. He had not looked at the reporter. He broke the
silence after a time. How was miss Wallack dressed at the time of her
disappearance in doublet and hose, that is tights, The newspaperman responded. She
wears that costume from the second act until practically the end of the play.
Was all her street clothing in the room, Yes, everything spread across an
unopened trunk of costumes. It was all as if she had left the room
to answer her cue, all in order, even to an open box of
chocolate cream candy on her table. No sign of a struggle, nor any
noise heard, no nor trace of blood nothing her maid did she have one?
Oh? Yes, I neglected to tell you that the maid, Gertrude
Manning, had gone home immediately after the first act. She grew suddenly ill
and was excused. The Thinking Machine turned his squint eyes on the reporter for
the first time. Ill he repeated, What was the matter that I can't
say? Replied the reporter. Where is she now? I don't know.
Everyone forgot all about her in the excitement about miss Wallack? What kind of
candy was it? I'm afraid I don't know that either. Where was it
bought? The reporter shrugged his shoulders. That was something else he didn't know.
The Thinking Machine shot out the questions aggressively, staring meanwhile steadily at Hatch,
who squirmed uncomfortably. Where is the candy now, demanded the scientist again.
Hatch shrugged his shoulders. How much does miss Wallack away? The reporter
was willing to guess at this He had seen her half a dozen times between
a hundred and thirty and a hundred and forty. He ventured, does there
happen to be a hypnotist connected with the company? I don't know, Hatch
replied. The Thinking Machine waved his slender hands impatiently. He was annoyed.
It is perfectly absurd, mister Hatch. He expostulated, to come to me
with only a few facts and ask advice if you had all the facts,
I might be able to do something. But this the newspaper man was nettled.
In his own profession, he was accredited a man of discernment and acumen.
He resented the tone, the manner, even the seemingly trivial questions which
the other asked, I don't see. He began that the candy, even
if it had been poisoned, as I imagine you think possible, or a
hypnotist, could have had anything to do with miss Wallack's disappearance. Certainly neither
poison nor hypnotism would have made her invisible. Of course, you don't see
blazed the thinking machine. If you did, you wouldn't have come to me.
When did this thing happen? Saturday night? As I said, the
reporter informed him a little more humbly. It closed the engagement in Springfield.
Miss Wallack was to have appeared here in Boston to night. When did she
disappear? By the clock? I mean? The stage manager's time slip shows
that the curtain for the third act went up at nine forty one. He
spoke to her, say, one minute before or at nine forty the action
of the play. Before she appears in the third act takes six minutes.
Therefore, in precisely seven minutes, a woman weighing more than a hundred and
thirty pounds, certainly not dressed for the street, disappeared completely from her dressing
room. It is now five eighteen Monday afternoon. I think we may solve
this crime within a few hours. Crime, Hatch repeated, eagerly. Do
you imagine there as a crime? Then Professor van Dusen didn't heed the question.
Instead, he rose and paced back and forth across the reception room half
a dozen times, his hands behind his back and his eyes cast down.
At last, he stopped and faced the reporter, who had also risen Miss
Wallack's company. I presume with the baggage is now in Boston, he said,
See every male member of the company. Talk to them, and particularly
study their eyes. Don't overlook any one, however, humble, also find
out what became of the box of chocolate candy, and, if possible,
how many pieces are out of it. Then report here to me. Miss
Wallack's safety may depend upon your speed and accuracy. Hatch was frankly startled how
he began. Don't stop to talk, hurry, commanded the thinking machine.
I will have a cab waiting when you come back. We must get to
Springfield. The newspaper man rushed away to obey orders. He didn't understand them
at all. Studying men's eyes was not in his line, but he obeyed
nevertheless. An hour and a half later he returned to be thrust unceremoniously into
a waiting cab by the Thinking Machine. The cab rattled away towards South Station,
where the two men caught a train just about to move out for Springfield.
Once settled in their seats, the scientists turned to Hatch, who was
nearly suffocating with suppressed information. Well, he asked, I found out several
things, The reporter burst out. First. Miss Wallack's leading man, Langdon
Mason, who has been in love with her for three years, bought the
candy at Schilers in Springfield early Saturday evening before he went to the theater.
He told me so himself, rather reluctantly, But I made him say it,
Ah, exclaimed the Thinking Machine. It was a most unequivocal ejaculation.
How many pieces of candy are out of the box, Only three, explained
Hatch. Miss Wallack's things were packed into the open trunk in her dressing room.
The candy with them, I induced the manager. Yes, yes,
yes, interrupted the thinking machine impatiently. What sort of eyes has Mason?
What color blue? Frank an expression? Nothing unusual at all, said the
reporter and the others. I didn't quite know what you meant by studying their
eyes, so I got a set of photographs. I thought perhaps they might
help. Excellent, excellent, commented the thinking machine. He shuffled the pictures
through his fingers, stopping now and then to study one and to read the
name printed below. Is that the leading man? He asked at last,
and handed one to Hatch. Yes. Professor van Dusen did not speak again.
The train pulled into Springfield at nine twenty one. Hatch followed the scientist
without a word, into a cab. Shiler's candy store quickly commanded the Thinking
Machine hurry. The cab rushed off through the night. Ten minutes later,
stopped before a brilliantly lighted candy store. The Thinking Machine led the way inside
and approached the girl behind the chocolate counter. Will you please tell me if
you remember this man's face, he asked, as he produced Mason's photograph.
Oh, yes, I remember him. The girl replied, he's an actor.
Did he buy a small box of chocolates of you Saturday evening early?
Was the next question. Yes, I recall it because he seemed to be
in a hurry. In fact, I believe he said he was anxious to
get to the theater to pack. And do you recall that this man ever
bought chocolates? Here, asked the scientist. He produced another photograph and handed
it to the girl. She studied it a moment while Hatch craned his neck
vainly to see. I don't recall that he ever did, the girl answered.
Finally, the Thinking Machine turned away abruptly and disappeared into a public telephone
booth. Remained there for five minutes, then rushed out to the cab again,
with Hatch following closely. City Hospital. He commanded again, the cab
dashed away. Hatch was dumb. There seemed to be nothing to say.
The Thinking Machine was plainly pursuing some definite line of inquiry, yet the reporter
didn't know what the case was getting kaleidoscopic. This impression was strengthened when he
found himself standing beside the Thinking Machine in City Hospital, conversing with the house
surgeon, Doctor Carlton, Is there a miss Gertrude Manning here? Was the
scientist's first question. Yes, replied the surgeon. She was brought here Saturday
night suffering from strychnine poisoning. Yes, I know, interrupted the other,
picked up in the street. Probably, I'm a physician. If she is
well enough, I should like to ask her a couple of questions. Doctor
Carleton agreed, and Professor van Dusen, still follow faithfully by. Hatch was
ushered into the ward where Miss Wallack's maid lay pallid and weak. The Thinking
Machine picked up her hand, and his slender fingers rested for a minute on
her pulse. He nodded and seemed satisfied. Miss Manning, Can you understand
me? He asked. The girl nodded weakly. How many pieces of the
candy did you eat? Two? She replied. She stared into the face
above her with dull eyes. Did miss Wallack eat any of it up to
the time you left the theater? No? If the Thinking Machine had been
in a hurry previously, he was racing now. Hatch trailed on dutifully behind,
down the stairs and into the cab. Whence Professor von Dushan shouted a
word of thanks to Doctor Carlton. This time their destination was the stage door
of the theater, from which Miss Wallack had disappeared. The reporter was muddled.
He didn't know anything very clearly, except that three pieces of candy were
missing from the box. Of these, the maid had eaten only two.
She had been poisoned. Therefore, it seemed reasonable to suppose that if Miss
Wallace had eaten the third piece, she also would be poisoned. But poison
would not make her invisible. At this point, the reporter shook his head
hopelessly. William Megan, the stage doorkeeper, was easily found. Can you
inform me, please, began the thinking machine. If mister Mason left a
box of candy with you last Saturday night for miss Wallack. Yes, Megan
replied good naturedly. He was amused at the little man. Miss Wallack hadn't
arrived. Mason brought a box of candy for nearly every night and usually left
it here. I put the one Saturday night on the shelf. Here did
mister Mason come to the theater before or after the others on Saturday night?
Before, replied Megan. He was unusually early, I suppose to pack,
and the other members of the company coming in to stop here, I imagine,
to get their mail. And the scientists squinted up at the mailbox above
the shelf. Sure always, the thinking Machine drew a long breath. Up
to this time there had been little, perplexed wrinkles in his brow. Now
they disappeared. Now please, he went on, Was any package or box
of any kind taken from the stage on Saturday night between nine and eleven o'clock?
No, said Megan, positively, nothing at all. Until the company's
baggage was removed at midnight. Miss Wallack had two trunks in her dressing room.
Yes, to whacking big ones. How do you know? Because I
helped put him in and helped take him out, replied Megan, sharply,
what's it to you? Suddenly the Thinking Machine turned and ran out to the
cab, with Hatch his shadow close behind. Drive, Drive as fast as
you know how to the nearest long distance telephone. The scientist instructed the cabby,
A woman's life is at stake. Half an hour later, Professor von
Duson and Hutchinson Hatch were on a train rushing back to Boston. The thinking
machine had been in a telephone booth for fifteen minutes. When he came out,
Hatch had asked several questions to which the scientists vouchsafed no answer. They
were perhaps thirty minutes out of Springfield before the scientist showed any disposition to talk.
Then he began without preliminary much as he was resuming a former conversation.
Of course, if miss Wallack didn't leave the stage of the theater, she
was there, he said, We will admit that she did not become invisible.
The problem, therefore was to find her on the stage. The fact
that no violence was used against her was conclusively proved by half a dozen instances.
No one heard her scream, there was no struggle, no trace of
blood. Ergo, we assume in the beginning that she must have consented to
the first steps which led to her disappearance. Remember, her attire was wholly
unsuited to the street. Now let us shape a hypothesis which will fit all
the circumstances. Miss Wallack had a severe headache. Hypnotic influence will cure headaches.
Was there a hypnotist to whom Miss Wallack would have submitted herself? Assume
there was, then would that hypnotist take advantage of his control to place her
in a cataleptic condition? Assume a motive and he would then how would he
dispose of her? From this point questions radiate in all directions. We will
confine ourselves to the probable, granting for the moment that this hypothesis, the
only one which fits all the circumstances, is correct. Obviously a hypnotist would
not have attempted to get her out of the dressing room. What remains one
of the two trunks in her room, Hatch gasped, You mean you think
it possible that she was hypnotized and placed in that second trunk, the one
that was strapped and locked, he asked. It's the only thing that could
have happened, said the thinking machine emphatically. Therefore, that was just what
did happen. Why it's horrible, exclaimed Hatch, A live woman and a
trunk for forty eight hours. Even if she was alive, then she must
be dead now. The reporter shuddered a little, engazed curiously at the inscrutable
face of his companion. He saw no pity, no horror. There There
was merely the reflection of the workings of a brain. It does not necessarily
follow that she is dead, explained the thinking machine. If she ate that
third piece of candy before she was hypnotized, she is probably dead. If
it was placed in her mouth after she was in a cataleptic condition, the
chances are that she is not dead. The candy would not melt and her
system could not absorb the poison, but she would be suffocated. Her bones
would be broken by the rough handling of the trunk. There are a hundred
possibilities, the reporter suggested. A person in a cataleptic condition is singularly impervious
to injury. Replied the scientist, there is, of course a chance of
suffocation, but a great deal of air may enter a trunk and the candy.
Hatch asked, yes, the candy. We know that two pieces of
candy nearly killed the maid, Yet mister Mason admitted having bought it. This
admission indicated that this poisoned candy is not the candy he bought. Is mister
Mason a hypnotist, No, he hasn't. The eyes his picture tells me
that we know that mister Mason did buy candy for Miss Wallack and several occasions.
We know that sometimes he left it with the stage doorkeeper. We know
that members of the company stopped there for mail. We instantly see that it
is possible for one to take away that box and substitute poisoned candy. All
the boxes are alike. Madness and the cunning of madness lie back of all
this. It was a deliberate attempt to murder Miss Wallack, long pondered and
due perhaps to unrequited or hopeless infatuation. It began with the poisoned candy,
and that failing went to a point immediately following the moment when the stage manager
last spoke to the actress. The hypnotist was probably in her room. Then
you must remember that it would have been possible for him to ease the headache
and at the same time leave Miss Wallack free to play. She might have
known this from previous experience. Is Miss Wallack still in the trunk, asked
Hatch. After a silence, no, replied the thinking machine. She is
out now dead or alive. I am inclined to believe alive, and the
man I will turn him over to the police. In half an hour after
we reach Boston from South Station, the scientist and Hatch were driven immediately to
police headquarters. Detective Mallory, who Hatch knew well, received them. We
got your phone from Springfield, he began. Was she dead, interrupted the
scientist. No, Mallory replied, she was unconscious when we took her out
of the trunk, but no bones are broken. She is badly bruised.
The doctor says, she's hypnotized. Was the piece of candy taken from her
mouth? Sure? A chocolate cream? It hadn't melted. I'll come back
here in a few minutes and awake her, said the Thinking Machine. Come
with us now and get the man. Wonderingly, the detective entered the cab
and the three were driven to a big hotel a dozen blocks away. Before
they entered the lobby, the Thinking Machine handed a photograph to Mallory, who
studied it under an electric light. That man is upstairs with several others,
explained the scientist. Pick him out and get behind him. When we entered
the room. He may attempt to shoot. Don't touch him until I say
so. In a large room on the fifth floor, Manager Stanfeld of the
Irene Wallet Company had assembled the men of her support. This was done at
the phoned request of the Thinking Machine. There were no preliminaries. When Professor
van Dusen entered, he squinted comprehensively about him, then went straight to Langdon
Mason. Were you on the stage in the third act of your play before
miss Wallack was to appear? I mean the play last Saturday night, he
asked. I was, Mason replied, for at least three minutes. Mister
Stanfeld, is that correct, yes, replied the manager. There was a
long, tense silence, broken only by the heavy footsteps of Mallory as he
walked toward a distant corner of the room. A faint flush crept into Mason's
face as he realized that the questions were only most an accusation, he started
to speak, but the study impassive voice of the Thinking Machine stopped him.
Mister Mallory, take your prisoner, it said instantly. There was a fierce,
frantic struggle, and those present turned to see the detective with his great
arms locked about Stanley Whiteman, the melancholy Jacques of As You Like It.
The actor's face was distorted, madness blazed in the eyes, and he snarled
like a beast at bay by a sudden movement. Mallory threw Whiteman and manacled
him, then looked up to find the Thinking Machine peering over his shoulder at
the prostrate man. Yes, he's a hypnotist, the scientist remarked in self
satisfied conclusion. It always tells in the pupils of the eyes. This,
then, was the beginning and end of the First Problem. Miss Wallack was
aroused and told a story almost identical with that of the Thinking Machine. Stanley
White Men, whose brooding over a hopeless love for her made a maniac of
him, raves and shrieks. The lines of Jacques in the Seclusion of a
padded Cell, End of the First Problem by Jacques Futrell