Speaker 1: The first problem by Jacques Foutrelle. 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 in 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 nothing of it. It is a problem
for a greater mind than theirs. Professor von Duson 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
one 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. Hatch 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
Shakespeare in 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 Meghan 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 work 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 newspaper man responded. She wears that costume from the
second act until practically the end of the play. Was
all her streak 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 and 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 weigh?
The reporter was willing to guess at this He had
seen her half a dozen times between one hundred and
thirty and one 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, Patch repeated eagerly. Do you
imagine there is a crime? Then Professor von Duson 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 Shylers in Springfield early
Saturday evening before he went to the theater. He told me
so himself, rather reluctantly. But I 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 von
Duson did not speak again. The train pulled into Springfield
at nine twenty one. Hatch followed the scientist without a word,
into a cab. Shyler's Candy Store quickly commanded the Thinking
Machine hurry. The cab rushed off through the night. Ten
minutes later, it 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. He remained there
for five minutes, then rushed out to the cab again,
with Hatch following closely. Citi 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 strict nine 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 Carlton agreed, and Professor von
Duson still followed 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 Dusen
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 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 Wallack 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 Meaghan, 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 rived.
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, reply, mean,
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 Wallach had two trunks in her dressing room. Yes,
two whack and big ones. How do you know? Because
I helped put him in and help 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 stack. 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. Ere Go,
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 in a trunk for forty eight hours.
Even if she was alive, then she must be dead. Now.
The reporter shuddered a little and gazed 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 patch 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 on 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 Wallackwong 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, whom 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 enter 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 Irone 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 von
Duson 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 on most an accusation. He started
to speak, but the study and passive 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 white Man 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 Whiteman, 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 Foutrelle