Free The Malignant Entity by Otis Adelbert Kline Page B

prodded the shadowy depths of the empty eye sockets.
    At length he rose and washed his hands at the porcelain lavatory.
    “It seems incredible,” he said, “that this man could have been alive yesterday.”
    “Just what I was thinking,” responded the chief. “Those bones could not have been drier or whiter if they had bleached in the sunlight for the last ten years.”
    The doctor now turned his attention to the contents of the laboratory. He examined the collection of retorts, test tubes, breakers, jars, dishes and other paraphernalia spread on a porcelain-topped table set against the wall and reaching half the length of the room. The walls were shelved clear to the ceiling, and every shelf was crowded to its utmost capacity with bottles, jars and cans containing a multitude of chemicals. To these he gave but scant attention.
    In the center of the immaculate white tile floor stood an open, glass-lined vat. From its height and diameter I estimated its capacity at about sixty gallons. This vat was more than a third full of a colorless, viscous liquid that gave off a queer, musty odor.
    “What do you suppose that stuff is?” I asked Dr. Dorp.
    “Looks like a heavy albuminous or gelatinous solution,” he said. “Possibly it is some special compound the professor employed in his experiments. Mediums of this nature are often used in the cultivation of colonies of bacteria and it is possible that he intended to use it as a carrier and food for the organisms it was his ambition to create synthetically.”
    “Any idea what caused the death of the professor?” asked the chief.
    “I have a theory,” replied Dr. Dorp, “but it seems so illogical, so wildly impossible, so—er, contrary to the teachings of science that I prefer to keep it to myself for the present, at least.”
    A heavy tread sounded in the hallway and a moment later a blue-uniformed officer entered.
    “Hello, Rooney,” greeted Chief McGraw. “I want you to see that no one disturbs this room or its contents until the coroner arrives. We are going downstairs now. Keep a weather eye on things and I’ll send a man to relieve you soon. If either of these gentlemen wants to come in at any time you may admit him.
    “Yes, sir. I’ll remember them.”
    We trooped down stairs. Two women were seated in the living room. Chief McGraw presented us to the younger, who proved to be the professor’s daughter, Dorothy Townsend. She was a slender girl about twenty years of age with pale, regular features and a wealth of gold-brown hair. Her large, expressive eyes were red with recent weeping and her lips quivered slightly as she bowed to us in turn and introduced us to the stout, middle-aged neighbor, Mrs. Harms, who had been endeavoring to comfort her.
    “Hirsch and I are going to run down to headquarters for a couple of hours,” said the chief. “Would you prefer to come with us or stay here and look around?”
    “I think we had better look around a bit if you don’t mind,” replied: the doctor.
    “All right. I’m going to send a man to relieve Rooney at six. Will be along myself a little later. If you discover anything new call me up.”
    When the two men were gone the doctor bowed before Miss Townsend.
    ' “May I have a few words with you in private?” he asked.
    “Certainly,” she replied, rising, “in Father’s study if you wish.”
    They entered the study, which was directly off the living room, and closed the door. They must have been gone about a half hour, but it seemed like two hours to me as, fidgeting inwardly, I listened to Mrs. Harms’ family history, her account of the death of her beloved husband, and minute descriptions of six operations she had undergone, each time, to use iher own expression, “standing at the entrance of death’s door.” She assured me, also, that she knew what it was to have death in the. home. The Grim Reaper had visited her family a score of times, she averred, and only three weeks before, one of her roomers