Tales of the Thinking Machine

hich was as mystifying as it was dangerous to me — he saved my life in fact; and in process of hauling me back from eternity — the edge of that appalling mist which separates li

hat Professor Van Dusen was identifie

came conscious of an acute pain in my chest, a sudden fluttering of my heart, and a constriction in my throat. The lights in the distance began to waver and grow dim, and perspiration broke out all over me from an inward, gnawing agony which grew more intense each moment. I felt myself reeling, my cigar dropp

flected glitteringly the light of an electric bulb set high up on one side. These bright spots, I came to realize after a moment, were metal parts of various instruments of

f watery blue eyes squinting aggressively through thick spectacles, and a thin lipped mouth as straight as the mark of a surgeon’s knife, save for the drooping corners. My impression then was that it wa

ime the squint eyes were focused on mine with a steady, piercing glare that made me uneasy. I tried to answer, but my tongue refused to move. The gaze continued for

was sitting up on the couch, with unclouded brain, and a heartbeat which was nearly normal. It was then I learned why Professor Van Dusen, an eminent man of the

en unconscious. The Thinking Machine didn’t ask questions, yet he supplied all the missing details, together with a host of personal, intimate things of which he could personally have had no knowledge. In other words, I was an abstruse problem, and he solved me. With head tilted back against the cushion of the chair — and such a hea

pen to you before?

plied. “Wh

one — corrosive sublimate, or bichlorid or mercury. T

aimed, aghast. “Wh

ur own carelessness. Nine out of ten persons handle poi

tested. “Why, I have had no occasion to hand

year ago when you handled this; but c

n, and I am not sure that I did not shake my finger in his face. “If I was poisoned,” I d

he Thinking Machine again impat

you know I ever handled a poison? And how

sion from cards I found in your pockets; just as I know you smoke, from half a dozen cigars on you; just as I know that you are wearing those clothes for the first time this winter; just as I

blank astonishment. “But how do you know

ble reason why you should have collapsed like that. There had been no shot; there was no wound; therefore, poison. An examination confirmed this first hypothesis; your symptoms showed that the poison was bichlorid of mercury. I put you in a cab and brought you here. From the fact that you were not dead then I knew

cigars. Were they poisoned? A test showed they were, all of them. With intent to kill? No. Not enough poison was used. Was the poison a part of the gum used to bind the cigar? P

in which I found the cigars and subjected it to the test. At sometime there had been corrosive sublimate, in the form of powder or cry

ive sublimate in your pocket. For what purpose? First thought — to rid your home of insects. Second thought — if you were boarding, married or unmarried, the task of getting rid of the insects would have been left to the serv

ight would have happened to you before; but it never happened before, therefore I assume that you had the poison early last spring, when insects began to be troublesome, and immediately after that you laid away the suit until this winter. I know you are wearing the suit for the first time this winter, bec

ly miraculous

lawyer, you ought to know the correlation of facts; you ought to know th