A Strange Interview Between Dr. Bryan and Dr. Carter
It was only in the quiet of his room that he had time to think over the surprising incident of the day. Carter had left the hospital without comment. There had been no opportunity to talk with him and ask an explanation of the mystery. Mystery it was. . . . his whole life was a mystery. Bryan was being fully supplied with mysteries of late. A sudden thought struck him. . . . "If he can lift an elevator he can do other things!" Then, with a flash of recollection. . . . "That screw is part of a head lamp!" He remembered now that Carter had been wearing it at the time. He called for his car and rapidly drove to Dr. Carter's apartment.
His plan of action was not exactly clear in his mind. How could he confront Carter with such a meager bit of evidence as a little flat-headed screw. The man would think him insane, or drunk. With his mind still in a state of confusion he arrived at Carter's rooms.
He was ushered in by the taciturn man-servant. Dr. Carter looked up at him in surprise. "To what am I indebted for this call, doctor"? he asked.
Looking him squarely in the eye, Bryan advanced to the table and threw down the screw. "I just called to give you this screw out of that pet lamp of yours," he replied.
For a fleeting moment a look of surprise, not unmixed with fear, flashed in Dr. Carter's eyes. It was gone in an instant, however, and he smiled. "Surely, my dear fellow, you haven't come out at this time of night to deliver such a paltry object as this."
"Not so paltry, Carter, as you think. This screw was found in the Earling apartment under peculiar circumstances."
The smiling, suave look disappeared from Carter's face, and it took on instead a grim and stern expression of understanding tinged with menace.
"Oh, yes, I remember now. You do a little dabbling in detective science, don't you? Well, what of it, my dear fellow? Use your judgment. Do you think you could go before any jury in this land of the free and convict me with one little screw as your evidence?"
"Men have been convicted on less," Bryan answered coldly.
"Yes, in the story books, but not in courts of law. Go ahead, my dear sir, and do your little best. Do you think I have failed to make preparations for eventualities?"
A Direct Accusation of Murder
Carter was right, and Bryan knew it. He knew enough of the law to realize that it would be absolutely foolish to attempt to lay a charge against Carter and have the slightest hope of even getting it a respectable hearing before a grand jury. In the present state of the case it would be impossible even to show a motive for the crime, let alone to produce a scrap of evidence that would connect the slenderly built Carter with the iron-muscled being who had broken a burly man with no other weapon than his hands.
Carter silently sat watching the changing expressions of the other’s face, evidently reading accurately the thoughts that passed through Bryan's mind.
"Don't you think, Doctor Bryan, that it would be better if I were to be allowed to make some sort of an explanation? Surely one has a right to give his reasons."
"Yes, if one can give a reason for murder," Bryan retorted.
"You use rather harsh terms, Doctor, do you not? Please wait until you know the facts," Carter replied. "Doctor, while you were in the intelligence department service in France did you ever, by any chance, hear of Serge Ivanoff?"
"Ivanoff?" Bryan started to his feet. "You mean to say that that man was Serge Ivanoff? That devil of the Russian revolution?"
"No other," Carter replied. "Now you understand why I objected to the harsh term of murder that you applied. No one could murder that man. Justifiable homicide is the only term that could be applied to his taking-off. How did you happen to run across his trail?"
"I had no personal experience with the man," Bryan replied; "but one of my lieutenants entered Russia and fell into his hands. I had always liked the boy and the thought of his murder, for that was what it was, has always grieved me."
"My experience was of a decidedly personal nature," Carter grimaced. "See here, Bryan, . . . . I can't bear to go into complete details as to the past. Some things are too painful to speak of even after the lapse of years. It may help you to understand when I tell you that my family was of the old nobility of Russia. We tried to escape the country, but were apprehended. You wonder why I have not made friends? I tell you, Bryan, it was the man whom I considered my closest friend who betrayed us. My old Father, my Sister. . ." a spasm of pain distorted his clear cut features. "See here, Bryan, I can't go on. I can only say that that devil was the cause of it all. I was thrown in a filthy cell. Every day he used to call and manhandle me. He wanted me to tell where our family jewels were hidden. I refused to tell, for I knew that it would mean my death as soon as he knew.
"I won't trouble you with details, but I escaped. That escape is a horrible memory to me. I dream of it in the night sometimes, and wake wringing with perspiration.
"I came to this country to repair my shattered health and plan for vengeance. Friends of mine informed me that Ivanoff had been proscribed by the Soviet government. He was even too gross for them. Imagine my feelings when I was informed by secret agencies that he was in this very city. I made my preparations and entered his apartment. When I stepped into the room and stood before him he laughed at me. 'Ah! my little doctor,' he cried, 'You have come for another beating I see. This one shall be the last, for this country's laws allow one to kill a burglar.' Can I ever forget the look on his face when I gripped his wrist with my fingers and broke the bones? For once in his wicked life he had fallen into the hands of one stronger, immeasurably stronger than he. Devil as he was, I could not find it in my heart to torture him. I broke his neck with my hands and then quietly walked out of the room and down the stairs. No one saw me and I came to my room with a feeling of duty well
