Members of the conference tensed and leaned forward.
“There is a ground-glass screen here,” said Beale, tapping the top of the strange-looking box. “It’s surface is admirably suited to receiving fingerprints. The oily marks on the glass interfere with the refraction of light rays inside the box. They are picked up and magnified by a powerful lens in the projector and can then be thrown outward. Let me demonstrate.”
Beale walked forward, took down the statistical chart. Behind it on the wall at the rear of the platform was a four-foot square of silverized material. The professor switched out the main lights, focused the lens of his projector on this screen. Laying his hands on the surface of the glass, he displayed his own magnified fingerprints clearly outlined. The swirling convolutions glowed sharply for a moment in the darkness. Then he switched on the main lights again, and took a small leatherette case from his pocket.
“This instrument not only projects one set of prints,” he continued. “It shows two full sets — giving a chance for comparative study. It may surprise you all to know that I have here on file the prints of every man in this room. Commissioner Foster kindly helped me collect them for my demonstration. Glass slides have been prepared of them all. And—” Beale once again tapped his large box—“here at the side of the projector is a holder and another magnifying lens so that the prints on the slides and the fresh ones on the ground glass can be shown simultaneously on the screen. You follow, gentlemen, I believe?”
Agent “X” was irritated at this detailed rigmarole which, in the long run, would be only of superficial aid in the running down of criminals. He had come to this meeting with eager interest, hoping to find that the police were ready with some plan to check the terrifying wave of crime mounting daily. But it was plain that these men, who represented the keenest brains, on the forces of the law, were ignorant of the real gravity of the situation. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he hardly heard the Professor’s words. But Beale’s next announcement startled him to alert attention.
“As a concrete and visible proof of the practicability of this instrument I’m going to ask each of you gentlemen to step up on the platform in turn and have your fingerprints tested. Let us pretend, for the sake of argument, that there is an imposter in this gathering.
“Let us say he is the exact image of one of the commissioners invited, and that he stole that commissioner’s pass and credentials, even murdered the man he is impersonating. Such things have happened, gentlemen, in the history of crime. But fingerprints cannot be successfully imitated or duplicated. If such a man were here he would be quickly exposed.”
CHUCKLES went up from several quarters of the room. Professor Beale’s dramatic display of scientific detection was evidently taken lightly. But Secret Agent “X” had grown tense. Here was an unforeseen happening that had suddenly placed him in a dangerous spot — a spot where exposure and the end of all his plans might ensue. He had gained nothing by coming here. The police knew less than he did about the new menace that had arisen. But, because Beale had a scientist’s passion for visual demonstration, Agent “X” was up against it.
He hoped that some of the commissioners would laughingly dismiss the Professor’s suggestion. But, impressed by his eminence, or anxious to see how their prints looked on the screen they, one by one, moved toward the platform. Agent “X” suddenly realized that he was making himself conspicuous by not going up. All the others around him had. Their prints on file and those projected tallied.
There were only two men left now. They moved up onto the platform. The infallible machine proved them to be the persons they claimed.
“Only one slide left, gentlemen,” said Professor Beale. “This bears the prints of Commissioner Baldwin of West Foxbury. Will the commissioner kindly step up?”
Heads turned to stare at Agent “X.” He made no move to rise. The sharp eyes of Professor Beale focused upon him.
“Well?”
Agent “X” made no answer. The drawling, sarcastic voice of Beale sounded.
“One would think, if your identity here were not well known, that you had something to conceal, commissioner!”
A general laugh went up at what appeared to be a joke. But the eyes of Agent “X” held grim lights in them. This was no joke to him. It was a situation fraught with deadly possibilities. Of all the men in this room, he alone had seen the mark of the Octopus. Nothing must happen to impede his progress. And yet he seemed inescapably trapped.
His brain raced desperately. This was one of the most ominous situations he had ever faced. Suspicion was growing heavy in the air of the room, blotting out the friendliness. And for Secret Agent “X” to be unmasked now would not only mean the end of his campaign against the Octopus — it might mean the bitter end of his whole career.
Chapter XII
TENSELY alert, he shrugged when the titters quieted, spoke with magnificent calmness. “You’ve demonstrated the cleverness of your machine, professor. You’ve proved that it is highly efficient. Let us now go on to something else. Fingerprinting is only one phase of criminological work.”
A slight tenseness passed over the gathering. Beale laughed again.
“Really, commissioner, I wouldn’t make an issue of it, if I were you! Some of these gentlemen might suspect—”
He stopped speaking, and another general laugh sounded. Two commissioners, acquaintances of Baldwin, who had spoken to “X” when he first came in, leaned forward. One talked quickly behind his hand.
“Better go up, Baldwin! There might be some nasty gossip if you didn’t. Nothing to it, you know — just stick your fingers on that glass.”
Agent “X” nodded but he thrust his chin out stubbornly.
“I never did like to be railroaded,” he said. “Let him kid me if he wants to. I can take it. Some of these new-fangled notions get under my skin.” He added more loudly, “When you start fingerprinting the police it puts them in the same class with the crooks.”
Professor Beale laughed. “Nothing like that, commissioner. You misinterpret the purpose of this test. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
Commissioner Foster added his word. “You’re reputed to be a wide-awake man, Baldwin. In respect to our speaker this evening I think you owe it to us all to fall in line. You’ve got us on edge now to see what your prints look like.”
For a second the Agent’s eyes swivelled around the room. There were armed cops at all exits. The projector on the platform would instantly give proof of the fact that he was an imposter. Once the fingerprints had been compared he could not bluff his way out. He would be held, questioned, jailed. He could not expect any one to come to his defense.
“I refuse, gentlemen,” he said. “Just put it down to a stubborn temperament. If you think I’m a crook, get out a warrant for my arrest.”
The meeting grew tense. No one was laughing now. Professor Beale spoke with sudden biting vehemence.
“I said in the beginning that criminals have been known to impersonate men in high positions. So that no suspicion will fall on your head, Commissioner Baldwin, I suggest that you come up here at once and get this matter over with so that we can proceed with the conference.”
Agent “X” leaped to his feet to begin an angry retort. This seemed the best way of stalling for time. But he paused and turned his head instead.