Things must have been running smoothly, for while I was sitting
in our apartment after dinner, impatiently waiting for half-past
eight, when the commissioner had promised to call for me and go
up to the laboratory, the telephone rang. It was Craig.
"Walter, might I ask a favour of you?" he said. "When the
commissioner comes ask him to stop at the Louis Quinze and bring
Miss Bisbee up, too. Tell her it is important. No more now.
Things are going ahead fine."
Promptly at nine we were assembled, a curious crowd. The health
commissioner and the inspector, being members of the same
political party, greeted each other by their first names. Miss
Bisbee was nervous, Bridget was abusive, Denny was sullen. As for
Kennedy, he was, as usual, as cool as a lump of ice. And I--well,
I just sat on my feelings to keep myself quiet.
At one end of the room Craig had placed a large white sheet such
as he used in his stereopticon lectures, while at the top of the
tier of seats that made a sort of little amphitheatre out of his
lecture-room his stereopticon sputtered.
"Moving pictures to-night, eh?" said Inspector O'Connor.
"Not exactly," said Craig, "though--yes, they will be moving in
another sense. Now, if we are all ready, I'll switch off the
electric lights."
The calcium sputtered some more, and a square of light was thrown
on the sheet.
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