Jacques Futrelle

“ I didn't know what hotel I was in. In terror I looked into a mirror. The face reflected at me was not one I knew. It didn't seem to be the face of a stranger; it was merely not a face that I knew.
“The thing was unbelievable. Then I began a search of my clothing for some trace of my identity. I found nothing whatever that would enlighten me—not a scrap of paper of any kind, no personal or business card.”
“Have a watch?” asked The Thinking Machine.
“No.”
“Any money?”
“Yes, money,” said the stranger. “There was a bundle of more than ten thousand dollars in my pocket, in one-hundred-dollar bills. ”

“ He has a good, square-cut jaw—the jaw of a fighting man—and his poise gives one the impression that whatever he has been doing he has been foremost in it. Being foremost in it, he would naturally drift to a city, a big city. He is typically a city man.
“Now, please, to aid me, communicate with your correspondents in the large cities and find if such a name as John Doane appears in any directory. Is he at home now? Has he a family? All about him.”
“Do you believe John Doane is his name?” asked the reporter.
“No reason why it shouldn't be,” said The Thinking Machine. “Yet it might not be.” ”

“ Copper!” gasped Doane suddenly.
Hatch looked around quickly at his companion. Doane's face was a study. On it was half realization and a deep perplexed wrinkle, a glimmer even of excitement.
“Copper!” he repeated.
“Does the word mean anything to you?” asked Hatch quickly. “Copper—metal, you know.”
“Copper, copper, copper,” the other repeated. Then, as Hatch looked, the queer expression faded; there came again utter hopelessness.
There are many men with powerful names who operate in the Street—some of them in copper. ”

“ Thus I had a financier, in a copper deal, drugged as result of a conspiracy. Do you follow me, Mr. Mallory?”
“Sure,” was the reply.
“At this point I received a telegram from the Butte bank telling me that the hundred-dollar bills I asked about had been burned. This telegram was signed 'Preston Bell, Cashier.' If that were true, the bills this man had were counterfeit. There were no ifs about that. I asked him if he knew Preston Bell. It was the only name of a person to arouse him in any way. A man knows his own name better than anything in the world. ”

“ What is it all, anyway?”
“Seems to be a remarkable form of aphasia,” replied The Thinking Machine. “That's not an uncommon disease among people whose minds and nerves are overwrought. You've simply lost yourself—lost your identity. If it is aphasia, you will recover in time. When, I don't know.”
“And meantime?”
“Let me see the money you found.”
With trembling hands Doane produced a large roll of bills, principally hundreds, many of them perfectly new. The Thinking Machine examined them minutely, and finally made some memoranda on a slip of paper. The money was then returned to Doane. ”

“ Then, while his visitor slept, The Thinking Machine quietly removed his shoes and examined them. He found, almost worn away, the name of the maker. This was subjected to close scrutiny under the magnifying glass, after which The Thinking Machine arose with a perceptible expression of relief on his face.
“Why didn't I think of that before?” he demanded of himself. ”

“ If you tell the truth you may escape prison—if you don't, there is a long term, not only for you, but for your fellow conspirators. Now will you talk?”
“No,” said the woman. She arose as if to go out.
“Never mind that,” said The Thinking Machine. “You had better stay where you are. You will be locked up at the proper moment. Mr. Hatch, please 'phone for Detective Mallory.”
Hatch arose and passed into the adjoining room.
“You tricked me,” the woman screamed suddenly, fiercely.
“Yes,” the other agreed, complacently. “Next time be sure you know your own husband. Meanwhile where is Harrison?” ”

“ Doane was pacing back and forth across the reception room; the scientist lay back in his chair.
“Do you know the circumstances of your arrival at the hotel?” he asked at last.
“Yes. I asked, guardedly enough, you may be sure, hinting to the clerk that I had been drunk so as not to make him think I was insane. He said I came in about eleven o'clock at night, without any baggage, paid for my room with a one-hundred-dollar bill, which he changed, registered and went upstairs. I said nothing that he recalls beyond making a request for a room.” ”

“ Bell's nervously twitching hands were reaching for Harrison's throat when he was pushed aside by Detective Mallory. He stood pallid for a moment, then sank down on the floor in a heap. He was senseless. The Thinking Machine made a hurried examination.
“Good!” he remarked again. “When he recovers he will remember everything except what has happened since he has been in Boston. Meanwhile, Mr. Harrison, we know all about the little affair of the drug, the battle for new copper workings in Honolulu, and your partner there has been arrested. Your drug didn't do its work well enough. ”

“ Preston Bell, cashier of the Butte bank, had been drugged, was the victim of a conspiracy, which was probably a part of some great move in copper. But if this man were Preston Bell, how came the signature there? Part of the office regulation? It happens hundreds of times that a name is so used, particularly on telegrams.
“Well, this man who was lost—Doane, or Preston Bell—went to sleep in my apartments. At that time I believed it fully possible that he was a counterfeiter, as the bills were supposedly burned, and sent Mr. Hatch to consult an expert. ”

“ Ten minutes later he returned to find The Thinking Machine leaning back in his chair with eyes upturned. Hatch and Doane were waiting, both impatiently.
“Now Mr. Mallory,” said the scientist, “I shall try to make this matter as clear to you as it is to me. By the time I finish I expect your man will be back here with this women and the embezzler. His name is Harrison; I don't know hers. I can't believe she is Mrs. Harrison, yet he has, I suppose, a wife. But here's the story. It is the chaining together of fact after fact ”

“ When the messenger boy came for the telegram he found a man on the stoop. The Thinking Machine received the telegram, and the man, who gave to Martha the name of Manning, was announced.
“Manning, too,” mused the scientist. “Show him in.”
“I don't know if you know why I am here,” explained Manning.
“Oh, yes,” said the scientist. “You have remembered Doane's name. What is it, please?”
Manning was too frankly surprised to answer and only stared at the scientist. ”

“ He was beginning to see.
“There is one drug particularly, made in India, and not unlike hasheesh. In a case of this kind anything is possible. to-morrow I shall ask you to take Mr. Doane down through the financial district, as an experiment. When you go there I want you particularly to get him to the sound of the 'ticker.' It will be an interesting experiment.”
The reporter went away and The Thinking Machine sent a telegram to the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana:
“To whom did you issue hundred-dollar bills, series B, numbering 846380 to 846395 inclusive? Please answer.” ”

“ I remember, though, I met you in the Lincoln Club in Pittsburg three years ago. I called you Harry because everyone was calling everyone else by his first name. Your last name made no impression on me at all. By George!” he concluded, in a new burst of amazement.
“What were the circumstances, exactly?” asked Hatch.
“I'm a traveling man,” Manning explained. “I go everywhere. A friend gave me a card to the Lincoln Club in Pittsburg and I went there. There were five or six of us playing poker, among them Mr.—Mr. Doane here. ”

“ Take fifteen bills and ask him to pass on them, each and every one. Tell him you have reason—excellent reason—to believe that they are counterfeit. When he gives his opinion come back to me.”
Hatch went away with the money in his pocket. Then The Thinking Machine wrote another telegram, addressed to Preston Bell, cashier of the Butte Bank. It was as follows:
“Please send me full details of the manner in which money previously described was lost, with names of all persons who might have had any knowledge of the matter. ”

“ The message fluttered to the table and Hatch read this:
“Man in Boston can't be my husband. He is now in Honolulu. I received cablegram from him today.
“Mrs. Preston Bell.”
VI
It was thirty six hours later that the three men met again. The Thinking Machine had abruptly dismissed Hatch and Doane the last time. The reporter knew that something wholly unexpected had happened. He could only conjecture that this had to do with Preston Bell. When the three met again it was in Detective Mallory's office at police headquarters. ”

“ He has biceps of great power, is evidently now or has been athletic. His hands are white, well cared for and have no marks on them. They are not the hands of a man who has ever done physical work. The money in his pocket tends to confirm the fact that he is not of that sphere.
“Then what is he? Lawyer? Banker? Financier? ”

“ You know, of course, what that is. The man simply doesn't know himself. I examined him closely. I went over his head for a sign of a possible depression, or abnormality. It didn't appear. I examined his muscles. ”

“ Protestingly the mysterious woman was led away by Detective Mallory; and Doane and Hatch followed shortly after. The next act of the Thinking Machine was to write a telegram addressed to Mrs. Preston Bell, Butte, Montana. Here it is:
“Your husband suffering temporary mental trouble here. ”