The Stolen War Secret/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
THE ARTIFICIAL KIDNEY
“CALL up Dr. Leslie right away, Walter,” cried Kennedy making a quick decision, “then hurry down to the car. I am going to the laboratory.”
Señora Ruiz had been lifted to a couch and the rest remained at the Mexican cabaret while Craig and I made a quick dash to the laboratory. Not a moment was wasted. He jumped from the car almost before it had stopped and went directly to a cupboard in which was locked a large oblong case.
We were back again, almost before they fairly expected us. Señora Ruiz was still alive though breathing with difficulty.
Without an instant’s delay he had his coat off and was opening the case. We watched helplessly as he took from it a peculiar arrangement and laid it carefully on the table. It seemed to consist of innumerable little tubes, each about sixteen inches long, with S-turns that made it look like a miniature glass radiator.
“There is just one chance,” he said, working feverishly. “I wish Leslie would come—I need him.”
Altogether the apparatus could not have been much over a cubic foot in size, and it was enclosed in a glass cylinder through which we could see a hundred feet or more of the tubes, a perfectly closed tubular system.
“I have kept this absolutely sterile in a germicidal solution,” he went on, scrubbing away at his hands and nails now with an antiseptic solution. “Inside those tubes and surrounding them is a saline solution which is kept at a uniform temperature by means of a special heating-apparatus.”
The table had been drawn up alongside the couch and on it was placed the apparatus beside the unconscious Señora.
A noise outside announced the arrival of the coroner and a moment later he hurried into the room.
“What’s the matter?” he asked breathlessly, endeavoring to take in the situation but not understanding it.
“Just in time, Doctor,” exclaimed Kennedy visibly relieved at the presence of a medical man. “I need you.”
Briefly and in a low tone which we could not catch he proceeded to tell Leslie just enough of what had happened and what he proposed to attempt so that they could go ahead.
“Perhaps a little anesthetic—just enough to insure keeping her under—would make it easier,” commented Leslie reaching into his case for the paraphernalia.
He, too, seemed possessed by a germicidal mania, and after the quick but thorough ablution, gently administered just enough of a narcotic to stop the convulsive movements which might have interfered with their work.
We stood, scarcely speaking a word, in the far corner of the room while Kennedy and Leslie wasted no time. First they attached the end of one of the tubes, by means of a little silver ring or cannula to the carotid artery, and then a tube from the other end of the apparatus to the jugular vein in the Señora’s neck.
“Is it all right?” asked Leslie of Kennedy when he had finished the surgical work.
“Yes,” answered Craig with a thorough glance over what had been done, “yes—you can release it.”
As Dr. Leslie released the clamp which held the artery just above where it had been severed, the still wildly beating heart of Señora Ruiz seemed to spurt the arterial blood from the carotid into the tubes which held the normal salt solution now at blood heat.
It was astounding to see the human body working almost with the same precision as a machine. That arterial pressure, in turn, pumped the salt solution which filled the tubes, into the jugular vein. It required no more than the exercise of common sense to see that that was necessary, replacing the arterial blood that had been poured into the tubes from the other end, and thus maintaining the normal hydrostatic conditions in the body-circulation.
We stood rooted to the spot by the marvel of the thing. She was actually being kept alive although perhaps a third of her blood was outside of her body.
Our own interest could not, however, rival that of Kennedy and Leslie who, in the professional excitement of trying to save a lost life, were oblivious for the time to everything except their work and their patient. They were giving their undivided attention to the success of the operation, and it was only after some minutes of anxious observation that they even seemed to notice that the rest of the world existed.
SINCLAIR was the first to speak, for the rest of us were simply speechless with wonder. Kennedy and Leslie had at last straightened up and were regarding the automatic working of the machine before them with undisguised satisfaction.
“What is that, Kennedy?” ventured Sinclair.
“What I have here,” returned Kennedy slowly, not taking his eyes for a second off the thing, “is in reality an artificial kidney.”
Burke looked at me, incredulity written all over his face, as if it was blasphemous even to try to improve on the organs that nature had given us. Incredible as it seemed, we could not but believe, for there was the apparatus before us working, apparently, as smoothly as a watch.
“It is a system devised recently by several very noted doctors at Johns Hopkins,” corroborated Leslie in a manner which showed that as a physician he would not have missed the opportunity of seeing the thing for thousands of dollars.
“Yes,” continued Kennedy, “when there is a toxin or poison in the blood, the kidneys naturally endeavor to eliminate it. But often, as in this case, an emergency arises and it is eliminated too slowly. Then this arrangement is intended to aid nature in a work she never designed the human kidney to do.”
“What do you call it?” prompted Sinclair who, although not a medical man, was a scientist and felt the keen spirit of pioneering which all true scientists have.
“We call it vividiffusion,” answered Craig. “Fundamentally it depends for its action on the physical principle of osmosis. You know that if substances of a certain kind are placed in solution next to each other and separated only by a thin porous membrane, there will take place and interchange of the molecules or ions of the one substance with those of the other until the two liquids are completely mixed. It is an important property—without it life such as we know it would be impossible. These tubes, which perhaps you have thought were made of glass, are really made of a porous substance known as celloidin.”
“Then you mean to say that the poison in her blood,” I exclaimed, “is passing slowly through those celloidin walls into that salt solution which surrounds the tubes?”
“Precisely,” he returned. “Any substance, any poison that is dialyzable is diffused into the surrounding salt solution and the blood is passed back into the body, with no air in it, no infection, no further alteration. And as it is done while the person is still living, we call it, as I told you, vividiffusion—a sort of living osmosis, after the manner that it goes on normally in the body itself.”
Dr. Leslie himself, although he had heard of it, did not seem to be entirely clear on the matter.
“What have you done to prevent clotting?” he asked.
“That has been provided against. Clotting is prevented by the injection of a harm less substance known as hirudin—something derived from leeches.”
“Yes,” put in Sinclair who had been revolving the thing in his mind, “but won’t that dialyze out other substances besides those you want to remove?”
“I prevent the loss of anything in the blood which I want retained,” explained Kennedy, “by placing in the salt solution first, around the outside of the tubes, an amount of that substance equal to that held in solution by the blood. In that way, you see, we keep the blood and salt solution in balance, as it were, and nothing happens in regard to such substances.”
“And of course,” cut in Leslie, “all substances in the blood are not capable of diffusion, you know.”
“Oh, of course,” agreed Kennedy. “The colloidal substances, for instance, would not pass out by osmosis anyhow. It is only the crystallizable elements which are capable of diffusion. And it is precisely those elements that we want to reach. Yet by these delicate adjustments doctors can remove and discover any desired substance in the blood that is capable of elimination at all, in such a way.”
“I see,” agreed Sinclair. “It does in a way just the work that the kidneys do in elimination.”
Kennedy nodded.
“In fact this little apparatus, with its one hundred and ninety-two tubes,” he added, “has been found in practise to compare favorably with the kidneys themselves in removing even a deadly dose of poison. That was why I thought of it instantly in this case.”
Sinclair turned to Mrs. Hawley.
“I hope she lives,” she breathed fervently. “Whatever her faults, I always rather liked the Señora.”
“Yes,” put in Sinclair, “there have been tragedies enough in this unfortunate affair.”
Burke shook his head doubtfully.
“They are a violent people,” he remarked. “They don’t seem to value human life any more than if they were so many head of cattle.”
As for me, I was unable to take my mind off the process that was going on before us. Kennedy was actually cleaning the blood of the gay little dancer and then putting it back again—getting rid of an elusive, subtle, fatal poison. I recalled his previous work in tracing out the poison and how it had been interrupted and wondered whether now we should be any closer in fixing it definitely upon some one.
Craig and Leslie were paying no attention to the remarks of the rest.
“How long would you keep this up?” Leslie asked.
Kennedy glanced at his watch.
“The fact is,” he replied, “this process can be kept up for several hours without in jury, if we are as careful as we have been so far. But I don’t think that will be necessary in this case after we have relieved the unusual strain that has been put on the vital organs.”
“Stopping the process, I suppose, is as ticklish as starting it,” Sinclair remarked.
“Yes,” replied Kennedy. “I’m glad you spoke of that. If anything should call me away suddenly, I think I can trust Dr. Leslie with that just as well, perhaps better, than myself. You see, Doctor, finally, at the close of the operation, serious loss of blood is overcome by driving back the greater part of it into the body, including of course, now, much of the salt solution. The artery and vein are closed up, of course, and the patient is carefully treated so that she will make a quick recovery7. There is usually no difficulty on that score.”
Minute after minute we watched the fascinating process of seeing the life-blood coursing through the porous tubes immersed in the salt solution, while Kennedy gave his undivided attention to the success of the delicate operation.
It was, however, after all a tedious process, and as it became more and more automatic and allowed of relaxing attention just a little, Kennedy’s active mind resumed the consideration of other features of the case.
“I’ve just been thinking,” remarked Kennedy, coming over to us, “that if we are to clear this thing up, there is no use in our all standing here doing nothing. Burke, your secret-service men must have had lines out about Morelos. According to the last report we had, he was in Bridgeport. He certainly did not cross the Sound in the power boat, and if he knew that we were out at Westport he would never think that we had returned to New York so soon. I should think that some of your men might find a trace of him. The chances are ten to one that he has returned to the city, at least for a flying visit.”
Burke nodded.
“I’ll do the best I can,” he said. “Perhaps they have been able to get something out of the men we captured the other night. But how about Alvarez and Sanchez?”
Kennedy turned significantly toward the Señora.
“I think she can tell us about them, if we can pull her through,” he replied. “While you are trying to run down Morelos, I wish Jameson would get in touch with Police Headquarters. We may as well have all the railroads, ferries and steamships watched, although I can’t say how much good it will do.”
Burke left and I hastened to get Police Headquarters on the wire and have a general alarm sent out for the two missing representatives of the Mexican Federals.
A minute search of the cabaret from roof to cellar, with the aid of Sinclair, failed to elicit any further evidence. There was not a soul there. Either the place had been deserted, except for Señora Ruiz, when we entered or the others had succeeded in fleeing.
We returned to the private dining-room where Kennedy and Leslie were still at work. Mrs. Hawley, showing the effects of the strain of the night, was sticking bravely to her post.
“I think you had better let me drive you in the car around to a hotel,” suggested Sinclair finally. “You look tired out. The Vanderveer is only just around the corner.”
The mere mention of the name of the hotel seemed to arouse something in Mrs. Hawley. She looked up quickly and I knew that it had suggested to her the strange death of Valcour.
“Oh,” hastened Sinclair, noticing it also, “any place will do. You ought not to wear yourself out.”
“I think I shouldn’t be able to rest much anyway yet,” she murmured, looking up at him. “Please let me stay. I’m just as anxious to know how it turns out as the rest of you.”
There was something in her voice that arrested my attention. Sinclair had seen it already. His remark had started again a train of thought about Valcour and the attentions he had paid the adventuress both at the Seaville House and the Vanderveer.
Sinclair bent over and made her more comfortable.
“I can’t blame you,” he remarked pointedly. “My interest in the case is exactly the same as yours. One can’t see two—three—acquaintances—struck down as we have and not wish to have justice done.”
She looked up quickly at the word “acquaintances,” caught his eye, then glanced away again at the Señora across the room. It was not imagination, but I felt that she did not look so tired after that. I moved nearer Kennedy and Leslie, but in the stillness of the room I heard nothing further from them.
And thus the minutes lengthened into hours as the blood of the poisoned Señora Ruiz coursed through its artificial channels, literally being washed free of the toxin.
Would it succeed? Would vividiffusion bring back the unfortunate woman, even long enough for her to yield her secret and enable us to catch the real criminal? What if she died?