V
THE WALL STREET PROMOTER
Lockwood, as we now knew, had become allied in some way with a group ofWall Street capitalists, headed by Stuart Whitney.
Already I had heard something of Whitney. In the Street he was wellknown as an intensely practical man, though far above the averageexploiter both in cleverness and education.
As a matter of fact, Whitney had been far-sighted enough to see thatscholarship could be capitalized, not only as an advertisement, but inmore direct manners. Just at present one of his pet schemes waspromoting trade through the canal between the east coast of NorthAmerica and the west coast of South America. He had spent a good dealof money promoting friendship between men of affairs and wealth in bothNew York and Lima. It was a good chance, he figured, for hisinvestments down in Peru were large, and anything that popularized thecountry in New York could not but make them more valuable.
"Norton seemed rather averse to talking about Whitney," I ventured toCraig, as we rode downtown.
"That may be part of Whitney's cleverness," he returned thoughtfully."As a patron of art and letters, you know, a man can carry through agood many things that otherwise would be more critically examined."
Kennedy did not say it in a way that implied that he knew anything verybad about Whitney. Still, I reflected, it was astute in the man toinsure the cooperation of such people as Norton. A few thousand dollarsjudiciously spent on archaeology might cover up a multitude of sins ofhigh finance.
Nothing more was said by either of us, and at last we reached thefinancial district. We entered a tall skyscraper on Wall Street justaround the corner from Broadway and shot up in the elevator to thefloor where Whitney and his associates had a really palatial suite ofoffices.
As we opened the door we saw that Lockwood was still there. He greetedus with a rather stiff bow.
"Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson," he said simply, introducing us toWhitney, "friends of Professor Norton, I believe. I met them to-day upat Mendoza's."
"That is a most incomprehensible affair," returned Whitney, shakinghands with us. "What do you make out of it?"
Kennedy shrugged his shoulders and turned the remark aside withoutcommitting himself.
Stuart Whitney was a typical promoter, a large, full-blooded man, witha face red and inclined to be puffy from the congested veins. His voicealone commanded respect, whether he said anything worth while or not.In fact, he had but to say that it was a warm day and you felt that hehad scored a telling point in the conversation.
"Professor Norton has asked me to look into the loss of an old Peruviandagger which he brought back from his last expedition," explainedKennedy, endeavouring to lead the conversation in channels which mightarrive somewhere.
"Yes, yes," remarked Whitney, with a nod of interest. "He has told meof it. Very strange, very strange. When he came back he told me that hehad it, along with a lot of other important finds. But I had no idea heset such a value on it--or, rather, that any one else might do so. Itwould have been easy to have safeguarded it here, if we had known," headded, with a wave of his hand in the direction of a huge chrome steelsafe of latest design in the outer office.
Lockwood, I noted, was listening intently, quite in contrast with hisformer cavalier manner of dismissing all consideration of ancient Incalore as academic or unpractical. Did he know something of the dagger?
"I'm very much interested in old Peruvian antiquities myself," remarkedKennedy, a few minutes later, "though not, of course, a scholar likeour friend Norton."
"Indeed?" returned Whitney; and I noticed for the first time that hiseyes seemed fairly to glitter with excitement.
They were prominent eyes, a trifle staring, and I could not helpstudying them.
"Then," he exclaimed, rising, "you must know of the ruins of Chan-Chan,of Chima--those wonderful places?"
Kennedy nodded. "And of Truxillo and the legend of the great fish andthe little fish," he put in.
Whitney seemed extraordinarily pleased that any one should be willingto discuss his hobby with him. His eyes by this time were apparentlystarting from their sockets, and I noticed that the pupils were dilatedalmost to the size of the iris.
"We must sit down and talk about Peru," he continued, reaching for alarge box of cigarettes in the top drawer of his big desk.
Lockwood seemed to sense a long discussion of archaeology. He rose andmumbled an excuse about having something to do in the outer office.
"Oh, it is a wonderful country, Professor Kennedy," went on Whitney,throwing himself back in his chair. "I am deeply interested in it--itsmines, its railroads, as well as its history. Let me show you a map ofour interests down there."
He rose and passed into the next room to get the map. The moment hisback was turned, Kennedy reached over to a typewriter desk that stoodin a corner of the office, left open by the stenographer, who had gone.He took two thin second sheets of paper and a new carbon sheet. A hastydab or two of the library paste completed his work.
Carefully Craig laid the prepared paper on the floor just a few inchesfrom the door into the outer office and scattered a few other sheetsabout, as though the wind had blown them off the desk.
As Whitney returned, a big map unrolled in his hands, I saw his footfall on the double sheet that Craig had laid by the door.
Kennedy bent down and began picking up the papers.
"Oh, that's all right," remarked Whitney brusquely. "Never mind that.Here's where some of our interests lie, in the north."
I don't think I paid much more attention to the map than did Kennedy aswe three bent over it. His real attention was on the paper which he hadplaced on the floor, as though fixing in his mind the exact spot onwhich Whitney had stepped.
As Whitney talked rapidly about the country, we lighted the cigarettes.They seemed to be of a special brand. I puffed mine for a moment. Therewas a peculiar taste about it, however, which I did not exactly like.In fact, I think that the Latin-American cigarettes do not seem toappeal to most Americans very much, anyhow.
While we talked, I noticed that Kennedy evidently shared my own tastes,for he allowed his cigarette to go out, and, after a puff or two, I didthe same. For the sake of my own comfort, I drew one of my own from mycase as soon as I could do so politely, and laid the stub of the otherin an ash-tray on Whitney's desk.
"Mr. Lockwood and Senor Mendoza had some joint interests in thecountry, too, didn't they?" queried Kennedy, his eye still on thepieces of paper near the door.
"Yes," returned Whitney. "Lockwood!"
"What is it?" came Lockwood's voice from outside.
"Show Professor Kennedy where you and Mendoza have those concessions."
The young engineer strode into the room, and I saw a smile ofgratification cross Kennedy's face as his foot, also, fell on the paperby the door.
Unlike Whitney, however, Lockwood bent over to gather up the sheets.But before he could actually do so Kennedy reached down and swept themjust out of his reach.
"Quite breezy," Kennedy covered up his action, turning to restore thepaper to the desk.
Craig had his back to them, but not to me, and I saw him fumble for aninstant with the papers. Quickly he pressed his thumb-nail on one side,as though making a rough "W," while on the other side he made whatmight be an "L." Then he shoved the two sheets and the carbon into hispocket.
I glanced up hastily. Fortunately, neither Whitney nor Lockwood hadnoted his action.
For the first time, now, I noticed as I watched him that Lockwood'seyes, too, were a trifle stary, though not so noticeable as Whitney's.
"Let me see," continued Whitney, "your concessions are all about here,in the north, aren't they?"
Lockwood drew a pencil from his pocket and made several cross-marksover the names of some towns on the large map.
"Those are the points that we had proposed to work," he said simply,"before this terrible tragedy to Mendoza."
"Mining, you understand," explained Whitney. Then, after a pause, heresumed quickly
. "Of course, you know that much has been said about thechances for mining investments and about the opportunities for fortunesfor persons in South America. Peru has been the Mecca for fortunehunters since the days of Pizarro. But where one person has beensuccessful thousands have failed because they don't know the game. Why,I know of one investment of hundreds of thousands that hasn't yielded acent of profit just because of that."
Lockwood said nothing, evidently not caring to waste time or breath onany one who was not a possible investor. But Whitney had the truepromoter's instinct of booming his scheme on the chance that theinterest inspired might be carried to some third party.
"American financiers, it is true," he went on excitedly, taking out abeautifully chased gold cigarette case, "have lost millions in miningin Peru. But that is not the scheme that our group, including Mr.Lockwood now, has. We are going to make more millions than they everdreamed of--because we are simply going to mine for the products ofcenturies of labour already done--for the great treasure of Truxillo."
One could not help becoming infected by Whitney's enthusiasm.
Kennedy was following him closely, while a frown of disapproval spreadover Lockwood's face.
"Then you know the secret of the hiding-place of the treasure?" queriedKennedy abruptly.
Whitney shook his head in the negative. "It is my idea that we don'thave to know it," he answered. "With the hints that we have collectedfrom the natives, I think we can locate it with the expenditure ofcomparatively little time and money. Senor Mendoza has obtained theconcession from the government to hunt for it on a large scale in thebig mounds about Truxillo. We know it is there. Is not that enough?"
If it had been any one less than Whitney, we should probably have saidit was not. But it took more than that to deny anything he asserted.Lockwood's face was a study. I cannot say that it betrayed anythingexcept disapproval of the mere discussion of the subject. In fact, itleft me in doubt as to whether Whitney himself might not have beenbluffing, in the certainty of finding the treasure--perhaps had alreadythe secret he denied having and was preparing to cover it up bystumbling on it, apparently, in some other way. I recognized in StuartWhitney as smooth an individual as ever we had encountered. His was allthe sincerity of a crook. Yet he contrived to leave the whole matter indoubt. Perhaps in this case he actually knew what he was talking about.
The telephone rang and Lockwood answered it. Though he did not mentionher name, I knew from his very tone and manner that it was Senorita deMendoza who was calling up. Evidently his continued absence had worriedher.
"There's absolutely nothing to worry about," we heard him say. "Nothinghas changed. I shall be up to see you as soon as I can get away fromthe office."
There was an air of restraint about Lockwood's remarks, not as thoughhe were keeping anything from the Senorita, but as though he werereluctant for us to overhear anything about his affairs.
Lockwood had been smoking, too, and he added the stubs of hiscigarettes to the pile in the ash-tray on Whitney's desk. Once I sawCraig cast a quick glance at the tray, and I understood that in someway he was anxious to have a chance to investigate those cigarettes.
"You saw the dagger which Norton brought back, did you not?" askedKennedy of Whitney.
"Only as I saw the rest of the stuff after it was unpacked," he repliedeasily. "He brought back a great many interesting objects on this lasttrip."
It was apparent that whether he actually knew anything about the secretof the Inca dagger or not, Whitney was not to be trapped into betrayingit. I had an idea that Lockwood was interested in knowing that fact,too. At any rate, one could not be sure whether these two wereperfectly frank with each other, or were playing a game for high stakesbetween themselves.
Lockwood seemed eager to get away and, with a hasty glance at hiswatch, rose.
"If you wish to find me, I shall be with Senorita de Mendoza," he said,taking his hat and stick, and bowing to us.
Whitney rose and accompanied him to the door in the outer office, hisarm on his shoulder, conversing in a low tone that was inaudible to us.
No sooner, however, had the two passed through the door, with theirbacks toward us, than Kennedy reached over quickly and swept thecontents of the ash-tray, cigarette stubs, ashes, and all, into anempty envelope which was lying with some papers. Then he sealed it andshoved it into his pocket, with a sidelong glance of satisfaction at me.
"Evidently Mr. Lockwood and the Senorita are on intimate terms,"hazarded Kennedy, as Whitney rejoined us.
"Poor little girl," soliloquized the promoter. "Yes, indeed. AndLockwood is a lucky dog, too. Such eyes, such a figure--did you eversee a more beautiful woman?"
One could not help recognizing that whatever else Whitney might havesaid that did not ring true his admiration for the unfortunate girl wasgenuine. That was not so remarkable, however. It could hardly have beenotherwise.
"You are acquainted, I suppose, with a Senora de Moche?" venturedKennedy again, taking a chance shot.
Whitney looked at him keenly. "Yes," he agreed, "I have had somedealings with her. She was an acquaintance of old Mendoza's--a woman ofthe world, clever, shrewd. I think she has but one ambition--her son.You have met her?"
"Not the Senora," admitted Craig, "but her son is a student at theUniversity."
"Oh, yes, to be sure," said Whitney. "A fine fellow--but not of thetype of Lockwood."
Why he should have coupled the names was not clear for the moment. Buthe had risen, and was moving deliberately up and down the office, histhumbs in his waistcoat pockets, as though he were thinking ofsomething very perplexing.
"If I were younger," he remarked finally, of a sudden, "I would giveboth of them a race for that girl. She is the greatest treasure thathas ever come out of the country. Ah, well--as it is, I would not placemy money on young de Moche!"
Kennedy had risen to go.
"I trust you will be able to unearth some clue regarding that dagger,"said Whitney, as we moved toward the door. "It seems to have worriedNorton considerably, especially since you told him that Mendoza wasundoubtedly murdered with it."
Evidently Norton kept in close touch with his patron, but Kennedy didnot appear to be surprised at it.
"I am doing my best," he returned. "I suppose I may count on your helpas the case develops?"
"Absolutely," replied Whitney, accompanying us out into the hall to theelevator. "I shall back Norton in anything he wants to keep thePeruvian collection intact and protected."
Our questions were as yet unanswered. Not only had we no inkling as tothe whereabouts of the dagger, but the source of the four warnings thathad been sent us was still as much shrouded in mystery.
Kennedy beckoned to a passing taxicab.
"The Prince Edward Albert," he directed briefly.
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