Gold of the Gods

by Arthur B. Reeve

  VIII

  THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

  "I think I will drop in to see Senorita Mendoza," considered Kennedy,as he cleared up the materials which he had been using in hisinvestigation of the arrow poison. "She is a study to me--in fact, thereticence of all these people is hard to combat."

  As we entered the apartment where the Mendozas lived, it was difficultto realize that only a few hours had elapsed since we had first beenintroduced to this strange affair. In the hall, however, were stillsome reporters waiting in the vain hope that some fragment of a storymight turn up.

  "Let's have a talk with the boys," suggested Craig, before we enteredthe Mendoza suite. "After all, the newspaper men are the bestdetectives I know. If it wasn't for them, half our murder caseswouldn't ever be solved. As a matter of fact, 'yellow journals' aremore useful to a city than half the detective force."

  Most of the newspaper men knew Craig intimately, and liked him,possibly because he was one of the few people to-day who realized thevery important part these young men played in modern life. They crowdedabout, eager to interview him. But Craig was clever. In the rapid fireof conversation it was really he who interviewed them.

  "Lockwood has been here a long time," volunteered one of the men. "Heseems to have constituted himself the guardian of Inez. No one gets alook at her while he's around."

  "Well, you can hardly blame him for that," smiled Craig. "Jealousyisn't a crime in that case."

  "Say," put in another, "there'd be an interesting quarter of an hour ifhe were here now. That other fellow--de Mooch--whatever his name is, ishere."

  "De Moche--with her, now?" queried Kennedy, wheeling suddenly.

  The reporter smiled. "He's a queer duck. I was coming up to relieve ourother man, when I saw him down on the street, hanging about the corner,his eyes riveted on the entrance to the apartment. I suppose that washis way of making love. He's daffy over her, all right. I stopped towatch him. Of course, he didn't know me. Just then Lockwood left. TheSpaniard dived into the drug store on the corner as though the devilwas after him. You should have seen his eyes. If looks were bullets, Iwouldn't give much for Lockwood's life. With two such fellows about,you wouldn't catch me making goo-goo eyes at that chicken--not on yourlife."

  Kennedy passed over the flippant manner in view of the importance ofthe observation.

  "What do you think of Lockwood?" he asked.

  "Pretty slick," replied another of the men. "He's the goods, all right."

  "Why, what has he done?" asked Kennedy.

  "Nothing in particular. But he came out to see us once. You can't blamehim for being a bit sore at us fellows hanging about. But he didn'tshow it. Instead he almost begged us to be careful of how we askedquestions of the girl. Of course, all of us could see how completelybroken up she is. We haven't bothered her. In fact, we'd do anything wecould for her. But Lockwood talks straight from the shoulder. You cansee he's used to handling all kinds of situations."

  "But did he say anything, has he done anything?" persisted Kennedy.

  "N-no," admitted the reporter. "I can't say he has."

  Craig frowned a bit. "I thought not," he remarked. "These people aren'tgiving away any hints, if they can help it."

  "It's my idea," ventured another of the men, "that when this casebreaks, it will break all of a sudden. I shouldn't wonder if we are infor one of the sensations of the year, when it comes."

  Kennedy looked at him inquiringly. "Why?" he asked simply.

  "No particular reason," confessed the man. "Only the regular detectivesact so chesty. They haven't got a thing, and they know it, only theywon't admit it to us. O'Connor was here."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing. He went through all the motions--'Now, pens lifted, boys,'and all that--talked a lot--and after it was all over he might havebeen sure no one would publish a line of his confidences. There wasn'ta stick of copy in the whole thing."

  Kennedy laughed. "O'Connor's all right," he replied. "We may need himsorely before we get through. After all, nothing can take the place ofthe organization the police have built up. You say de Moche is in thereyet?"

  "Yes. He seemed very anxious to see her. We never get a word out ofhim. I've been thinking what would happen if we tried to get him mad.Maybe he'd talk."

  "More likely he'd pull a gun," cautioned another. "Excuse ME."

  Kennedy said nothing, evidently content to let the newspaper men gotheir own sweet way.

  He nodded to them, and pressed the buzzer at the Mendoza door.

  "Tell Senorita Mendoza that it is Professor Kennedy," he said toJuanita, who opened the door, keeping it on the chain, to be sure itwas no unwelcome intruder.

  Evidently she had had orders to admit us, for a second later we foundourselves again in the little reception room.

  We sat down, and I saw that Craig's attention had at once been fixed onsomething. I listened intently, too. On the other side of the heavyportieres that cut us off from the living room I could distinguish lowvoices. It was de Moche and Inez.

  Whatever the ethics of it, we could not help listening. Besides therewas more at stake than ethics.

  Evidently the young man was urging her to do something that she did notagree with.

  "No," we heard her say finally, in a quiet tone, "I cannot believe it,Alfonso. Mr. Whitney is Mr. Lockwood's associate now. My father and Mr.Lockwood approved of him. Why should I do otherwise?"

  De Moche was talking earnestly but in a very muffled voice. We couldnot make out anything except a few scattered phrases which told usnothing. Once I fancied he mentioned his mother. Whatever it was thathe was urging, Inez was firm.

  "No, Alfonso," she repeated, her voice a little higher and excited. "Itcannot be. You must be mistaken."

  She had risen, and now moved toward the hall door, evidently forgettingthat the folding doors behind the portieres were open. "ProfessorKennedy and Mr. Jameson are here," she said. "Would you care to meetthem?"

  He replied in the negative. Yet as he passed the reception room hecould not help seeing us.

  As Inez greeted us, I saw that Alfonso was making a desperate effort tocontrol his expression. He seemed to be concealing a bitterdisappointment. Seeing us, he bowed stiffly, and, with just the murmurof a greeting, excused himself.

  He had no sooner closed the door to run the gauntlet of the sharp eyesin the hall than the Senorita faced us fully. She was pale and nervous.Evidently something that he had said to her had greatly agitated her.Yet with all her woman's skill she managed to hide all outward tracesof emotion that might indicate what it was that racked her mind.

  "You have something to report?" she asked, a trifle anxiously.

  "Nothing of any great importance," admitted Craig.

  Was it actually a look of relief that crossed her face? Try as I could,it seemed to me to be an anomalous situation. She wanted the murdererof her father caught, naturally. Yet she did not seem to be offering usthe natural assistance that was to be expected. Could it be that shesuspected some one perhaps near and dear to her of having someknowledge, which, now that the deed was done, would do more harm thangood if revealed? It was the only conclusion to which I could come. Iwas surprised at Kennedy's next question. Was the same idea in hismind, also?

  "We have seen Mr. Whitney," he ventured. "Just what are Mr. Lockwood'srelations with him--and yours?"

  "Merely that Mr. Lockwood and my father were partners," she answeredhastily. "They had decided that their interests would be more valuableby some arrangement with Mr. Whitney, who controls so much down inPeru."

  "Do you think that Senora de Moche exercises a very great influence onMr. Whitney?" asked Craig, purposely introducing the name of the Indianwoman to see what effect it might have on her.

  "Oh," she cried, with a little exclamation of alarm, "I hope not."

  Yet it was evident that she feared so.

  "Why is it that you fear it?" insisted Kennedy. "What has she done tomake you fear it?"

  "I don't like her," r
eturned Inez, with a frown. "My father knewher--too well. She is a schemer, an adventuress. Once she has a hold ona man, one cannot say--" She paused, then went on in a different tone."But I would rather not talk about the woman. I am afraid of her. Neverdoes she talk to me that she does not get something out of me that I donot wish to tell her. She is uncanny."

  Personally, I could not blame Inez for her opinion. I could understandit. Those often baleful eyes had a penetrating power that one mighteasily fall a victim to.

  "But you can trust Mr. Lockwood," he returned. "Surely he is proofagainst her, against any woman."

  Inez flushed. It was evident that of all the men who were interested inthe little beauty, Lockwood was first in her mind. Yet when Kennedy putthe question thus she hesitated. "Yes," she replied, "of course, Itrust him. It is not that woman whom I fear with him."

  She said it with an air almost of defiance. There was some kind ofstruggle going on in her mind, and she was too proud to let us into thesecret.

  Kennedy rose and bowed. For the present he had come to the conclusionthat if she would not let us help her openly the only thing to do wasto help her blindly.

  Half an hour later we were at Norton's apartment, not far from theUniversity campus. He listened intently as Kennedy told such parts ofwhat we had done as he chose. At the mention of the arrow poison, heseemed startled beyond measure.

  "You are sure of it?" he asked anxiously.

  "Positive, now," reiterated Kennedy.

  Norton's face was drawn in deep lines. "If some one has the secret," hecried hastily, "who knows when and on whom next he may employ it?"

  Coming from him so soon after the same idea had been hinted at by thecoroner, I could not but be impressed by it.

  "The very novelty of the thing is our best protection," assertedKennedy confidently. "Once having discovered it, if Walter gives thething its proper value in the Star, I think the criminal will beunlikely to try it again. If you had had as much experience in crime asI have had, you would see that it is not necessarily the unusual thatis baffling. That may be the surest way to trace it. Often it isbecause a thing is so natural that it may be attributed to any personamong several, equally well."

  Norton eyed us keenly, and shook his head. "You may be right," he saiddoubtfully. "Only I had rather that this person, whoever he may be, hadfewer weapons."

  "Speaking of weapons," broke in Kennedy, "you have had no further ideaof why the dagger might have been taken?"

  "There seems to have been so much about it that I did not know," hereturned, "that I am almost afraid to have an opinion. I knew that itsthree-sided sheath inclosed a sharp blade, yet who would have dreamedthat that blade was poisoned?"

  "You are lucky not to have scratched yourself with it by accident whileyou were studying it."

  "Possibly I might have done it, if I had had it in my possessionlonger. It was only lately that I had leisure to study it."

  "You knew that it might offer some clue to the hidden treasure ofTruxillo?" suggested Kennedy. "Have you any recollection of what theinscriptions on it said?"

  "Yes," returned Norton, "I had heard the rumours about it. But Peru isa land of tales of buried treasure. No, I can't say that I paid muchmore attention to it than you might have done if some one asserted thathe had another story of the treasure of Captain Kidd. I must confessthat only when the thing was stolen did I begin to wonder whether,after all, there might not be something in it. Now it is too late tofind out. From the moment when I found that it was missing from mycollection I have heard no more about it than you have found out. It isall like a dream to me. I cannot believe even yet that a mere bit ofarchaeological and ethnological specimen could have played so importanta part in the practical events of real life."

  "It does seem impossible," agreed Kennedy. "But it is even moreremarkable than that. It has disappeared without leaving a trace, afterhaving played its part."

  "If it had been a mere robbery," considered Norton, "one might look forits reappearance, I suppose, in the curio shops. For to-day thieveshave a keen appreciation of the value of such objects. But, now thatyou have unearthed its use against Mendoza--and in such a terribleway--it is not likely that that will be what will happen to it. No, wemust look elsewhere."

  "I thought I would tell you," concluded Kennedy, rising to go. "Perhapsafter you have considered it over night some idea may occur to you."

  "Perhaps," said Norton doubtfully. "But I haven't your brilliantfaculty of scientific analysis, Kennedy. No, I shall have to lean onyou, in that, not you on me."

  We left Norton, apparently now more at sea than ever. At the laboratoryKennedy plunged into some microphotographic work that the case hadsuggested to him, while I dashed off, under his supervision, an accountof the discovery of curare, and telephoned it down to the Star in timeto catch the first morning edition, in the hope that it might have someeffect in apprising the criminal that we were hard on his trail, whichhe had considered covered.

  I scanned the other papers eagerly in the morning for Kennedy, hopingto glean at least some hints that others who were working on the casemight have gathered. But there was nothing, and, after a hasty bite ofbreakfast, we hurried back to take up the thread of the investigationwhere we had laid it down.

  To our surprise, on the steps of the Chemistry Building, as weapproached, we saw Inez Mendoza already waiting for us in a high stateof agitation. Her face was pale, and her voice trembled as she greetedus.

  "Such a dreadful thing has come to me," she cried, even before Kennedycould ask her what the trouble was.

  From her handbag she drew out a crumpled, dirty piece of paper in anenvelope.

  "It came in the first mail," she explained. "I could not wait to sendit to you. I brought it myself. What can it mean?"

  Kennedy unfolded the paper. Printed in large characters, in every waysimilar to the four warnings that had been sent to us, was just oneominous line. We read:

  "Beware the man who professes to be a friend of your father."

  I glanced from the note to Kennedy, then to Inez. One name was in mymind, and before I knew it I had spoken it.

  "Lockwood?" I queried inadvertently.

  Her eyes met mine in sharp defiance. "Impossible," she exclaimed. "Itis some one trying to injure him with me. Beware of Mr. Lockwood? Howabsurd!"

  Yet it must have meant Lockwood. No one else could have been meant. Itwas he, most of all, who might be called a friend of her father. Sheseemed to see the implication without a word from us.

  I could not help sympathizing with the brave girl in her strugglebetween the attack against Lockwood and her love and confidence in him.It did not need words to tell me that evidence must be overwhelming toconvince her that her lover might be involved in any manner.