XVI
THE EAR IN THE WALL
Perhaps an hour later our laboratory door was flung open suddenly, andboth Kennedy and I leaped to our feet.
There was Inez Mendoza, alone, pale and agitated.
"Tell me, Professor Kennedy," she cried, her hands clasped before herin frantic appeal, "tell me--it isn't true--is it? He wasn'tthere--no--no--no!"
She would have fainted if Craig had not sprung forward and caught herin time to place her in our only easy-chair.
"Walter," he said, "quick--that bottle of aromatic spirits of ammoniaover there--the second from the left."
I handed it to him, and threw open the window to allow the fresh air toblow in. As I did so one of the papers Kennedy had been studying blewoff the table, and, as luck would have it, fell almost before her. Shesaw it, and in her hypersensitive condition recognized it instantly.
"Oh--that anonymous letter!" she cried. "Tell me--you do not thinkthat--the friend of my father's that it warned me to beware of--was--"
She did not finish the sentence. She did not need to do so.
"Please, Senorita," pleaded and soothed Kennedy, "try to be calm. Whathas happened? Tell me. What is it?"
The ammonia and the fresh air seemed to have done their work, for shemanaged to brace herself, gripping the arms of the chair tightly andlooking up searchingly into Craig's face.
"It's about Chester," she managed to gasp; then seemed unable to go on.
It was the first time I had ever heard her use Lockwood's first name,and I knew that something had stirred her emotions more deeply than atany time since the death of her father.
"Yes," prompted Kennedy. "Go on."
"I have heard that you found foot-prints, shoe-prints, in the dust inthe Museum after the dagger was stolen," she said, speaking rapidly,suppressing her feelings heroically. "Since then you have beencollecting prints of shoes--and I've heard that the shoe-prints thatwere found are those of--of Mr. Lockwood. Oh, Professor Kennedy, itcannot be--there must be some mistake."
For a moment Kennedy did not say anything. He was evidently seekingsome way in which to lead up to the revelation of the truth without toomuch shock.
"You remember that time in the tea room when we were sitting withSenora de Moche?" he asked finally.
"Yes," she said shortly, as though the very recollection weredisagreeable to her.
Kennedy, however, had a disagreeable task, and he felt that it must beperformed in the kindest manner.
"You remember then that she said she had one thing more to say, that itwas about Mr. Whitney and Mr. Lockwood."
She was about to interrupt, but he hurried on, giving her no chance todo so. "She asked you to think it over. Suppose they did not have thedagger, she said. Then were their chances of finding the treasure anybetter than any one else had? And if they did have it, she asked whatthat meant. It is a dilemma, my dear Senorita, which you must meet sometime. Why not meet it now?"
Her face was set. "You will remember, also, Professor Kennedy," shesaid, with a great effort controlling her voice, "that I said that Mr.Lockwood was not there to defend himself and I would not have himattacked by innuendo. I meant it to the Senora--I mean it to you!"
She had also meant it to defy him; but as she proceeded her voicebroke, and before she knew it her nature had triumphed, and she wasalternately sobbing and pleading.
For a minute or two Kennedy let her give vent to her emotions.
"It cannot be. It cannot be," she sobbed over and over. "He could nothave been there. He could not have done it."
It was a terrible thing to have to disillusion her, but it wassomething now that had to be done. Kennedy had not sought to do so. Hehad postponed it in the hope of finding some other way. But now thething was forced upon him.
"Who told you?" he asked finally.
"I was trying to read, to keep my mind occupied, as you asked me, whenJuanita told me that there was some one in the living room who wantedto see me--a man. I thought it was either you or Mr. Jameson. But itwas--Professor Norton--"
Kennedy and I exchanged glances. That was the action in revenge toLockwood and Whitney which he had contemplated over the telephone. Itwas so cruel and harsh that I could have hated him for it, the more soas I recollected that it was he himself who had cautioned us againstdoing the very thing which now he had done in the heat of passion.
"Oh," she wailed, "he was very kind and considerate about it. He saidhe felt that it was his duty to tell me, that he would be anything,like an older brother, to me; that he could not see me blinded anylonger to what was going on, and everybody knew, but had not loveenough for me to tell. It was such a shock. I could not even speak. Isimply ran from the room without another word to him, and Juanita foundme lying on the bed. Then--I decided--I would come to you."
She paused, and her great, deep eyes looked up pathetically. "And you,"she added bitterly, "you are going to tell me that he was right, thatit is true. You can't prove it. Show me what it is that you have. Idefy you!"
Somehow, as she rested and relieved her feelings, a new strength seemedto come to her. It was what Kennedy had been waiting for, the reactionthat would leave her able for him to go on and plan for the future.
He reached into a drawer of a cabinet and pulled out the variousshoe-prints which he had already shown Norton, and which he had studiedand restudied so carefully.
"That is the print of the shoe in the dust of the Egyptian sarcophagusof the Museum," he said quietly. "Some one got in during the daytimeand hid there until the place was locked. That is the print of Alfonsode Moche's shoe, that of Mr. Whitney's, and that of Mr. Lockwood's."
He said it quickly, as though trying to gloss it over. But she wouldnot have it that way. She felt stronger, and she was going to see justwhat there was there. She took the prints and studied them, though herhand trembled. Hers was a remarkable mind. It took only seconds to seewhat others would have seen only in minutes. But it was not thereasoning faculty that was aroused by what she saw. It sank deep intoher heart.
She flung the papers down.
"I don't believe it!" she defied. "There is some mistake. No--it cannotbe true!"
It was a noble exhibition of faith. I think I have never seen anyinstant more tense than that in Kennedy's laboratory. There stood thebeautiful girl declaring her faith in her lover, rejecting even theimplication that it might have been he who had taken the dagger,perhaps murdered her father to insure the possession of her father'sshare of the treasure as well as the possession of herself.
Kennedy did not try to combat it. Instead he treated her veryintuitions with respect. In him there was room for both fact andfeeling.
"Senorita," he said finally, in a voice that was deep and thrillingwith feeling, "have I ever been other than a friend to you? Have I evergiven you cause to suspect even one little motive of mine?"
She faced him, and they looked into each other's eyes an instant. Butit was long enough for the man to understand the woman and she tounderstand him.
"No," she murmured, glancing down again.
"Then trust me just this once. Do as I ask you."
For an instant she struggled with herself. What would he ask?
"What is it?" she questioned, raising her eyes to him again.
"Have you seen Mr. Lockwood?"
"No."
"Then, I want you to see him. Surely you wish to have no secrets fromhim any more than you would wish him to have anything secret from you.See him. Ask him frankly about it all. It is the only fair thing tohim--it is only fair to yourself."
Senorita Mendoza was no coward. "I--I will," she almost whispered.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Kennedy in admiration. "I knew that you would.You are not the woman who could do otherwise. May I see that you gethome safely? Walter, call a taxicab."
Senorita Mendoza was calmer, though pale and still nervous, when Ireturned. Kennedy handed her into the car and then returned to thelaboratory for two rather large packages, which he handed to me.
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"You must come along with us, Walter," he said. "We shall need you."
Scarcely a word was spoken as we jolted over the city pavements and atlast reached the apartment. Inez and Craig entered and I followed,carrying just one of the packages as Craig had indicated by dumb show,leaving the other in the car, which was to wait.
"I think you had better write him a note," suggested Craig, as weentered the living room. "I don't want you to see him until you feelbetter--and, by the way, see him here."
She nodded with a wan smile, as though thinking how unusual it was fora meeting of lovers to be an ordeal, then excused herself to write thenote.
She had no sooner disappeared than Kennedy unwrapped the package whichI had brought. From it he took a cedar box, oblong, with a sort ofblack disc fixed to an arm on the top. In the face of the box were twolittle square holes, with sides of cedar which converged inward intothe box, making a pair of little quadrangular pyramidal holes whichended in a small black circle in the interior.
He looked about the room quickly. Beside a window that opened out overa house several stories below stood a sectional bookcase. Into thisbookcase, back of the books, in the shadow, he shoved the little box,to which he had already attached a spool of twisted wires. Then heopened the window and dropped the spool out, letting it unwind of itsown weight until it fell on the roof far below. He shut the window andrejoined me without a word.
A moment later she returned with the dainty note which she had written."Shall I send it by a messenger?" she asked.
"Yes, please," answered Kennedy, rising. As he moved a step to the doorhe held out his hand to her. "Senorita Mendoza," he said simply, in atone that meant more than words, "you are a wonderful woman."
She took his hand without a word, and a moment later we were whiskeddown in the elevator.
"I must get on that roof on some pretext," remarked Kennedy, as wereached the street and he got his bearings. "Let me see, that housewhich backs up to the apartment is around the corner. Have the mandrive us around there."
We located the house and mounted the steps. On the wall beside thebrownstone door was pasted a little slip of paper, "Furnished Rooms."
"Splendid!" exclaimed Kennedy, as he read it. "Dismiss the taxi andmeet me inside with the other package."
By the time I had paid the man and come up the steps again Kennedy hadmade a dicker with the landlady for a double room on the third floorfor both of us, and, by payment of a week's rent, we were to haveimmediate possession.
"Our baggage will follow to-day," he explained, as we mounted thestairs to the room.
I thought the landlady would never get through expatiating upon what aselect place she ran, and thus leave us alone in our room, but at lasteven her flood of words was stilled by demands from a servantdownstairs who must be instructed if the selectness of theestablishment were to be maintained.
No sooner were we alone than Kennedy tiptoed into the hall and madesure that we were not watched. It was then the work of only a fewseconds to mount a ladder to a scuttle, unhook it, and gain the roof.
There, dangling down from the dizzy height above, swayed the twistedwire. He seized it, unrolled it some more, and sent me downstairs tocatch it, as he swung it over the edge of the roof to one of our ownwindows. Then he rejoined me.
The other package, which had been heavier, consisted of another ofthose mysterious boxes, as well as several dry cells. Quickly heattached the wires to the box, placing the dry cells in the circuit.Then he began adjusting the mechanism of the box. So far I had only avague idea of just what he had in mind, but gradually it began to dawnon me.
It was perhaps half an hour, perhaps longer, after we had left theSenorita, before, sure that everything was all right with his line andthe batteries which he had brought, Kennedy turned a little lever thatmoved in a semicircle, touching one after another of a series ofbuttons on the face of the cedar box, meanwhile holding a little blackdisc from the back of the box to his ear as he adjusted the thing.
Nothing seemed to happen, but I could tell by the look of intentness onhis face that he was getting along all right and was not worrying.
Suddenly the look on his face changed to one of extreme satisfaction.He dropped the disc he was holding to his ear back into its compartmentand turned to me.
All at once it seemed as if the room in which we were was peopled byspirits. There was the sound of voices, loud, clear, distinct. It wasuncanny.
"He has just come in," remarked Craig.
"Who?" I asked.
"Lockwood--can't you recognize his voice? Listen."
I did listen intently, and the more my ears became adjusted, the moreplainly I could distinguish two voices, that of a man and that of awoman. It was indeed Lockwood and the Senorita, far above us.
I would have uttered an exclamation of amazement, but I could not misswhat they were saying.
"Then you--you believe what he says?" asked Lockwood earnestly.
"Professor Kennedy has the prints," replied Inez tremulously.
"You saw them?"
"Yes."
"And you believe what HE says, too?"
There was a silence.
"What is it?" I asked, tapping the box lightly.
"A vocaphone," replied Kennedy. "The little box that hears and talks."
"Can they hear us?" I asked, in an awestruck whisper.
"Not unless I want them to hear," he replied, indicating a switch. "Youremember, of course, the various mechanical and electrical ears, suchas the detectaphone, which we have used for eavesdropping in othercases?"
I nodded.
"Well, this is a new application which has been made of thedetectaphone. When I was using that disc from the compartment there, Ihad really a detectaphone. But this is even better. You see how neat itall is? This is the detective service, and more. We can 'listen in' andwe don't have to use ear-pieces, either, for this is a regularloud-speaking telephone--it talks right out in meeting. Those squareholes with the converging sides act as a sort of megaphone to thereceivers, those little circles back there inside magnifying the soundand throwing it out here in the room, so that we can hear just as wellas if we were up there in the room where they are talking. Listen--Ithink they are talking again."
"I suppose you know that Whitney and I have placed detectives on thetrail of Norton," we could hear Lockwood say.
"You have?" came back the answer in a voice which for the first timesounded cold.
Lockwood must have recognized it. He had made a mistake. It was nosufficient answer to anything that he had done to assert that some oneelse had also done something.
"Inez," he said, and we could almost hear his feet as he moved over thefloor in her direction in a last desperate appeal, "can't you trust me,when I tell you that everything is all right, that they are trying toruin me--with you?"
There was a silence, during which we could almost hear her quick breathcome and go.
"Women--not even Peruvian women are like the women of the past,Chester," she said at length. "We are not playthings. Perhaps we havehearts--but we also have heads. We are not to be taken up and put downas you please. We may love--but we also think. Chester, I have been tosee Professor Kennedy, and--"
She stopped. It hurt too much to repeat what she had seen.
"Inez," he implored.
There was evidently a great struggle of love and suspicion going on inher, her love of him, her memory of her father, the recollection ofwhat she had heard and seen. No one could have been as we were withoutwishing to help her. Yet no one could help her. She must work out herown life herself.
"Yes," she said finally, the struggle ended. "What is it?"
"Do you want me to tell you the truth?"
"Yes," she murmured.
His voice was low and tense.
"I was there--yes--but the dagger was gone!"
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