The Adventuress

by Arthur B. Reeve

  From the office of her agent she hurried over to Fifth Avenue, and there she made several lengthy stops at fashionable costumers, milliners, and other dealers and designers of chic wearing apparel. In all this there seemed to be nothing to take exception to and I became weary of the pursuit. It was not her legitimate theatrical career that interested me.

  However, so it went until the lunch hour arrived. Quite demurely and properly she stopped at a well-known tea-room where tired shoppers refreshed themselves. I swore softly under my breath. I could not well follow her in, for a man is a marked card in a tea-room. To go in was like shouting in her ear that I was watching her.

  Therefore, I stayed outside and, instead of lunching, watched the passing crowd of smart shoppers while the clock on the taximeter mounted steadily.

  I had fidgeted in my cab for perhaps half an hour when I became aware that mine was not the only cab that was waiting in the neighbourhood. In these shadowing jobs one has to keep his eyes glued on the door through which the ‘subject’ must exit, for it is unbelievable how easily a person, even when not aware of being watched, may slip out into a crowd and disappear. Consequently I had not paid much attention to my surroundings.

  But once when I leaned forward to speak to my driver, who by this time was fully convinced that I was crazy, I happened to glance across the street. At the window of another cab I saw a familiar face. Sanchez had lost Paquita at the station, but by some process of reason had picked her up again at the tea-room. I was determined more than ever now to hang on to both of them.

  Luncheon over, Paquita finally emerged, still alone. What business she may have transacted over the telephone during her various stops I do not know. What I wanted was for her to feel perfectly free, in the hope that she might do something. Yet she had not given me the satisfaction of meeting a single person whom she should not have met.

  Again her cab started on its round, but this time it rolled back into the theatre district.

  My driver almost jolted me from the seat as he stopped once. I looked ahead. Paquita’s cab had pulled up before the office of a well-known music publisher and she was getting out.

  To my surprise, however, instead of entering she deliberately turned and walked back in the direction of my cab. I sank farther back into its shallow recesses, trusting that she would not glance my way.

  A dainty creation of headgear intruded itself through the open window of my cab.

  ‘You have been following me all day, Mr Jameson,’ purred Paquita in her sweetest tone, as her baffling brown eyes searched my face and enjoyed the discomfiture I could not hide. ‘I know it—have known it all the time. There’s another cab, too, back of you. I’ve been going about my own business—haven’t I?—making arrangements for my new show this fall. You haven’t anything—except a bill, have you? Neither has the man in the other cab. Now I’m going to go right on. You are welcome to follow.’

  Before I could reply she had swept disdainfully back and had entered the building. Chagrined though I was at the way she had led the chase, I determined to stick to her, nevertheless.

  In the publishing house she remained an uncommonly long time, but when at last she came out I saw that she gave a little petulant glance first to see whether I was still there.

  Her cab shot away, but my man was alert and we trailed along down the avenue. Twice, now, I saw her looking back at me. That, at least, was some encouragement. Perhaps vexation might impel her to do something.

  As we came to a tangle of cars crossing Longacre Square, Paquita leaned forward through the front window of her taxicab and deliberately turned the wheel that the driver was steering. The unexpected interference caused him to stop suddenly.

  As my driver pulled up, there came a crash and a smashing of glass behind me. His pulling up had fortunately thrown me forward. The car in which Sanchez was riding had crashed into mine, and only my being thrown forward prevented me from receiving the shattered glass.

  Instantly the traffic policeman was beside us and a crowd began to collect. Before I knew it Paquita in her taxi was off and there was no possibility of following.

  Where she was going I could not now find out. Perhaps there was, as Burke suspected, a gang, and she had all day been seeking to get to their rendezvous. As I watched the officer and the crowd blankly, I had but one satisfaction. At least Sanchez could not follow, either.

  Quickly I gave the policeman my name as a witness, glanced at the ‘clock,’ and paid my taxicab bill. Sanchez saw what I did and that it was no use for him to try to get away. He paid his own bill and deliberately turned away, on foot, and walked down Seventh Avenue.

  A few feet behind I followed.

  He paid no attention to me, but kept on down-town, until at last I realised that we had come to the neighbourhood of the railroad terminal.

  At the station he turned, and I knew that he had decided to take the early train back to Westport. Still following, I went through all the motions of having also decided to take the train myself. I let Sanchez go through the gate, then at the last moment retreated and walked over to the telegraph office as the gate banged shut.

  I would not have missed the appointment with Kennedy and Hastings for anything, and the train, except for one stop, was an express to Westport. A wire to Riley out there would prevent Sanchez from getting away from sight, even if he should decide to get off at the only other stop.

  What the little dancer was up to was just as mysterious as ever.

  CHAPTER X

  THE DETECTAPHONE DETECTOR

  KENNEDY was waiting impatiently for me at the laboratory and enjoyed a quiet laugh at my expense when I told him of my fiasco in untangling the secret of Paquita.

  ‘Is there any news?’ I asked, hastily endeavouring to change the subject.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, glancing at his watch. ‘Irene Maddox and Winifred have come in to town on a later train. As nearly as I can make out they’ve joined forces. They have a common hatred of Paquita, whatever else they may lack.’

  ‘How do you know they are here?’ I queried.

  ‘They have called me up and made an appointment to meet me at the laboratory. They ought to be here any minute, now. I’m glad you came. I shouldn’t like to meet them alone. I’d rather have someone as a witness. It’s strange that they should be seeking to have me work for them,’ considered Kennedy.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Hastings sought you out first. It may be quite natural that Irene Maddox should consult the detective retained by her former husband’s lawyer in such a case. Have any of the others been after you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘After I left you this morning I had a most peculiar experience. Shelby Maddox is either the most artless or else the most artful of all of them.’

  ‘How is that?’ I inquired.

  ‘Just as I said,’ repeated Kennedy. ‘Shelby hurried into one of those slot-machine telephone booths in the station and I slipped into the next one. Instead of calling up, I put my ear to the wall and listened. There wasn’t anything much to what he said. It was merely a call to his lawyer, Harvey, telling him that he was on his way down-town. The strange thing came afterward. By that time the station was cleared of those who had come on the train. Shelby happened to glance into the other booth as he left his own and saw me in the act of making a fake telephone call. Instead of going away, he waited. When I came out, he looked about quickly to see if we were alone, then took my arm and hurried me into another part of the station. I didn’t know what was coming, but I was hardly prepared for what he said.’

  ‘And that was?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘That I work for him, too, in the case,’ exclaimed Kennedy, to my utter surprise.

  ‘Work for him?’ I repeated. ‘Was it a stall?’

  Kennedy shook his head doubtfully. ‘I’m not prepared to say. It was either clever or simple. He even asked me to go down-town with him and see Harvey.’

  ‘And you went?’

  ‘Certain
ly. But I can’t say I learned anything new. I haven’t quite decided whether it was because they knew too much or too little.’

  ‘Are you going to do it? What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him quite frankly that as long as I had come into the case as I was—without mentioning any names or facts—the best I could do was to see that he got a square deal.’

  ‘Did that satisfy him?’

  ‘Not much. But it was all that I would say. At least it gave me a chance to study him at close range.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘Shelby Maddox is nobody’s fool,’ replied Kennedy slowly. ‘I may not know his story yet, but I have begun to get his number.’

  ‘How about Harvey?’

  ‘A very clever lawyer. Shelby will keep out of a great deal of trouble if he takes Harvey’s advice.’

  The sound of footsteps down the hall outside interrupted us, and an instant later the laboratory door opened. Irene Maddox entered first and for a moment Winifred stood in the doorway, rather timidly, as though not yet quite convinced that she was right in coming to Kennedy.

  Kennedy advanced to greet them, but still Winifred did not seem to be thoroughly reassured that the visit was just the proper thing. She looked about curiously at the instruments and exhibits which Kennedy had collected in his long warfare of science against crime, and it was evident that she would a great deal rather have had this a social visit than one in connection with the case. I guessed that it was Irene Maddox who had urged her on.

  ‘I—we’ve come to see you about that woman, Paquita,’ began Mrs Maddox, almost before she had settled herself in one of our easy-chairs, which Craig had installed to promote confidences on the part of his clients.

  Mrs Maddox’s voice was trembling slightly with emotion and Winifred’s quick glance at Kennedy indicated that Paquita had furnished the leverage by which Mrs Maddox had persuaded Winifred to accompany her.

  ‘Yes,’ encouraged Kennedy, ‘we have been watching the young lady—and others—with some interest. Do you know anything about her that you think we ought to know?’

  ‘Know anything?’ repeated Mrs Maddox bitterly. ‘I ought to know that woman.’

  Her feelings were easily understood, although as far as I could see that did us very little good in getting at the real mystery that surrounded the little dancer.

  ‘You must have noticed,’ went on Mrs Maddox, nervously, ‘how she is hanging around out there. For weeks and months I have been watching that woman. Sometimes I think they are all in league against me—the lawyers, the detectives, everybody.’

  Kennedy was about to say something, then checked himself. How could we know but that this was merely an attempt to find out just how much it was we knew? I longed to ask about Sanchez, yet felt that it would be better not to disclose how much—or rather how little—we actually had discovered.

  ‘Why,’ she continued, ‘it even seems as if her hostility was levelled against Winifred, too.’

  Winifred said nothing, though it was evident that she was consumed with curiosity to find out what hold, if any, Paquita had on Shelby.

  ‘Then you really do not know who or what Paquita is?’ asked Kennedy directly.

  ‘I know that she is an adventuress,’ asserted Mrs Maddox. ‘Mr Hastings has always professed to know nothing of her. At least so he has said. Even when I have watched her I must admit I have found out only what she was doing at that time. But my intuition tells me that there is something more. Oh, Professor Kennedy, is there no such thing as justice in this world? Must that woman continue to flaunt herself brazenly before me? Cannot you do something?’

  ‘You may depend on it,’ assured Kennedy. ‘I shall make my investigation—arrive at the truth. Even my own client cannot prevent me from doing that. And if I find that an injustice is being done, you may be sure that I will do my best to set it straight. More than that I could not say even to Shelby Maddox this morning when he asked me to take up the case for him.’

  Both women glanced quickly at Kennedy. The mention of Shelby’s name came, quite apparently, as a surprise to them. Winifred seemed rather more reticent now than ever before. It was evident that Irene Maddox had not succeeded in what she had intended. Yet she did not betray her disappointment.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, rising. ‘Then I may expect you to help me—I mean us?’

  ‘In every way in my power,’ promised Kennedy, accompanying them to the door.

  Kennedy looked after them as the door closed. ‘I wonder what that visit was for,’ he considered as their footsteps died away.

  Having no answer for the query, I attempted none.

  ‘What has Burke been doing?’ I inquired, suddenly recollecting the Secret Service man. ‘Have you heard anything from him today since we came to the city?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, opening a cabinet. ‘Burke has undertaken some work along another line in tracing out the telautomaton robbery and what may have become of that model. I haven’t heard from him and I don’t imagine that anything will develop right away in that direction.’

  ‘What is that?’ I inquired, watching Craig as he took from one cabinet an apparatus which appeared to consist of two coils, or rather sets of wires, placed on the ends of a magnet bar. He began to adjust the thing, and I saw from the care with which he was working that it must be an instrument of some delicacy.

  ‘Just an instrument that may enable me to discover how that attack was made on you last night,’ Kennedy answered perfunctorily, forgetting even my question as he worked over the thing.

  For several minutes I watched him, wondering at the strange turn of events that had sent both Shelby and Winifred secretly to Kennedy.

  ‘By the way,’ exclaimed Craig, suddenly looking at his watch, ‘if we are to meet Hastings and accomplish anything we had better be on our way down there.’

  In the Subway Kennedy relapsed into a brown study of the events of the day, only breaking away from his reverie as, above the rattle and bang of the train, he tapped the package he was carrying.

  ‘I was just thinking of that garage incident of yours last night,’ he remarked. ‘What struck you as being peculiar about it?’

  ‘The whole thing,’ I replied, smiling weakly. ‘I leaned into trouble—and got it.’

  ‘Just so,’ he returned. ‘Well, do you realise that the only mention we made of the garage was when we were talking in Hastings’s office? Think it over.’

  He relapsed again into his study and nothing more was said until we arrived at Wall Street.

  Hastings was waiting for us, nervously pacing the floor. Evidently the warning Kennedy had given had impressed him. He had been so afraid of even his own shadow that he had scarcely transacted any business at all that day.

  ‘Kennedy, I’m glad to see you,’ he greeted. ‘What has happened today? What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ returned Craig vaguely, although his face was not at all vague, for he had placed his finger on his lips and was most vigorously pantomiming caution.

  Carefully he unwrapped the paper about the coils I had seen. Then he set the instrument on Hastings’s desk, unscrewed an electric-light bulb from its socket and attached a wire to the socket. After a final careful adjustment he placed something to his ear and began walking quietly about the room, a tense, abstracted, far-away look on his face, as now and then he paused and listened, holding the free end of the apparatus near the wall, or a piece of furniture, wherever he chanced to be.

  What he was looking for neither of us could guess, but his caution had been emphatic enough to halt any question we might have.

  Over and over he passed the free end of the apparatus along wall and floor. At each stop he seemed to be considering something carefully, then with a negative nod to himself went on.

  This had been going on for some fifteen minutes, when he stopped in the corner back of a coat-tree. He looked about as he pulled the thing from his ear, saw a heavy pair of shears on Hastings’s desk, a
nd seized them.

  Deliberately he dug into the plaster of the wall, while Hastings and I bent over anxiously.

  He had not gone half an inch before he began to scrape very carefully, as though he were afraid of hurting something alive.

  I looked. There on the wall, back of the plaster, hung a little tell-tale black disc. I recognised it the instant I saw it and turned quickly just in time to prevent a question from Hastings.

  Someone had been using the detectaphone against us!

  Though not a word was said, I realised vaguely what Kennedy later explained. He had suspected it and had made use of a method of finding pipes and metals electrically, when concealed in walls under plaster and paper.

  It was a special application of the well-known induction balance principle. One set of coils on the magnet bar received an alternating or vibrating current The other was connected with a little sensitive telephone. Craig had first established a balance so that there was no sound in the telephone. When the device came near metal piping the balance was destroyed and a sound was heard in the telephone. He had located all the water, steam, and other pipes, the wires from the telephone, the messenger-call box, and other things. There still remained one other pair of wires unaccounted for. The balance had located their existence and exact position. Clever though the installation of the little mechanical eavesdropper had been as an aid to crime, Craig’s detectaphone detector had uncovered it!

  Impulsively I seized at the devilish little black disc that had forewarned someone and had nearly cost me my life. I started to yank at it. The wires yielded their slack, but before I could give them a final pull Kennedy grasped my hand.