Following out his own line of thought, Craig decided to return downstairs to the seat of operations, perhaps in the hope of running across Hastings, who might have something to add. Hastings was not about, either. We were entirely thrown upon our own resources. If we were ever to discover the truth, we knew that it would be by our own work, not by the assistance of any of them.
Attempts to locate Hastings quickly demonstrated that we could not depend on him. Having worked secretly, there seemed to be little else to do now but to come out into the open and play the game manfully.
‘What was the matter?’ inquired Riley, as Kennedy and I sauntered into the lobby of the Harbour House in such a way that we would appear not to be following anybody.
‘Why?’ asked Kennedy.
‘First it was Paquita,’ continued Riley. ‘She bounced into the hotel, her face flushed and her eyes flashing. She was as mad as a hornet at something. Sanchez met her. Why, I thought she’d bite his head off! And he, poor shrimp, took it as meekly as if he were the rug under her feet. I don’t know what she said, but she went directly to her room. He has been about, somewhere. I don’t see him now. I guess he thought she was too worked up to stay up there. But I haven’t seen her come down.’
‘Shelby must have been telling her some plain truth,’ said Craig laconically.
‘Shelby?’ echoed Riley. ‘Why, it wasn’t five minutes afterward that Winifred Walcott came through, as pale as a ghost. She passed Irene Maddox, but they scarcely spoke. Looked as if she had been crying. What’s the matter with them? Are they a bunch of nuts?’
Kennedy smiled. Evidently Riley was unacquainted with the softer side of life.
‘Where’s Shelby?’ inquired Craig. ‘Have you seen him—or Mito?’
‘Down in the café, the last I saw him,’ replied Riley. ‘Shelby’s another nut. You know how much he loves the rest. Well, he came in all excited, too. And what does he do? Sees Johnson Walcott reading a paper, grabs him by the arm as though he was a long lost friend, and drags him down to the café. Say, I’ll be dippy, too, if this keeps on. They can’t even remember their own feuds!’
Kennedy glanced at me with an amused significance. I gathered that he meant to hint that Shelby was stopping at nothing to secure the aid of Johnson Walcott in smoothing affairs over with his sister, Winifred. Just how Walcott himself would look on such a match I had no idea and was rather glad when Kennedy suggested that we adjourn to the café ourselves to look them over.
In a leather-cushioned booth were Shelby and Walcott, Shelby doing most of the talking, while Walcott listened keenly. We could not very well deliberately take the next booth, but we did manage to find a corner where they were not likely to notice us.
We had not been there long before Mito came in, carrying a grip in which were the clothes and linen his master had ordered ashore. Shelby directed him where to take the things, and as the Jap stood there I saw that Walcott was watching him closely. Not once did Mito look at him, yet one could not help feeling that the Oriental knew that he was watched and that Walcott was absorbing something from Shelby.
Mito bowed as he received his orders. No sooner had he turned than I saw Walcott shoot a glance at Shelby. If I had been a lip-reader I might have been more certain of the words framed by his lips. As it was, I was ready to swear that Walcott asked, ‘Do you trust that fellow?’ Shelby’s answer I could not guess, but his face showed no anxiety, and it seemed as though he passed off the remark lightly.
Though the others had not seen us, Mito spied us with his beady eyes, though he did not turn his head to do so. At the door he almost ran into Sanchez, who was engrossed in watching Shelby. Neither said a word, but the quick scowl of Sanchez spoke a volume. He hated Shelby and everything pertaining to him.
Whatever it was that Shelby and Walcott were discussing, it was apparent that Walcott was not at all enthusiastic. He did not betray any feeling in the matter other than coldness.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they were discussing Winifred,’ concluded Kennedy. ‘If that is what it’s about, it doesn’t look as though Johnson Walcott had any overburdening desire to have Shelby as a brother-in-law.’
In spite of Walcott’s coldness Shelby continued talking earnestly, but it seemed to have no effect. Walcott’s reticence seemed to exasperate Shelby, who with difficulty restrained his own feelings. I fancied that, had it not been for Winifred, Shelby’s temper would have got the better of him.
When finally Walcott rose and with a polite excuse started to move away, it was apparent that Shelby was intensely resentful. However, he said nothing, nor did he even attempt to follow Walcott out of the café.
‘Evidently he has made little progress in patching up the tiff with Winifred,’ concluded Craig, as we, too, rose and sauntered out into the main part of the hotel.
CHAPTER XIV
THE GEOPHONE
WE had no more than reached the lobby of the hotel again when we found Hastings seeking us. Evidently he had sensed that Kennedy was vexed at him for letting Winifred pass without finding out what was her mission.
‘This time, at least, I think I have something to tell you,’ he hastened, drawing us aside.
‘What is it about?’ encouraged Kennedy eagerly.
‘Paquita,’ he replied, scanning our faces. ‘She has returned to the hotel.’
Kennedy’s countenance betrayed some disappointment, for we already knew that.
‘I saw Frances and Irene together, too,’ went on Hastings.
Again Kennedy could not conceal his disappointment, for it was all an old story to us. Hastings was not to be gainsaid, however.
‘Well, after Frances left Irene Maddox,’ he continued, ‘I saw that she was wrought up and nervous. So I watched her. She sought out Paquita.’
He drew back, gratified at the flash of interest that Craig instantly betrayed.
‘Indeed?’ asked Craig. ‘What took place?’
‘I could not hear it all,’ continued the lawyer. ‘But it seemed as though Frances was pleading with Paquita for something. I heard the names of both Shelby and Winifred mentioned. Paquita seemed quite haughty. Whatever it was that Frances was after, I am quite sure that she was not successful.’
I could see that Kennedy was actively trying to piece together the fragmentary information that we had gained during the evening.
What it all meant I could not fathom. But we knew enough to be quite sure that something important was afoot. First, Shelby had sent for Paquita and had his supposedly secret interview, of which we had learned enough to know that he had sought to influence the little dancer to let him alone. The meeting of Winifred and Irene we knew, as well as the meeting of Irene and Frances. It seemed that Frances Walcott had an interest in the events much more than we had expected, for, failing to obtain any satisfaction from Irene, she had even swallowed her pride and sought out Paquita.
What did it mean? Was Frances really trying to play the match-maker? Was it for her brother, Shelby, that she showed the concern, or was it for her sister-in-law, Winifred? There was a positive motive in the fact that a marriage between the two might more closely protect her own interests.
‘They were talking,’ pursued Hastings, ‘when I saw her husband, Johnson, coming from the café. I think Paquita must have seen him first, for she cut the interview short very curtly and left her, though not before Johnson saw them together. He came over to his wife and I think he was a trifle angry at what he had seen. At any rate, it seemed that she was endeavouring to explain something to him and that he did not in the least approve.’
‘Could you hear anything?’ queried Kennedy.
‘Not a thing, except that there seems to be something about which the Walcotts do not quite agree.’
I wondered whether Johnson Walcott’s dissatisfaction had been more at finding his wife talking with Paquita than at the romance between Shelby and his own sister. In the café he had seemed to be far from delighted over the affair. Frances, on the other hand, bo
re every evidence of wishing to promote the match. It was a strange romance that we were watching.
‘Was there anything else?’ asked Kennedy.
‘No,’ replied Hastings. ‘They walked away, still talking earnestly, and I think they have gone to their rooms.’
‘Winifred was not about?’
‘No. I saw Shelby, finally, though. But he seemed to be preoccupied and didn’t give me a chance to speak to him.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the café, I suppose.’
Riley’s approach at that moment served to introduce a new element into the situation.
‘You saw Mito again?’ asked Kennedy.
The Secret Service man nodded. ‘Saw him take his master’s things into the café, then to his room. After that he managed to slip away again. He seems to have something on his mind. I don’t know what it is. We had a glimpse of Sanchez. He is about, but is keeping very low.’
‘What has he been doing?’
‘Nothing in the open, as far as I know,’ returned Riley. ‘He may be planning something. I don’t like him any more than my man likes Mito. These Japs and wops are deep ones.’
Kennedy smiled, but said nothing. To Riley any foreigner was a suspicious character, if for no other reason than that he could not understand him.
‘Any word from Mr Burke?’ I reiterated.
Riley nodded. ‘Yes, he will be here soon, now, I think.’
‘Nothing else on Mito or Sanchez?’ resumed Kennedy.
Riley negatived. ‘Trouble with them is they know I’m watching them,’ he explained. ‘And when a man knows he is being watched it’s easy for him. There’s only one way to get him and that is to stick so close that it means a fight. We’ve had one and I hate to take the responsibility of another without orders from Mr Burke. Another fight with Mito might not turn out so luckily, either. Besides, I don’t know that we want it to come to a fight—yet. Sanchez looks as though he might give an account of himself. These dark fellows are all knife-men, you know. I decided that it was best to pick up what we could without making a scene.’
Kennedy shrugged. There seemed to be nothing to criticise, though it was a shame that circumstances were such that we were compelled to be content with fragments at a time when we needed every scrap of information.
‘It’s getting late,’ he abserved, glancing at his watch. ‘I think we might leave the field to Riley to cover, Walter, while we retire to our rooms. Goodnight, Mr Hastings. You’ll tell Mr Burke to wake us, no matter what time he comes in?’ he added, turning to Riley.
The Secret Service man agreed, and together Kennedy and I went back to our suite a second time. I was glad enough to go, too, for I wanted to see what the instrument was which he had installed in the garage.
As we entered, I could not help thinking of Winifred’s action and why she had cut Shelby off so shortly. Was it a case of intuition, or was it merely what often passes for intuition—the capacity for making hasty and incorrect judgments on slender grounds?
What, too, was Mito? Was it he who had committed the murder of Marshall Maddox? Had he stolen the telautomaton plans? I wondered whether, after all, he might not be in the service of some foreign government, perhaps even be a spy.
With scarcely a word, Kennedy had taken his position at the table on which he had placed the peculiar miniature transmitter, holding it to his ear and listening intently.
‘Is anyone talking there?’ I asked, supposing that it was some special form of the detectaphone which he was using.
‘I don’t expect that there’ll be any talking,’ he replied. ‘In fact, there may be only one person, for all I know, and he certainly won’t talk to himself.’
A knock at our door cut short further inquiry. I opened it cautiously and was greeted by the cheery voice of Burke, who had come in on the last train.
‘I think I’ve earned a rest tonight,’ he remarked, dropping down into the easiest chair he could find. ‘I’m tired, but at least I have some satisfaction for the day’s work.’
‘What have you found?’ asked Kennedy eagerly, remembering that Burke had devoted himself first of all to tracing what had become of the deadly wireless destroyer itself.
‘For one thing,’ replied Burke slowly, ‘I’m convinced, as far as I can be regarding something I don’t actually know, that the telautomaton model is out here at Westport—at least not far away.’
‘What makes you think so?’ I asked quickly.
‘That clue of the car waiting near the office interests me,’ went on Burke slowly. ‘I wasn’t able to get anything out of the rookie on the beat. But I went on the supposition that somewhere between here and New York I might find a clue. And I have found several clues from constables and special officers in towns between Westport and the city. A car answering the description was seen at several points, and the time matches up. So I think it is safe to conclude that we are on the right track. The model is out here—somewhere—I am sure.’
‘Have you made any progress in running down your band of foreign criminals?’ asked Kennedy.
‘No trace so far,’ returned Burke, still cheerfully, ‘except that it is entirely likely that Mito, or Paquita, or that fellow Sanchez may be the outside workers. Of course they would cover up their connection pretty closely. We can’t expect to beat the most clever minds of the Continent as easy as we would a gang of sneak-thieves. Riley tells me you have been in the city most of the day. Have you uncovered anything?’
Briefly Kennedy outlined what had happened, coming down to the events of the evening down on the beach.
Another knock on the door, and Riley entered.
‘You didn’t come down, so I knew that Mr Kennedy and Mr Jameson were awake. You don’t mind my coming in?’
‘Not a bit,’ returned Kennedy. ‘We were just going over what I had gathered today. I was telling about that meeting between Frances and Irene Maddox.’
Riley’s face assumed the same look of perplexity as it had when we left him, nonplussed by the queer actions of the Maddox family.
‘You saw it,’ demanded Burke. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Riley. ‘Maybe it means something, maybe not. I think it does. There’s some kind of difference between those two women. I can’t make it out. They seemed to be so friendly at first. Why, they even tell me Mrs Walcott backed Mrs Maddox in her fight with Mr Maddox over that Paquita. But now it’s different, and it’s growing worse.’
‘Natural enough,’ commented Burke. ‘If Marshall Maddox was separated from his wife, don’t you see he would have destroyed his will in her favour. If he was intestate, as it is most likely, then the other heirs—his brother and sister—stand to gain. There were no children. Mrs Maddox has her interest in a third. They can’t take that away from her. But no doubt it makes her feel as if she had been done out of something, to see the others get what might have been hers under different circumstances.’
‘That’s it, I guess,’ considered Riley. ‘I’ve heard her say that she thought now that Paquita was put up to winning Marshall Maddox away from her, so that the others would benefit.’
‘Pretty deep,’ pondered Burke. ‘but not impossible.’
‘If she thinks that way,’ I interposed, ‘it might account for her attitude toward Winifred. She might be just jealous enough not to want her to come into not only Shelby’s share, but part of the remainder.
‘On the other hand,’ I reconsidered, remembering my first theory, ‘Mrs Maddox with her third interest is much better off than she was on what had been allowed her during the life of Marshall Maddox.’
‘Shelby Maddox profits by it, any way you look at it,’ observed Burke, following out our general review of possible motives. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Gone up to his room, I supppose,’ replied Riley.
‘And Mito?’
‘In the servants’ quarters—unless he manages to slip out and get into some more deviltry.’
‘Conf
ound it, Riley,’ broke in Burke, ‘you’ve got to trail these people better! What’s the matter? Haven’t you enough men to—’
‘’Sh!’ cautioned Craig from his place at the instrument on the table, his face showing intense attention to something.
‘What’s that?’ asked Burke.
Kennedy was busy for the moment and did not answer. But a minute or so later he replied.
‘A geophone, designed originally to record earth tremors, microseisms, small-amplitude earth shakings. It is really a microphone, he simplest form of telephone, applied to the earth— hence its name. Any high-school student in physics could make one. All that is necessary is to place that simple apparatus, which Mr Jameson saw, on the ground anywhere and attach it to a microphone receiver at the other end of the wire. You can hear an earthquake, or a big gun, or someone walking about. Hallo!—here’s our friend again.’
Craig was again listening intently. What the most sensitive mechanical eavesdropper could not overhear this little geophone was now transmitting to him.
‘Someone is in that garage,’ he reported to us. ‘Those are his footsteps. Our frame-up is working. He never would have gone there unless he thought we were not only going to go there tomorrow ourselves, but were out of sight now, too. By George!—there’s another—there are two of them!’
I listened a moment myself, with Kennedy. The diaphragm vibrated terrifically. Then, suddenly, all was still.
What was going on?
Kennedy dropped the receiver on the table regardless of what might happen to its delicate adjustment, jumped up, and dashed out into the hall. Downstairs he went, not waiting for an elevator, for it was only three flights.
We followed madly, past the amazed night clerk, and out the back door of the hotel.
As we entered the garage, in the fitful light we could see a dark mass on the floor. Craig flashed his electric bull’s eye. In the circle of light we saw that it was a man. Craig turned the form over.
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