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THE SOCIAL GANGSTER
THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES
BY ARTHUR B. REEVE
FRONTISPIECE BY WILL FOSTER
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1916, by HARPER & BROTHERS
Printed in the United States of America
[Illustration: JUST BEFORE WE WERE OFF A TELEGRAM CAME TO HER, WHICH SHE
READ AND HASTILY STUFFED INTO A POCKET OF HER RIDING HABIT]
CONTENTS
I. THE SOCIAL GANGSTER
II. THE CABARET ROUGE
III. THE FOX HUNT
IV. THE TANGO THIEF
V. THE "THE DANSANT"
VI. THE SERUM DIAGNOSIS
VII. THE DIAMOND QUEEN
VIII. THE ANESTHETIC VAPORIZER
IX. THE TWILIGHT SLEEP
X. THE SIXTH SENSE
XI. THE INFERNAL MACHINES
XII. THE SUBMARINE BELL
XIII. THE SUPER-TOXIN
XIV. THE SECRET AGENTS
XV. THE GERM OF ANTHRAX
XVI. THE SLEEPMAKER
XVII. THE INTER-URBAN HANDICAP
XVIII. THE TOXIN OF FATIGUE
XIX. THE X-RAY DETECTIVE
XX. THE MECHANICAL CONNOISSEUR
XXI. THE RADIOGRAPH WITNESS
XXII. THE ABSOLUTE ZERO
XXIII. THE VACUUM BOTTLE
XXIV. THE SOLAR PLEXUS
XXV. THE DEMON ENGINE
XXVI. THE ELECTROLYSIS CLEW
XXVII. THE PERPETUAL MOTION MACHINE
XXVIII. THE CANCER HOUSE
XXIX. THE QUACK DOCTORS
XXX. THE FILTERABLE VIRUS
XXXI. THE VOODOO MYSTERY
XXXII. THE FLUORISCINE TEST
XXXIII. THE RESPIRATION CALORIMETER
XXXIV. THE EVIL EYE
XXXV. THE BURIED TREASURE
XXXVI. THE WEED OF MADNESS
THE SOCIAL GANGSTER
CHAPTER I
THE SOCIAL GANGSTER
"I'm so worried over Gloria, Professor Kennedy, that I hardly know what
I'm doing."
Mrs. Bradford Brackett was one of those stunning women of baffling age
of whom there seem to be so many nowadays. One would scarcely have
believed that she could be old enough to have a daughter who would worry
her very much.
Her voice trembled and almost broke as she proceeded with her story,
and, looking closer, I saw that, at least now, her face showed marks of
anxiety that told on her more than would have been the case some years
before.
At the mention of the name of Gloria Brackett, I saw that Craig was
extremely interested, though he did not betray it to Mrs. Brackett.
Already, with my nose for news I had scented a much bigger story than
any that had been printed. For the Bracketts had lately been more or
less in the news of the day.
Choking back a little suppressed sob in her throat, Mrs. Brackett took
from a delicate gold mesh bag and laid on the desk before Kennedy a
small clipping from the "Lost and Found" advertisements in the _Star_.
It read:
"REWARD of $10,000 and absolutely no questions asked for the
return of a diamond necklace of seventy-one stones which
disappeared from a house at Willys Hills, Long Island, last
Saturday or Sunday.
"LA RUE & CO., Jewelers,
"---- Fifth Avenue."
I recognized the advertisement as one that had occasioned a great deal
of comment on the _Star_, due to its peculiar nature. It had been a
great mystery, perhaps much more so than if the advertisement had been
worded and signed in the usual way.
I knew also that the advertisement had created a great furore of
excitement and gossip at the fashionable North Shore Hunt Club of which
Bradford Brackett was Master of Fox Hounds.
"At first," explained Mrs. Brackett nervously, "La Rue & Co. were able
to keep the secret. They even refused to let the police take up the
case. But as public interest in the advertisement increased at last the
secret leaked out--at least that part of it which connected our name
with the loss. That, however, seemed only to whet curiosity. It left
everybody wondering what was back of it all. That's what we've been
trying to avoid--that sort of publicity."
She paused a moment, but Kennedy said nothing, evidently thinking that
the best safety valve for her overwrought feelings would be to let her
tell her story in her own way.
"Why, you know," she resumed rapidly, to hide her agitation, "the most
ridiculous things have been said. Some people have even said that we
lost nothing at all, that it was all a clever attempt at notoriety, to
get our names in the papers. Some have said it was a plan to collect the
burglary insurance. But we are wealthy. They didn't stop to think how
inconceivable that was. We have nothing to lose, even if the necklace is
never heard of again."
For the moment her indignation had got the better of her worry. Most
opinions, I recalled, had been finally that the disappearance was mixed
up with some family affairs. At any rate, here was to be the real story
at last. I dissembled my interest. Mrs. Brackett's indignation was
quickly succeeded by the more poignant feelings that had brought her to
Kennedy.
"You see," she continued, now almost sobbing, "it is really all, I fear,
my own fault. I didn't realize that Gloria was growing so fast and so
far out of my life. I've let her be brought up by governesses and
servants. I've sent her to the best schools I could find. I thought it
was all right. But now, too late, I realize that it is all wrong. I
haven't kept close enough to her."
She was rattling on in this disjointed manner, getting more and more
excited, but still Kennedy made no effort to lead the conversation.
"I didn't think Gloria was more than a child. But--why, Mr. Kennedy,
she's been going, I find, to these afternoon dances in the city and out
at a place not far from Willys Hills."
"What sort of places?" prompted Kennedy.
"The Cabaret Rouge," answered Mrs. Brackett, flashing at us a look of
defiance that really masked fear of public opinion.
I knew of the place. It had an extremely unsavory reputation. In fact
there were two places of the same name, one in the city and the other
out on Long Island.
Mrs. Brackett must have seen Kennedy and me exchange a look askance at
the name.
"Oh, it's not a question of morals, alone," she hastened. "After all,
sometimes common sense and foolishness are fair equivalents for right
and wrong."
Kennedy looked up quickly, genuinely surprised at this bit of worldly
wisdom.
"When women do stupid, dangerous things, trouble follows," she
persisted, adding, "if not at once, a bit later. This is a case of it."
One could not help feeling sorry for the woman and what she had to face.
"I had hoped, oh, so dearly," she went on a moment later, "that Gloria
would marry a young man who, I know, is devoted to her, an Italian of
fine family, Signor Franconi--you must have heard of him--the inventor
of a new system of wireless transmission of pictures. But with such a
scandal--how can we expect it? Do you know him?"
"Not personally, though I have heard of him," returned Kennedy briefly.
Both Craig and myself had been interested in reports of his invention,
which he called the "Franconi Telephote," by which he claimed to be able
to telegraph either over wires or by wireless light and dark points so
rapidly and in such a manner as to deceive the eye and produce at the
receiving end what amounted to a continuous reproduction of a picture
at the transmitting end. At least, in spite of his society leanings,
Franconi was no mere dilettante inventor.
"But--the necklace," suggested Craig, after a moment, for the first time
interrupting the rather rambling trend of Mrs. Brackett's story, "what
has this all to do with the necklace?"
She looked at him almost despairingly. "I don't really care for a
thousand such necklaces," she cried. "It is my daughter--her good
name--her--her safety!"
Suddenly she had become almost hysterical as she thought of the real
purpose of her visit, which she had not yet been able to bring herself
to disclose even to Kennedy. Finally, with an effort, she managed to
control herself and go on.
"You see," she said in a low tone, almost as if she were confessing some
fault of her own, "Gloria has been frequenting these--_recherche_
places, without my knowledge, and there she has become intimate with
some of the fastest of the fast set.
"You ask about the necklace. I don't know, I must admit. Has some one of
her friends taken advantage of her to learn our habits and get into the
house and get it? Or, have they put her up to getting it?"
The last query was wrung from her as if by main force. She could not
even breathe it without a shudder. "When the necklace was stolen," she
added tremulously, "it must have been an inside job, as you detectives
call it. Mr. Brackett and I were away at the time at a week-end party.
We supposed Gloria was visiting some friends in the city. But since
then we have learned that she motored out with some of her dance-crazed
acquaintances to the Cabaret Rouge, not far from Willys Hills. It must
have been taken then--by some of them."
The recital to comparative strangers, even though they were to be
trusted to right the wrong, was more than she could bear. Mrs. Brackett
was now genuinely in tears, her shoulders trembling under the emotion,
as she bowed her head. Her despair and self-accusation would really have
moved anyone, much less were needed to enlist Kennedy. He said nothing,
but his look of encouragement seemed to nerve her up again to go on. She
forced back her feelings heroically.
"We put the advertisement that way because--well, now you understand
why," she resumed; then anticipating our question, added, "But there has
been no response."
I knew from her tone that even to herself she would not admit that
Gloria might have been guilty. Yet subconsciously it must have been in
her mind and she knew it was in ours. Her voice broke again.
"Mr. Brackett has repeatedly ordered Gloria to give up her fast
acquaintances. But she defies him. Even to my pleadings she has turned a
deaf ear."
It was most pathetic to watch the workings of the mother's face as she
was forced to say this of her daughter. All thought of the necklace was
lost, now.
"I--I want my daughter back," she almost wailed.
"Who are these rapid youngsters?" asked Craig gently.
"I don't know all of them," she replied. "There is young Rittenhouse
Smith; he is one. The Rittenhouse Smiths, you know, are a very fine
family. But young 'Ritter,' as the younger set call him, is wild.
They've had to cut his allowance two or three times, I believe. Another
of them is Rhinelander Brown. I don't think the Browns have much money,
but it is a good family. Oh," she added with a faint attempt at a smile,
"I'm not the only mother who has heart-aches. But the worst of it is
that there are some professionals with whom they go--a dancer, Rex Du
Mond, and a woman named Bernice Bentley. I don't know any more of them,
but I presume there is a regular organization of these social
gangsters."
"Did Signor Franconi--ever go with them?" asked Craig.
"Oh, mercy, no," she hastened.
"And they can't seem to break the gang up," ruminated Craig, evidently
liking her characterization of the group.
She sighed deeply and wiped away another tear. "I've done what I could
with Gloria. I've cut her allowance--but it has done no good. I'm losing
my hold on her altogether. You--you will help me--I mean, help Gloria?"
she asked eagerly, leaning forward in an appeal which must have cost her
a great deal, so common is the repression of such feelings in women of
her type.
"Gladly," returned Kennedy heartily. "I will do anything in my power."
Proud though she was, Mrs. Brackett could scarcely murmur her thanks.
"Where can I see Gloria?" asked Kennedy finally.
She shook her head. "I can't say. If you want to, you may see her
tomorrow, though, at the drag hunt of the club. My husband says he is
not going to take Gloria's actions without a protest. So he has
peremptorily ordered her to attend the meet of the Hunt Club. We thought
it would get her away, at least for a time, from her associates, though
I must say I can't be sure that she will obey."
I thought I understood, partly at least. Bradford Brackett's election as
M. F. H. had been a crowning distinction in his social career and he did
not propose to have Gloria's escapades spoil the meet for him. Perhaps
he thought this as good an occasion as any to use his power to force her
back into the circle to which she rightfully belonged.
Mrs. Brackett had risen. "How can I ever thank you?" she exclaimed,
extending her hand impulsively. "I know nothing has been changed--yet.
But already I feel better."
"I shall do what I can; depend on me," reiterated Kennedy modestly. "If
I can do nothing before, I shall be out at the Hunt Club
tomorrow--perhaps I shall be there anyhow."
"This is a most peculiar situation," I remarked a few minutes later, as
Mrs. Brackett was whisked away from the laboratory door in her motor.
"Indeed it is," returned Kennedy, pacing up and down, his face wrinkled
with thought. "I don't know whether I feel more like a detective or a
spiritual adviser." He pulled out his watch. "Half-past four," he
considered. "I'd like to have a look at that Cabaret Rouge here in
town."