remarkable than that. It has disappeared without leaving a trace, after
having played its part."
"If it had been a mere robbery," considered Norton, "one might look for
its reappearance, I suppose, in the curio shops. For to-day thieves
have a keen appreciation of the value of such objects. But, now that
you have unearthed its use against Mendoza--and in such a terrible
way--it is not likely that that will be what will happen to it. No, we
must look elsewhere."
"I thought I would tell you," concluded Kennedy, rising to go. "Perhaps
after you have considered it over night some idea may occur to you."
"Perhaps," said Norton doubtfully. "But I haven't your brilliant
faculty of scientific analysis, Kennedy. No, I shall have to lean on
you, in that, not you on me."
We left Norton, apparently now more at sea than ever. At the laboratory
Kennedy plunged into some microphotographic work that the case had
suggested to him, while I dashed off, under his supervision, an account
of the discovery of curare, and telephoned it down to the Star in time
to catch the first morning edition, in the hope that it might have some
effect in apprising the criminal that we were hard on his trail, which
he had considered covered.
I scanned the other papers eagerly in the morning for Kennedy, hoping
to glean at least some hints that others who were working on the case
might have gathered. But there was nothing, and, after a hasty bite of
breakfast, we hurried back to take up the thread of the investigation
where we had laid it down.
To our surprise, on the steps of the Chemistry Building, as we
approached, we saw Inez Mendoza already waiting for us in a high state
of agitation. Her face was pale, and her voice trembled as she greeted
us.
"Such a dreadful thing has come to me," she cried, even before Kennedy
could ask her what the trouble was.
From her handbag she drew out a crumpled, dirty piece of paper in an
envelope.
"It came in the first mail," she explained. "I could not wait to send
it to you. I brought it myself. What can it mean?"
Kennedy unfolded the paper. Printed in large characters, in every way
similar to the four warnings that had been sent to us, was just one
ominous 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 my
mind, and before I knew it I had spoken it.
"Lockwood?" I queried inadvertently.
Her eyes met mine in sharp defiance. "Impossible," she exclaimed. "It
is some one trying to injure him with me. Beware of Mr. Lockwood? How
absurd!"
Yet it must have meant Lockwood. No one else could have been meant. It
was he, most of all, who might be called a friend of her father. She
seemed to see the implication without a word from us.
I could not help sympathizing with the brave girl in her struggle
between the attack against Lockwood and her love and confidence in him.
It did not need words to tell me that evidence must be overwhelming to
convince her that her lover might be involved in any manner.
IX
THE PAPER FIBRES
Kennedy examined the anonymous letter carefully for several minutes,
while we watched him in silence.
"Too clever to use a typewriter," he remarked, still regarding the note
through the lens of a hand-glass. "Almost any one would have used a
machine. That would have been due to the erroneous idea that
typewriting cannot be detected. The fact is that the typewriter is
perhaps a worse means of concealing identity than is disguised
handwriting, especially printing like this. It doesn't afford the
effective protection to the criminal that one supposes. On the
contrary, the typewriting of such a note may be the direct means by
which it can be traced to its source. We can determine what kind of
machine it was done with, then what particular machine was used can be
identified."
He paused and indicated a number of little instruments which he had
taken from a drawer and laid on the table, as he tore off a bit of the
corner of the sheet of paper and examined it.
"There is one thing I can do now, though," he continued. "I can study
the quality of the paper in this sheet. If it were only torn like those
warnings we have already received, it might perhaps be mated with
another piece as accurately as if the act had been performed before our
eyes."
He picked up a little instrument with a small curved arm and a finely
threaded screw that brought the two flat surfaces of the arm and the
end of the screw together.
"There is no such good fortune in this case, however," he resumed,
placing the paper between the two small arms. "But by measurements made
by this vernier micrometer caliper I can find the precise thickness of
the paper as compared to the other samples."
He turned to a microscope and placed the corner of the paper under it.
Then he drew from the drawer the four scraps of paper which had already
been sent to us, as well as a pile of photographs.
"Under ordinary circumstances," he explained, "I should think that what
I am doing would be utterly valueless as a clue to anything. But we are
reduced to the minutiae in this affair. And to-day science is not ready
to let anything pass as valueless."
He continued to look at the various pieces of paper under the
microscope. "I find under microscopic examination," he went on,
addressing Inez, but not looking up from the eye-piece as he shifted
the papers, "that the note you have received, Senorita Mendoza, is
written on a rather uncommon linen bond paper. Later I shall take a
number of microphotographs of it. I have here, also, about a hundred
microphotographs of the fibres in other kinds of paper, many of them
bonds. These I have accumulated from time to time in my study of the
subject. None of them, as you can see, shows fibres resembling this one
in question, so that we may conclude that it is of uncommon quality.
"Here I have the fibres, also, of four pieces of paper that have
already figured in the case. These four correspond, as well as the
indentures of the torn edges. As for the fibres, lest you should
question the accuracy of the method, I may say that I know of a case
where a man in Germany was arrested, charged with stealing a government
bond. He was not searched until later. There was no evidence, save that
after the arrest a large number of spitballs were found around the
courtyard under his cell window. This method of comparing the fibres of
the regular government paper was used, and by it the man was convicted
of stealing the bond. I think it is unnecessary to add that in the
present case I can see definitely that not only the four pieces of
paper that bore warnings to us were the same kind, but that this whole
sheet, with its anonymous warning to you, is also the same."
Inez Mendoza looked at Kennedy as though he possessed some weird power.
Her face, which had already been startled into an expression of fear at
his mention of Lockwood, now was pale.
"Other warnings?" she repeated tremulously.
Quickly Kennedy explained what had already happened to us, watching the
effect on her as he read of the curse of Mansiche and the Gold of the
Gods.
"Oh," she cried, mastering her emotion with a heroic effort, "I wish my
father had never become mixed up in the business. Ever since I was a
little girl I have heard these vague stories of the big fish and the
little fish, the treasure, and the curse. But I never thought they were
anything but fairy tales. You remember, when I first saw you, I did not
even tell them to you."
"Yes," returned Kennedy. "I remember. But had you no other reason? Did
you, down in your heart, think them really fairy tales?"
She shuddered. "Perhaps not," she murmured. "But I have heard enough of
you detectives to know that you do not think a woman's fears exactly
evidence."
"Still they might lead to evidence," suggested Kennedy.
She looked at him, more startled than ever, for already he had given
her a slight exhibition of his powers.
"Mr. Kennedy," she exclaimed, "I am positively afraid of you, afraid
that every little thing I do may lead to something I don't intend."
There was a frankness about the remark that would have been flattering
from a man, but from her excited sympathy.
"No," she went on, "I have nothing tangible--only my feelings. I fear I
must admit that my father had enemies, though who they are I cannot
tell you. No, it is all in my heart--not in my head. There are those
whom I dislike--and there are those whom I like and trust. You may call
me foolish, but I cannot help trusting--Mr. Lockwood."
She had not meant to say his name, and Kennedy and I looked at her in
surprise.
"You see?" she continued. "Every time I talk I say something, convey
some impression that is the opposite of what I wish. Oh--what shall I
do? Have I no one to trust?"
She was crying.
"You may trust me, Senorita," said Kennedy, in a low tone, pausing
before her. "At least I have no other interest than finding the truth
and helping you. There--there. We have had enough to-day. I cannot ask
you to try to forget what has happened. That would be impossible. But I
can ask you, Senorita, to have faith--faith that it will all turn out
better, if you will only trust me. When you feel stronger--then come to
me. Tell me your fears--or not--whichever does you the most good. Only
keep your mind from brooding. Face it all as you know your father would
have you do."
Kennedy's words were soothing. He seemed to know that tears were the
safety-valve she needed.
"Mr. Jameson will see that you get home safely in a taxicab," he
continued. "You can trust him as you would myself."
I can imagine circumstances under which I would have enjoyed escorting
Inez to her home, but today was not one of the times. Yet she seemed so
helpless, so grateful for everything we did for her that I did not need
even the pressure of her little hand as she hurried into the apartment
from the car with a hasty word of thanks.
"You will tell Mr. Kennedy--you will both be--so careful?" she
hesitated before leaving me.
I assured her that we would, wondering what she might fear for us, as I
drove away again. There did not happen to be any of the newspaper men
about at the time, and I did not stop.
Back in the laboratory, I found Kennedy arranging something under the
rug at the door as I came up the hall.
"Don't step there, Walter," he cautioned. "Step over the rug. I'm
expecting visitors. How was she when she arrived home?"
I told him of her parting injunction.
"Not bad advice," he remarked. "I think there's a surprise back of
those warnings. They weren't sent just for effect."
He had closed the door, and we were standing by the table, looking at
the letters, when we heard a noise at the door.
It was Norton again.
"I've been thinking of what you told me last night," he explained,
before Kennedy had a chance to tell him to step over the rug. "Has
anything else happened?"
Kennedy tossed over the anonymous letter, and Norton read it eagerly.
"Whom does it mean?" he asked, quickly glancing up, then adding, "It
might mean any of us who are trying to help her."
"Exactly," returned Kennedy. "Or it might be Lockwood, or even de
Moche. By the way, you know the young man pretty well, don't you? I
wonder if you could find him anywhere about the University this morning
and persuade him to visit me?"
"I will try," agreed Norton. "But these people are so very suspicious
just now that I can't promise."
Norton went out a few minutes later to see what he could do to locate
Alfonso, and Kennedy replaced another blank sheet of paper for that
under the rug on which Norton had stepped before we could warn him.
No sooner had he gone than Kennedy reached for the telephone and called
Whitney's office. Lockwood was there, as he had hoped, and, after a
short talk, promised to drop in on us later in the morning.
It was fully half an hour before Norton returned, having finally found
Alfonso. De Moche entered the laboratory with a suspicious glance
about, as though he thought something might have been planted there for
him.
"I had a most interesting talk with your mother yesterday," began
Kennedy, endeavouring by frankness to put the young man at ease. "And
this morning, already, Senorita Mendoza has called on me."
De Moche was all attention at the words. But before he could say
anything Kennedy handed him the anonymous letter. He read it, and his
face clouded as he handed it back.
"You have no idea who could have sent such a note?" queried Craig, "or
to whom it might refer?"
He glanced at Norton, then at us. It was clear that some sort of
suspicion had flashed over him. "No," he said quickly, "I know no one
who could have sent it."
"But whom does it mean?" asked Kennedy, holding him to the part that he
avoided.
The young man shrugged his shoulders. "She has many friends," he
answered simply.
"Yes," persisted Kennedy, "but few against whom she might be warned in
this way. You do not think it is Professor Norton, for instance--or
myself?"
"Oh, no, no--hardly," he replied, then stopped, realizing that he had
eliminated all but Lockwood, Whitney, and himself.
"It could not be Mr. Lockwood?" demanded Craig.
"Who sent it?" he asked, looking up.
"No--whom it warns against."
De Moche had known what Kennedy meant, but had preferred to postpone
the answer. It was native never to come to the point unless he was
forced to do so. He met our eyes squarely. He had not the penetrating
power that his mother possessed, yet his was a sharp faculty of
observation.
"Mr. Lockwood is very friendly with her," he admitted, then seemed to
think something else necessary to round out the idea. "Mr. Kennedy, I
might have told her the same myself. Senorita Mendoza has been a very
dear friend--for a long time."
I had been so used to having him evasive that now I did not exactly
know what to make of such a burst of confidence. It was susceptible of
at least two interpretations. Was he implying that it was sent to cast
suspicion on him, because he felt that way himself or because he
himself was her friend?
"There have been other warnings," pursued Kennedy, "both to myself and
Mr. Jameson, as well as Professor Norton and Dr. Leslie. Surely you
must have some idea of the source."
De Moche shook his head. "None that I can think of," he replied. "Have
you asked my mother?"
"Not yet," admitted Kennedy.
De Moche glanced at his watch. "I have a lecture at this hour," he
remarked, evidently glad of an excuse to terminate the interview.
As he left, Kennedy accompanied him to the door, careful himself to
step over the mat.
"Hello, what's new?" we heard a voice in the hall.
It was Lockwood, who had come up from downtown. Catching sight of de
Moche, however, he stopped short. The two young men met face to face.
Between them passed a glance of unconcealed hostility, then each nodded
stiffly.
De Moche turned to Kennedy as he passed down the hall. "Perhaps it may
have been sent to divert suspicion--who can tell?" he whispered.
Kennedy nodded appreciatively, noting the change.
At the sound of Lockwood's voice both Norton and I had taken a step
further after them out into the hall, Norton somewhat in advance. As de
Moche disappeared for his lecture, Kennedy turned to me from Lockwood
and caught my eye. I read in his glance that fell from me to the mat
that he wished me quietly to abstract the piece of paper which he had
placed under it. I bent down and did so without Lockwood seeing me.
"Why was he here?" demanded Lockwood, with just a trace of defiance in
his voice, as though he fancied the meeting had been framed.
"I have been showing this to every one who might help me," returned
Kennedy, going back into the laboratory after giving me an opportunity
to dispose of the shoe-prints.
He handed the anonymous letter and the other warnings to the young
soldier of fortune, with a brief explanation.
"Why don't they come out into the open, whoever they are?" commented
Lockwood, laying the papers down carelessly again on the table. "I'll
meet them--if they mean me."
"Who?" asked Kennedy.
Lockwood faced Norton and ourselves.
"I'm not a mind reader," he said significantly. "But it doesn't take
much to see that some one wants to throw a brick at me. When I have
anything to say I say it openly. Inez Mendoza without friends just now
would be a mark, wouldn't she?"
His strong face and powerful jaw were set in a menacing scowl. He would
be a bold man who would have come between Lockwood and the lady under
the circumstances.
"You are confident of Mr. Whitney?" inquired Kennedy.
"Ask Norton," replied Lockwood briefly. "He knew him long before I did."
Norton smiled quietly. "Mr. Kennedy should know what my opinion of Mr.
Whitney is, I think," replied Norton confidently.
"I trust that you will succeed in running these blackmailers down,"
pursued Lockwood, still standing. "If I did not have more than I can
attend to already since the murder of Mendoza I'd like to take a hand
myself. It begins to look to me, after reading that letter, as though
there was nothing too low for them to attempt. I shall keep this latest
matter in mind. If either Mr. Whitney or myself get any hint, we'll
turn it over to you."
Norton left shortly after Lockwood, and Kennedy again picked up the
letter and scanned it. "I could learn something, I suppose, if I
analyzed this printing," he considered, "but it is a tedious process.
Let me see that envelope again. H-m, postmarked by the uptown
sub-station, mailed late last night. Whoever sent it must have done so
not very far from us here. Lockwood seemed to take it as though it
applied to himself very readily, didn't he? Much more so than de Moche.
Only for the fact that the fibres show it to be on paper similar to the
first warnings, I might have been inclined to doubt whether this was
bona fide. At least, the sender must realize now that it has produced
no appreciable effect--if any was intended."
Kennedy's last remark set me thinking. Could some one have sent the
letter not to produce the effect apparently intended, but with the
ultimate object of diverting suspicion from himself? Lockwood, at
least, had not seemed to take the letter very seriously.
X
THE X-RAY READER
"I think I'll pay another visit to Whitney, in spite of all that Norton
and Lockwood say about him," remarked Kennedy, considering the next
step he would take in his investigation.
Accordingly, half an hour later we entered his Wall Street office,
where we were met by a clerk, who seemed to remember us.
"Mr. Whitney is out just at present," he said, "but if you will be
seated I think I can reach him by telephone."
As we sat in the outer office while the clerk telephoned from Whitney's
own room the door opened and the postman entered and laid some letters
on a table near us. Kennedy could not help seeing the letter on top of
the pile, and noticed that it bore a stamp from Peru. He picked it up
and read the postmark, "Lima," and the date some weeks previous. In the
lower corner, underscored, were the words "Personal--Urgent."
"I'd like to know what is in that," remarked Craig, turning it over and
over.
He appeared to be considering something, for he rose suddenly, and with
a nod of his head to himself, as though settling some qualm of
conscience, shoved the letter into his pocket.
A moment later the clerk returned. "I've just had Mr. Whitney on the
wire," he reported. "I don't think he'll be back at least for an hour."
"Is he at the Prince Edward Albert?" asked Craig.
"I don't know," returned the clerk, oblivious to the fact that we must
have seen that in order to know the telephone number he must have known
whether Mr. Whitney was there or elsewhere.
"I shall come in again," rejoined Kennedy, as we bowed ourselves out.
Then to me he added, "If he is with Senora de Moche and they are at the
Edward Albert, I think I can beat him back with this letter if we
hurry."
A few minutes later, in his laboratory, Kennedy set to work quickly
over an X-ray apparatus. As I watched him, I saw that he had placed the
letter in it.
"These are what are known as 'low tubes,'" he explained. "They give out
'soft rays.'"
He continued to work for several minutes, then took the letter out and
handed it to me.
"Now, Walter," he said brusquely, "if you will just hurry back down
there to Whitney's office and replace that letter, I think I will have
something that will astonish you--though whether it will have any
bearing on the case remains to be seen. At least I can postpone seeing
Whitney himself for a while."
I made the trip down again as rapidly as I could. Whitney was not back
when I arrived, but the clerk was there, and I could not very well just
leave the letter on the table again.
"Mr. Kennedy would like to know when he can see Mr. Whitney," I said,
on the spur of the moment. "Can't you call him up again?"
The clerk, as I had anticipated, went into Whitney's office to
telephone. Instead of laying the letter on the table, which might have
excited suspicion, I stuck it in the letter slot of the door, thinking
that perhaps they might imagine that it had caught there when the
postman made his rounds.
A moment later the clerk returned. "Mr. Whitney is on his way down
now," he reported.
I thanked him, and said that Kennedy would call him up when he arrived,
congratulating myself on the good luck I had had in returning the
letter.
"What is it?" I asked, a few minutes later, when I had rejoined Craig
in the laboratory.
He was poring intently over what looked like a negative.
"The possibility of reading the contents of documents inclosed in a
sealed envelope," he replied, still studying the shadowgraph closely,
"has already been established by the well-known English scientist, Dr.
Hall Edwards. He has been experimenting with the method of using X-rays
recently discovered by a German scientist, by which radiographs of very
thin substances, such as a sheet of paper, a leaf, an insect's body,
may be obtained. These thin substances, through which the rays used
formerly to pass without leaving an impression, can now be easily
radiographed."
I looked carefully as he traced out something on the queer negative. On
it, it was easily possible, following his guidance, to read the words
inscribed on the sheet of paper inside. So admirably defined were all
the details that even the gum on the envelope and the edges of the
sheet of paper inside the envelope could be distinguished.
"It seems incredible," I exclaimed, scarcely believing what I actually
saw. "It is almost like second sight."
Kennedy smiled. "Any letter written with ink having a mineral base can
be radiographed," he added. "Even when the sheet is folded in the usual
way, it is possible, by taking a radiograph, as I have done,
stereoscopically. Then every detail can be seen standing out in relief.
Besides, it can be greatly magnified, which aids in deciphering it if
it is indistinct or jumbled up. Some of it looks like mirror-writing.
Ah," he continued, "here's something interesting."
Together we managed to trace out the contents of several paragraphs
laboriously, the gist of which I give here:
"LIMA, PERU.
"DEAR WHITNEY:
"Matters are progressing very favorably here, considering the stoppage
of business due to the war. I am doing everything in my power to
conserve our interests, and now and then, owing to the scarcity of
money, am able to pick up a concession cheaply, which will be of
immense value to us later.
"However, it is not so much of business that I wish to write you at the
present time. You know that my friend Senora de Moche, with her son,
Alfonso, is at present in New York. Doubtless she has already called on
you and tried to interest you in her own properties here. I need not
advise you to be very careful in dealing with her.
"The other day I heard a rumour that may prove interesting to you,
regarding Norton and his work here on his last trip. As we know, he has
succeeded in finding and getting out of the country an Inca dagger
which, I believe, bears a very important inscription. I do not know
anything definite about it, as these people are very reticent. But no
doubt he has told you all about it by this time. If it should prove of
value, I depend on you to let me know, so that I may act at this end
accordingly.