remarks of the Senora she believes that Norton took an unfair advantage
during her absence. What the inscription is I don't know, but from the
way these people down here act one would think that they all had a
proprietary interest in the relic. What it is all about I don't know.
But you will find the Senora both a keen business woman and an
accomplished antiquarian, if you have not already discovered it.
"In regard to Lockwood and Mendoza, if we can get them in on our side,
it ought to prove a winning combination. There are stories here of how
de Moche has been playing on Mendoza's passions--she's thoroughly
unscrupulous and Don Luis is somewhat of a Don Juan. I write this to
put you on guard. Her son, Alfonso, whom you perhaps have met also, is
of another type, though I have heard it said that he laid siege to Inez
Mendoza in the hope of becoming allied with one of the oldest families.
"Such, at least, is the gossip down here. I cannot presume to keep you
posted at such a distance, but thought I had better write what is in
every one's mouth. As for the inscribed dagger which Norton has taken
with him, I rely on you to inform me. There seems to be a great deal of
mystery connected with it, and I am unable even to hazard a guess as to
its nature. Fortunately, you are on the spot
"Very sincerely yours,
"HAGGERTY."
"So," remarked Kennedy, as he read over the translation of the
skiagraph which he had jotted down as we picked out the letters and
words, "that's how the land lies. Everybody seems to have appreciated
the importance of the dagger."
"Except Norton," I could not help putting in in disgust.
"And now it's gone," he continued, "just as though some one had dropped
it overboard. I believe I will keep that appointment you made for me
with Whitney, after all."
Thus it happened that I found myself a third time entering Whitney's
building. I was about to step into the elevator, when Kennedy tugged at
my arm and pulled me back.
"Hello, Norton," I heard him say, as I turned and caught sight of the
archaeologist just leaving an elevator that had come down.
Norton's face plainly showed that he was worried.
"What the matter?" asked Kennedy, putting the circumstances together.
"What has Whitney been doing?"
Norton seemed reluctant to talk, but having no alternative motioned to
us to step aside in the corridor.
"It's the first time I've talked with him since the dagger was
stolen--that is, about the loss," he said nervously. "He called me up
half an hour ago and asked me to come down."
I looked at Kennedy significantly. Evidently it must have been just
after his return to the office and receipt of the letter which I had
stuck in the letter slot.
"He was very angry over something," continued Norton. "I'm sure it was
not my fault if the dagger was stolen, and I'm sure that managing an
expedition in that God-forsaken country doesn't give you time to read
every inscription, especially when it is almost illegible, right on the
spot. There was work enough for months that I brought back, along with
that. Sometimes Whitney's unreasonable."
"You don't think he could have known something about the dagger all
along?" ventured Craig.
Norton puckered his eyes. "He never said anything," he replied. "If he
had asked me to drop other things for that, why, of course, I would
have done so. We can't afford to lose him as a contributor to the
exploration fund. Confound it--I'm afraid I've put my foot in it this
time."
Kennedy said nothing, and Norton continued, growing more excited:
"Everybody's been talking to Whitney, telling him all kinds of
things--Lockwood, the de Moches, heaven knows who else. Why don't they
come out and face me? I've a notion to try to carry on my work
independently. Nothing plays hob with scholarship like money. You'd
think he owned me body and soul, and the collection, too, if you heard
him talk. Why, he accused me of carelessness in running the Museum, and
heaven knows I'm not the curator--I'm not even the janitor!"
Norton was excited, but I could not help feeling that he was also
relieved. "I've been preparing for the time when I'd have to cut
loose," he went on finally. "Now, I suppose it is coming. Ah, well,
perhaps it will be better--who can tell? I may not do so much, but it
will all be mine, with no strings attached. Perhaps, after all, it is
for the best."
Talking over his troubles seemed to do Norton some good, for I am sure
that he left us in a better frame of mind than we had found him.
Kennedy wished him good-luck, and we again entered the lift.
We found Whitney in an even greater state of excitement than Norton had
been. I am sure that if it had been any one else than Kennedy he would
have thrown him out, but he seemed to feel that he must control himself
in our presence.
"What do you know about that fellow Norton, up at your place?" he
demanded, almost before we had seated ourselves.
"A very hard-working, ambitious man his colleagues tell me," returned
Kennedy, purposely I thought, as if it had been a red rag flaunted
before a bull.
"Hard-working--yes," bellowed Whitney. "He has worked me hard. I send
him down to Peru--yes, I put up most of the money. Then what does he
do? Just kids me along, makes me think he's accomplishing a whole
lot--when he's actually so careless as to let himself be robbed of what
he gets with my money. I tell you, you can't trust anybody. They all
double-cross you. I swear, I think Lockwood and I ought to go it alone.
I'm glad I found that fellow out. Let himself be robbed--a fine piece
of work! Why, that fellow couldn't see through a barn door--after the
horse was stolen," he concluded, mixing his metaphors in his anger.
"Evidently some one has been telling you something," remarked Kennedy.
"We tried to see you twice this morning, but couldn't find you."
His tone was one calculated to impress Whitney with the fact that he
had been watching and had some idea of where he really was. Whitney
shot a sharp glance at Craig, whose face betrayed nothing.
"Ambitious--I should say so," repeated Whitney, reverting to Norton to
cover up this new change of the subject. "Well--let him be ambitious.
We can get along without him. I tell you, Kennedy, no one is
indispensable. There is always some way to get along--if you can't get
over an obstacle, you can get around it. I'll dispense with Mr. Norton.
He's an expensive luxury, anyhow. I'm just as well satisfied."
There was real vexation in Whitney's voice, yet as he talked he, too,
seemed to cool down. I could not help thinking that both Norton and
Whitney were perhaps just a bit glad at the break. Had both of them got
out of each other all that they wanted--Norton his reputation and
Whitney--what?
He cooled down so rapidly now that almost I began to wonder whether his
anger had been genuine. Did he know more about the dagger than
appeared? Was this his cover--to disown Norton?
"It seems to me that Senora de Moche is ambitious for her son, too,"
remarked Kennedy, tenaciously trying to force the conversation into the
channel he chose.
"How's that?" demanded Whitney, narrowing his eyes down into a squint
at Kennedy's face, a proceeding that served by contrast to emphasize
the abnormal condition of the pupils which I had already noticed both
in his eyes and Lockwood's.
"I don't think she'd object to having him marry into one of the leading
families in Peru," ventured Kennedy, paraphrasing what we had already
read in the letter.
"Perhaps Senorita Mendoza herself can be trusted to see to that,"
Whitney replied with a quick laugh.
"To say nothing of Mr. Lockwood," suggested Craig.
Whitney looked at him quizzically, as though in doubt just how much
this man knew.
"Senora de Moche puzzles me," went on Kennedy. "I often wonder whether
superstition or greed would rule her if it came to the point in this
matter of the Gold of the Gods, as they all seem to call the buried
treasure at Truxillo. She's a fascinating woman, but I can't help
feeling that with her one is always playing with fire."
Whitney eyed us knowingly. I had long ago taken his measure as a man
quite susceptible to a pretty face, especially if accompanied by a
well-turned ankle.
"I never discuss politics during business hours," he laughed, with a
self-satisfied air. "You will excuse me? I have some rather important
letters that I must get off."
Kennedy rose, and Whitney walked to the door with us, to call his
stenographer.
We had scarcely said good-bye and were about to open the outer door
when it was pushed open from outside, and Lockwood bustled in.
"No more anonymous letters, I hope?" he queried, in a tone which I
could not determine whether serious or sarcastic.
Kennedy answered in the negative. "Not unless you have one."
"I? I rather think the ready letter-writers know better than to waste
time on me. That little billet doux seems to have quite upset the
Senorita, though. I don't know how many times she has called me up to
see if I was all right. I begin to think that whoever wrote it has done
me a good turn, after all."
Lockwood did not say it in a boastful way, but one could see that he
was greatly pleased at the solicitude of Inez.
"She thinks it referred to you, then?" asked Kennedy.
"Evidently," he replied; then added, "I won't say but that I have taken
it seriously, too."
He slapped his hip pocket. Under the tail of his coat bulged a
blue-steel automatic.
"You still have no idea who could have sent it, or why?"
Lockwood shook his head. "Whoever he is, I'm ready," he replied grimly,
bowing us out.
XI
THE SHOE-PRINTS
"I'm afraid we've neglected the Senorita a bit, in our efforts to
follow up what clues we have in the case," remarked Kennedy, as we rode
uptown again. "She needs all the protection we can give her. I think
we'd better drop around there, now that she is pretty likely to be left
alone."
Accordingly, instead of going back to the laboratory, we dropped off
near the apartment of the Mendozas and walked over from the subway.
As we turned the corner, far down the long block I could see the
entrance to the apartment.
"There she is now," I said to Kennedy, catching sight of her familiar
figure, clad in sombre black, as she came down the steps. "I wonder
where she can be going."
She turned at the foot of the steps and, as chance would have it,
started in the opposite direction from us.
"Let us see," answered Kennedy, quickening his pace.
She had not gone very far before a man seemed to spring up from nowhere
and meet her. He bowed, and walked along beside her.
"De Moche," recognized Kennedy.
Alfonso had evidently been waiting in the shadow of an entrance down
the street, perhaps hoping to see her, perhaps as our newspaper friend
had seen before, to watch whether Lockwood was among her callers. As we
walked along, we could see the little drama with practically no fear of
being seen, so earnestly were they talking.
Even during the few minutes that the Senorita was talking with him no
one would have needed to be told that she really had a great deal of
regard for him, whatever might be her feelings toward Lockwood.
"I should say that she wants to see him, yet does not want to see him,"
observed Kennedy, as we came closer.
She seemed now to have become restive and impatient, eager to cut the
conversation short.
It was quite evident at the same time that Alfonso was deeply in love
with her, that though she tried to put him off he was persistent. I
wondered whether, after all, some of the trouble had not been that
during his lifetime the proud old Castilian Don Luis could never have
consented to the marriage of his daughter to one of Indian blood. Had
he left a legacy of fear of a love forbidden by race prejudice?
In any event, the manner of Alfonso's actions about the Mendoza
apartment was such that one could easily imagine his feelings toward
Lockwood, whom he saw carrying off the prize under his very eyes.
As for his mother, the Senora, we had already seen that Peruvians of
her caste were also a proud old race. Her son was the apple of her eye.
Might not some of her feelings be readily accounted for? Who were these
to scorn her race, her family?
We had walked along at a pace that finally brought us up with them. As
Kennedy and I bowed, Alfonso seemed at first to resent our intrusion,
while Inez seemed rather to welcome it as a diversion.
"Can we not expect you?" the young man repeated. "It will be only for a
few minutes this afternoon, and my mother has something of very great
importance to tell."
He was half pleading, half apologizing. Inez glanced hastily around at
Kennedy, uncertain what to say, and hoping that he might indicate some
course. Surreptitiously, Kennedy nodded an affirmative.
"Very well, then," she replied reluctantly, not to seem to change what
had been her past refusal too suddenly. "I may ask Professor Kennedy,
too?"
He could scarcely refuse before us. "Of course," he agreed, quickly
turning to us. "We were speaking about meeting this afternoon at four
in the tea room of the Prince Edward. You can come?"
Though the invitation was not over-gracious, Kennedy replied, "We
should be delighted to accompany Miss Inez, I am sure. We happened to
be passing this way and thought we would stop in to see if anything new
had happened. Just as we turned the corner we saw you disappearing down
the street, and followed. I trust everything is all right?"
"Nothing more has happened since this morning," she returned, with a
look that indicated she understood that Kennedy referred to the
anonymous letter. "I had a little shopping to do. If you will excuse
me, I think I will take a car. This afternoon--at four."
She nodded brightly as we assisted her into a taxicab and left us three
standing there on the curb. For a moment it was rather awkward. To
Alfonso her leaving was somewhat as though the sun had passed under a
cloud.
"Are you going up toward the University?" inquired Kennedy.
"Yes," responded the young man reluctantly.
"Then suppose we walk. It would take only a few more minutes,"
suggested Kennedy.
Alfonso could not very well refuse, but started off at a brisk pace.
"I suppose these troubles interfere seriously with your work," pursued
Craig, as we fell into his stride.
"Yes," he admitted, "although much of my work just now is only
polishing off what I have already learned--getting your American point
of view and methods. You see, I have had an idea that the canal will
bring both countries into much closer relations than before. And if you
will not learn of us, we must learn of you."
"It is too bad we Americans don't take more interest in the countries
south of us," admitted Craig. "I think you have the right idea, though.
Such men as Mr. Whitney are doing their best to bring the two nations
closer together."
I watched the effect of the mention of Whitney's name. It seemed
distasteful, only in a lesser degree than Lockwood's.
"We do not need to be exploited," he ventured. "My belief is that we
should not attract capital in order to take things out of the country.
If we might keep our own earnings and transform them into capital, it
would be better. That is why I am doing what I am at the University."
I could not believe that it explained the whole reason for his presence
in New York. Without a doubt the girl who had just left us weighed
largely in his mind, as well as his and his mother's ambitions, both
personal and for Peru.
"Quite reasonable," accepted Kennedy. "Peru for the Peruvians. Yet
there seems to be such untold wealth in the country that taking out
even quite large sums would not begin to exhaust the natural resources."
"But they are ours, they belong to us," hastened de Moche, then caught
the drift of Kennedy's remarks, and was on his guard.
"Buried treasure, like that which you call the Gold of the Gods, is
always fascinating," continued Kennedy. "The trouble with such easy
money, however, is that it tends to corrupt. In the early days history
records its taint. And I doubt whether human nature has changed much
under the veneer of modern civilization. The treasure seems to leave
its trail even as far away as New York. It has at least one murder to
its credit already."
"There has been nothing but murder and robbery from the time that the
peje chica was discovered," asserted the young man sadly. "You are
quite right."
"Truly it would seem to have been cursed," added Craig. "The spirit of
Mansiche must, indeed, watch over it. I suppose you know of the loss of
the old Inca dagger from the University Museum and that it was that
with which Don Luis was murdered?"
It was the first time Kennedy had broached the subject to de Moche, and
I watched closely to see what was its effect.
"Perhaps it was a warning," commented Alfonso, in a solemn tone, that
left me in doubt whether it was purely superstitious dread or in the
nature of a prophecy of what might be expected from some quarter of
which we were ignorant.
"You have known of the existence of the dagger always, I presume,"
continued Kennedy. "Have you or any one you know ever sought to
discover its secret and search it out?"
"I think my mother told you we never dig for treasure," he answered.
"It would be sacrilegious. Besides, there is more treasure buried by
nature than that dedicated to the gods. There is only one trouble that
may hurt our natural resources--the get-rich-quick promoter. I would
advise looking out for him. He flourishes in a newly opened country
like Peru. That curse, I suppose, is much better understood by
Americans than the curse of Mansiche. But as for me, you must remember
that the curse is part of my religion, as it were."
We had reached the campus by this time, and parted at the gate, each to
go his way.
"You will drop in on me if you hear anything?" invited Craig.
"Yes," promised Alfonso. "We shall see you at four."
With this parting reminder he turned toward the School of Mines while
we debouched off toward the Chemistry Building.
"The de Moches are nobody's tools," I remarked. "That young man seems
to have a pretty definite idea of what he wants to do."
"At least he puts it so before us," was all that Kennedy would grant.
"He seems to be as well informed of what passed at that visit to the
Senora as though he had been there too."
We had scarcely opened the laboratory door when the ringing of the
telephone told us that some one had been trying to get in touch for
some time.
"It was Norton," said Kennedy, hanging up the receiver. "I imagine he
wants to know what happened after we left him and went up to see
Whitney."
That was, in fact, just what Norton wanted, as well as to make clear to
us how he felt on the subject.
"Really, Kennedy," he remarked, "it must be fine to feel that your
chair in the University is endowed rather than subsidized. You saw how
Whitney acted, you say. Why, he makes me feel as if I were his hired
man, instead of head of the University's expedition. I'm glad it's
over. Still, if you could find that dagger and have it returned it
might look better for me. You have no clue, I suppose?"
"I'm getting closer to one," replied Craig confidently, though on what
he could base any optimism I could not see.
The same idea seemed to be in Norton's mind. "You think you will have
something tangible soon?" he asked eagerly.
"I've had more slender threads than these to work on," reassured
Kennedy. "Besides, I'm getting very little help from any of you. You
yourself, Norton, at the start left me a good deal in the dark over the
history of the dagger."
"I couldn't do otherwise," he defended. "You understand now, I guess,
how I have always been tied, hand and foot, by the Whitney influence.
You'll find that I can be of more service, now."
"Just how did you get possession of the dagger?" asked Kennedy, and
there flashed over me the recollection of the story told by the Senora,
as well as the letter which we had purloined.
"Just picked it up from an Indian who had an abnormal dislike to work.
They said he was crazy, and I guess perhaps he was. At any rate, he
later drowned himself in the lake, I have heard."
"Could he have been made insane, do you think?" ruminated Craig. "It's
possible that he was the victim of somebody, I understand. The insanity
might have been real enough without the cause being natural."
"That's an interesting story," returned Norton. "Offhand, I can't seem
to recall much about the fellow, although some one else might have
known him very well."
Evidently he either did not know the tale as well as the Senora, or was
not prepared to take us entirely into his confidence.
"Who is Haggerty?" asked Craig, thinking of the name signed to the
letter we had read.
"An agent of Whitney and his associates, who manages things in Lima,"
explained Norton. "Why?"
"Nothing--only I have heard the name and wondered what his connection
might be. I understand better now."
Kennedy seemed to be anxious to get to work on something, and, after a
few minutes, Norton left us.
No sooner had the door closed than he took the glass-bell jar off his
microscope and drew from a table drawer several scraps of paper on
which I recognized the marks left by the carbon sheets. He set to work
on another of those painstaking tasks of examination, and I retired to
my typewriter, which I had moved into the next room, in order to leave
Kennedy without anything that might distract attention from his work.
One after another he examined the sheets which he had marked, starting
with a hand-lens and then using one more powerful. At the top of the
table lay the specially prepared paper on which he had caught and
preserved the marks in the dust of the Egyptian sarcophagus in the
Museum.
Besides these things, I noticed that he had innumerable photographs,
many of which were labelled with the stamp of the bureau in the Paris
Palais de Justice, over which Bertillon had presided.
One after another he looked at the carbon prints, comparing them point
by point with the specially prepared copy of the shoe-prints in the
sarcophagus. It was, after all, a comparatively simple job. We had the
prints of de Moche and Lockwood, as well as Whitney, all of them
crossed by steps from Norton.
"Well, what do you think of that?" I heard him mutter.
I quit my typewriter, with a piece of paper still in it, and hurried
into the main room.
"Have you found anything?"
"I should say I had," he replied, in a tone that betrayed his own
astonishment at the find. "Look at that," he indicated to me, handing
over one of the sheets. "Compare it with this Museum foot-print."
With his pencil Kennedy rapidly indicated the tell-tale points of
similarity on the two shoe-prints.
I looked up at him, convinced now of some one's identity.
"Who was it?" I asked, unable to restrain myself longer.
Kennedy paused a minute, to let the importance of the surprise be
understood.
"The man who entered the Museum and concealed himself in the
sarcophagus in the Egyptian section adjoining Norton's treasures,"
replied Kennedy slowly, "was Lockwood himself!"
XII
THE EVIL EYE
Completely at sea as a result of the unexpected revelation of the
shoe-prints we had found in the Museum, and with suspicions now
thoroughly aroused against Lockwood, I accompanied Kennedy to keep our
appointment with the Senorita at the Prince Edward Albert.
We were purposely a bit early, in order to meet Inez, so that she would
not have to be alone with the Senora, and we sat down in the lobby in a
little angle from which we could look into the tea room.
We had not been sitting there very long when Kennedy called my
attention to Whitney, who had just come in. Almost at the same time he
caught sight of us, and walked over.
"I've been thinking a good deal of your visit to me just now," he
began, seating himself beside us. "Perhaps I should not have said what
I did about your friend Norton. But I couldn't help it. I guess you
know something about that dagger he lost, don't you?"
"I have heard of the 'great fish' and the 'little fish' and the 'curse
of Mansiche,'" replied Kennedy, "if that is what you mean. Somehow the
Inca dagger seems to have been mixed up with them."
"Yes--with the peje grande, I believe," went on Whitney.
Beneath his exterior of studied calm I could see that he was very much
excited. If I had not already noted a peculiar physical condition in
him, I might have thought he had stopped in the cafe with some friends
too long. But his eyes were not those of a man who has had too much to
drink.
Just then Senorita Mendoza entered, and Kennedy rose and went forward
to greet her. She saw Whitney, and flashed an inquiring glance at us.