A revolver-shot followed by the crash of glass sounded in our hall.
At the same instant the laboratory door burst open and an elderly,
distinguished-looking man stumbled in on us, his hat now off, his
coat and collar awry, his hair rumpled, and his face wearing a dazed,
uncertain expression, as though he did not yet comprehend what had so
suddenly taken place.
“My God!” he exclaimed, gazing about in a vain effort to restore his
dignity and equilibrium. “What was that? I hardly had my hand on the
knob when it happened.”
A glance was enough to assure Kennedy that the man was unhurt, except
for the shock, and in a moment he dashed out into the hall.
The front door of the Chemistry Building had been shattered by a
revolver-shot. But not even the trace of a skulking figure could be
seen on the campus. Pursuit was useless. There was, apparently, no one
to pursue.
Pale and agitated still, the man sank limply into a chair as I forced a
stimulant into his trembling lips.
Kennedy closed the door and stood there a moment, a look of inquiry on
his face, but without a word.
“Some one――must have――shadowed me――all the way,” gasped the man as he
gulped hard, “must have seen me come in――tried to shoot me before I had
a chance to tell you my story.”
It was some minutes before our strange visitor regained his poise,
and Craig refrained from questioning him, though I was consumed with
curiosity to know the reason of his sudden entrance.
When at last he did speak, his first words were so different from
anything I had expected that I could hardly believe him to be the same
person. In spite of his nervousness, his tone was that of a hard,
practical man of business.
“I suppose you know something of Maddox Munitions, Incorporated?” he
inquired, somewhat brusquely.
I did not quite understand a man who could be himself so soon after an
episode such as he had been through, nor do I think Kennedy did, either.
“I have no interest in ‘war brides,’” returned Craig, coldly.
“Nor have I――as such,” the man agreed, apparently rather pleased than
otherwise at the stand-off attitude Kennedy had assumed. “But I happen
to be Maxwell Hastings, attorney for Marshall Maddox, who was――”
Kennedy wheeled about suddenly, interrupting. “Whose body was found
floating in Westport Bay this morning. Yes, Mr. Jameson and I have read
the little five-line despatch in the papers this morning. I thought
there was something back of it.”
As for me, I was even more excited now than Kennedy and I could see
a smile of satisfaction flit over the face of Hastings. In a few
sentences the clever lawyer had extracted from us what others took all
manner of time and art to discover. He knew that we were interested,
that he could depend on Kennedy’s taking the case.
Kennedy and I exchanged a significant glance. We had discussed the
thing cursorily at the breakfast-table as we did any odd bit of news
that interested us.
Already I knew, or fancied I knew, something of the affair. For it
was at the time when explosions in munitions plants had furnished many
thrilling chapters of news.
All the explosions had not been confined to the plants, however. There
had been and still were going on explosions less sanguinary but quite
as interesting in the Maddox family itself.
There was a hundred million dollars as the apple of discord, and a most
deadly feud had divided the heirs. Together they had made money so fast
that one might think they would not feel even annoyance over a stray
million here and there. But, as so often happens, jealousy had crept
in. Sudden wealth seemed to have turned the heads of the whole family.
Marshall Maddox was reported to have been making efforts to oust the
others and make himself master of the big concern.
“Maddox had had some trouble with his wife, hadn’t he?” I asked,
recalling scattered paragraphs lately in the papers.
Hastings nodded. “They were separated. That, too, was part of the
family disagreement. His sister, Frances, took the part of his wife,
Irene, I believe.”
Hastings considered a moment, as though debating how far he should go
in exposing the private affairs of his client, then caught the eye of
Kennedy, and seemed to realize that as long as he had called Craig into
the case he must be frank, at least with us.
“At the Westport Harbor House,” he added, deliberately, “we know that
there was a little Mexican dancer, Paquita. Perhaps you have heard of
her on the stage and in the cabarets of New York. Marshall Maddox knew
her in the city.”
He paused. Evidently he had something more to say and was considering
the best way to say it.
Finally Hastings leaned over and whispered, “We know, too, that Shelby
Maddox, his brother, had met Paquita at the Harbor House just before
the family conference which brought them all together.”
It was evident that, at least to Hastings, there was something in the
affair that looked ugly to him as far as Shelby was concerned.
“It’s not at all strange,” he added, “that two men as unlike as
Marshall and Shelby should disagree. Marshall was the dominating type,
eager for power; Shelby easy-going, more interested in having a good
time. In this affair of Paquita――whatever it amounted to――I’m not at
all surprised at Shelby. He is younger than Marshall was――and inclined
to be a sport. Still, there was a vein of susceptibility in Marshall,
too. There must have been.”
Hastings paused. Human frailties were out of his ken as a lawyer.
Property he understood; passions, no. With him the law had been a
jealous mistress and had brooked no rival.
“It was on Shelby’s yacht, the _Sybarite_, was it not, that the tragedy
occurred?” ventured Kennedy.
It was a leading question and Hastings knew it. He drew in a long,
contemplative breath as he decided whether he should consent to be led.
“Yes――and no,” he answered, finally. “They were there on the yacht, of
course, to agree to disagree and to divide the family fortune. Shelby
Maddox went to Westport on the yacht, and it was so hot at the Harbor
House that they decided to hold the conference on the _Sybarite_.
Marshall Maddox and I had motored out from town. The sister, Frances,
and her husband, Johnson Walcott, live on the other side of the island.
They motored over, also bringing with them Johnson Walcott’s sister,
Winifred, who stayed at the Harbor House. Johnson Walcott himself went
ashore from the yacht early in the evening, having to go to the city
on business. That was all right, for there was Bruce, the lawyer who
represented Frances Maddox――I mean Mrs. Walcott, of course. You see,
I’ve known the family so long that I often forget that she is married.
Shelby had his lawyer, also, Mr. Harvey. That was the party. As for the
tragedy, I can’t say that we know positively that it took place on the
yacht. No. We don’t _know_ anything.”
“Don’t know anything?” hastened Kennedy. “How’s that? Wasn’t the
conference amicable?”
“Well,” temporized Hastings, “I can’t say that it was especially. The
division was made. Marshall won control of the company――or at least
would have done so if the terms agreed on had been signed in the
morning. He agreed to form a syndicate to buy the others out, and the
price at which the stock was to be sold was fixed.”
“But did they dispute about anything?” persisted Kennedy, seeing how
the lawyer had evaded his question.
Hastings seemed rather to appreciate the insistence than to be annoyed
by it. So far, I could see that the great corporation lawyer was taking
Kennedy’s measure quite as much as Craig was doing the same by him.
“Yes,” he answered, “there was one thing that occasioned more dispute
than anything else. Maddox Munitions have purchased a wonderful new war
invention, the telautomaton――wireless control of submarines, torpedoes,
ships, vehicles, aeroplanes, everything,――the last word in the new
science of telautomatics.”
An exclamation of surprise escaped Kennedy. Often he and I had
discussed the subject and he had even done some work on it.
“Of course,” resumed Hastings, “we have had to acquire certain rights
and the basic, pioneer patents are not ours. But the manner in which
this telautomaton has been perfected over everything yet devised by
inventors renders it the most valuable single piece of property we
have. At last we have an efficient electric arm that we can stretch out
through space to do our work and fight our battles. Our system will
revolutionize industry as well as warfare.”
It was not difficult to catch the enthusiasm which Hastings showed over
the telautomaton. There was something fascinating about the very idea.
Kennedy, however, shook his head gravely. “Too big a secret to be in
the hands of a corporation,” he objected. “In warfare it should only
be possessed by the Government, and in industry it is――well, it is a
public service in itself. So that went to Marshall Maddox also?”
Hastings nodded.
“There will be trouble over that,” warned Kennedy. “Mark my words.
It is too big a secret.” For a moment he pondered, then changed the
subject. “What happened after the conference?”
“It was so late when we finished,” continued Hastings, “and there
were still some minor details to be cleared up in the morning. We all
decided to stay on the yacht rather than go ashore to the Harbor House.
The _Sybarite_ is a large yacht, and we each had a cabin, so that we
all turned in. There wasn’t much sociability in a crowd like that to
keep them up later than was necessary.”
“Yes,” prompted Kennedy as Hastings paused. “Marshall Maddox seemed all
right when he retired?”
“Perfectly. I went into his cabin and we chatted a few moments before
I went to mine, planning some steps we would take in the morning to
clear things up, especially to release all claims on the telautomaton.
I remember that Maddox seemed in very good spirits over the way things
had been going, though very tired. To my mind, that removes the
possibility of its having been suicide.”
“Nothing is impossible until it is proved so,” corrected Kennedy. “Go
on. Tell me how it was discovered.”
“I slept later than usual,” replied Hastings, seeking to get everything
in order. “The first thing I heard was Shelby’s Jap, Mito, rapping on
all the doors to make sure that we were awake. We had agreed to that.
Well, we gathered on the deck, all except Mr. Maddox. We waited, no one
thinking much about it except myself. I can’t say why it was, but I
felt uneasy. Mr. Maddox had always been so punctual and I had known him
so long. It was not like him to be the last on an occasion like this.
“Finally some one, I think it was Shelby, suggested that inasmuch as
I was in a sense his representative, I might go and hurry him up. I
was only too glad to go. I walked forward to the cabin he occupied and
rapped on the door. No answer. I tried the handle. To my surprise it
turned and I pushed the door open.”
“Don’t stop,” urged Kennedy, eagerly. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” replied Hastings. “There was nothing there. The bed had been
slept in. But Mr. Maddox was gone!”
“How about his clothes?”
“Just as he had left them.”
“What did you do next?”
“I shouted an alarm and they all came running to me. Shelby called the
crew, Mito, the steward, every one. We questioned them all. No one had
seen or heard anything out of the way.”
“At least that’s what everybody said,” observed Craig. “What then?”
“No one knew what to do. Just about that time, however, we heard a
horn on a small boat tooting shrilly, as though for help. It was an
oysterman on his way to the oyster beds. His kicker had stopped and he
was signaling, apparently for help. I don’t know why it was, but Mrs.
Walcott must have thought something was wrong. Even before one of the
crew could find out what was the matter she picked up a marine glass
lying on a wicker chair.
“‘It――it’s a body!’ she cried, dropping the glasses to the deck.
“That was enough for us. Like a flash it went through my mind that it
could be no other than Mr. Maddox.”
“What did you do then?”
“The most natural thing. We did not wait for the oysterman to come to
us. We piled into one of Shelby’s tenders and went to him. Sure enough,
the oysterman had found the body, floating in the bay.”
There was a trace of a tear in Hastings’s eye, and his voice faltered
a bit. I rather liked him better for it. Except for fear at the
revolver-shot, I had almost begun to think him devoid of feeling.
“So far as we could see,” he resumed, as though ashamed to show
weakness even over one whom he had known so long, “there was nothing
to show whether he might not have got up, fallen overboard in some
way, and have been drowned, or might have been the victim of foul
play――except one thing.”
“What was that?” inquired Kennedy, eagerly.
“Maddox and I had taken out with us, in a brief-case which he carried,
the plans of the telautomaton. The model is in the company’s safe here
in New York. This morning when we went back to Maddox’s room I found
that the brief-case was missing. The plans are gone! You were right.
There has been trouble over them.”
Kennedy eyed Hastings keenly. “You found nothing in the room that would
give a hint?”
“I didn’t look,” returned Hastings. “I sealed the door and window――or
port-hole――whatever you call it――had them locked and placed a wax seal
bearing the impression of my ring, so that if it is broken, I will know
by whom. Everything there is just as it was. I wanted it that way, for
I had heard of you, and determined to come to town myself and get you.”
“The body?”
“I had the oysterman take it to an undertaking establishment in the
town so that we would have witnesses of everything that happened after
its discovery.”
“Did any of them suggest a theory?” asked Kennedy, after a moment’s
thought. “Or say anything?”
Hastings nodded negatively. “I think we were all too busy watching one
another to talk,” he ventured. “I was the only one who acted, and they
let me go ahead. Perhaps none of them dared stop me.”
“You don’t mean that there was a conspiracy?” I put in.
“Oh no,” smiled Hastings, indulgently. “They could never have agreed
long enough, even against Marshall Maddox, to conspire. No, indeed. I
mean that if one had objected, he would immediately have laid himself
open to suspicion from the rest. We all went ashore together. And now I
must get back to Westport immediately. I’m not even going to take time
to go down to the office. Kennedy, will you come?”
“An unnecessary question,” returned Craig, rising. “A mystery like this
is the breath of my life. You could scarcely keep me away.”
“Thank you,” said Hastings. “You won’t regret it, financially or
otherwise.”
We went out into the hall, and Kennedy started to lock the laboratory
door, when Hastings drew back.
“You’ll pardon me?” he explained. “The shot was fired at me out here.
I naturally can’t forget it.”
With Kennedy on one side and myself on the other, all three of us on
the alert, we hurried out and into a taxicab to go down to the station.
As we jolted along Kennedy plied the lawyer with a rapid fire of
questions. Even he could furnish no clue as to who had fired the shot
at him or why.