Kennedy was waiting impatiently for me at the laboratory and enjoyed a
quiet laugh at my expense when I told him of my fiasco in untangling
the secret of Paquita.
“Is there any news?” I asked, hastily endeavoring to change the subject.
“Yes,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “Irene Maddox and Winifred
have come in to town on a later train. As nearly as I can make out
they’ve joined forces. They have a common hatred of Paquita, whatever
else they may lack.”
“How do you know they are here?” I queried.
“They have called me up and made an appointment to meet me at the
laboratory. They ought to be here any minute, now. I’m glad you came.
I shouldn’t like to meet them alone. I’d rather have some one as a
witness. It’s strange that they should be seeking to have me work for
them,” considered Kennedy.
“What do you mean,” I asked. “Hastings sought you out first. It may be
quite natural that Irene Maddox should consult the detective retained
by her former husband’s lawyer in such a case. Have any of the others
been after you?”
“Yes,” he replied, thoughtfully. “After I left you this morning I had a
most peculiar experience. Shelby Maddox is either the most artless or
else the most artful of all of them.”
“How is that?” I inquired.
“Just as I said,” repeated Kennedy. “Shelby hurried into one of those
slot-machine telephone booths in the station and I slipped into the
next one. Instead of calling up, I put my ear to the wall and listened.
There wasn’t anything much to what he said. It was merely a call to
his lawyer, Harvey, telling him that he was on his way down-town. The
strange thing came afterward. By that time the station was cleared of
those who had come on the train. Shelby happened to glance into the
other booth as he left his own and saw me in the act of making a fake
telephone call. Instead of going away, he waited. When I came out, he
looked about quickly to see if we were alone, then took my arm and
hurried me into another part of the station. I didn’t know what was
coming, but I was hardly prepared for what he said.”
“And that was?” I asked, eagerly.
“That I work for him, too, in the case,” exclaimed Kennedy, to my utter
surprise.
“Work for him?” I repeated. “Was it a stall?”
Kennedy shook his head doubtfully. “I’m not prepared to say. It was
either clever or simple. He even asked me to go down-town with him and
see Harvey.”
“And you went?”
“Certainly. But I can’t say I learned anything new. I haven’t quite
decided whether it was because they knew too much or too little.”
“Are you going to do it? What did you tell him?”
“I told him quite frankly that as long as I had come into the case as I
was――without mentioning any names or facts――the best I could do was to
see that he got a square deal.”
“Did that satisfy him?”
“Not much. But it was all that I would say. At least it gave me a
chance to study him at close range.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Shelby Maddox is nobody’s fool,” replied Kennedy, slowly. “I may not
know his story yet, but I have begun to get his number.”
“How about Harvey?”
“A very clever lawyer. Shelby will keep out of a great deal of trouble
if he takes Harvey’s advice.”
The sound of footsteps down the hall outside interrupted us, and an
instant later the laboratory door opened. Irene Maddox entered first
and for a moment Winifred stood in the doorway, rather timidly, as
though not yet quite convinced that she was right in coming to Kennedy.
Kennedy advanced to greet them, but still Winifred did not seem to be
thoroughly reassured that the visit was just the proper thing. She
looked about curiously at the instruments and exhibits which Kennedy
had collected in his long warfare of science against crime, and it
was evident that she would a great deal rather have had this a social
visit than one in connection with the case. I guessed that it was Irene
Maddox who had urged her on.
“I――we’ve come to see you about that woman, Paquita,” began Mrs.
Maddox, almost before she had settled herself in one of our
easy-chairs, which Craig had installed to promote confidences on the
part of his clients.
Mrs. Maddox’s voice was trembling slightly with emotion and Winifred’s
quick glance at Kennedy indicated that Paquita had furnished the
leverage by which Mrs. Maddox had persuaded Winifred to accompany her.
“Yes,” encouraged Kennedy, “we have been watching the young lady――and
others――with some interest. Do you know anything about her that you
think we ought to know?”
“Know anything?” repeated Mrs. Maddox, bitterly. “I ought to know that
woman.”
Her feelings were easily understood, although as far as I could see
that did us very little good in getting at the real mystery that
surrounded the little dancer.
“You must have noticed,” went on Mrs. Maddox, nervously, “how she is
hanging around out there. For weeks and months I have been watching
that woman. Sometimes I think they are all in league against me――the
lawyers, the detectives, everybody.”
Kennedy was about to say something, then checked himself. How could we
know but that this was merely an attempt to find out just how much it
was we knew? I longed to ask about Sanchez, yet felt that it would be
better not to disclose how much――or rather how little――we actually had
discovered.
“Why,” she continued, “it even seems as if her hostility was leveled
against Winifred, too.”
Winifred said nothing, though it was evident that she was consumed with
curiosity to find out what hold, if any, Paquita had on Shelby.
“Then you really do not know who or what Paquita is?” asked Kennedy,
directly.
“I know that she is an adventuress,” asserted Mrs. Maddox. “Mr.
Hastings has always professed to know nothing of her. At least so he
has said. Even when I have watched her I must admit I have found out
only what she was doing at that time. But my intuition tells me that
there is something more. Oh, Professor Kennedy, is there no such thing
as _justice_ in this world? Must that woman continue to flaunt herself
brazenly before me? Cannot you _do_ something?”
“You may depend on it,” assured Kennedy. “I shall make my
investigation――arrive at the truth. Even my own client cannot prevent
me from doing that. And if I find that an injustice is being done, you
may be sure that I will do my best to set it straight. More than that
I could not say even to Shelby Maddox this morning when he asked me to
take up the case for him.”
Both women glanced quickly at Kennedy. The mention of Shelby’s name
came, quite apparently, as a surprise to them. Winifred seemed rather
more reticent now than ever before. It was evident that Irene Maddox
had not succeeded in what she had intended. Yet she did not betray her
disappointment.
“Thank you,” she said, rising. “Then I may expect you to help me――I
mean us?”
“In every way in my power,” promised Kennedy, accompanying them to the
door.
Kennedy looked after them as the door closed. “I wonder what that visit
was for,” he considered as their footsteps died away.
Having no answer for the query, I attempted none.
“What has Burke been doing?” I inquired, suddenly recollecting the
Secret Service man. “Have you heard anything from him to-day since we
came to the city?”
“Yes,” he replied, opening a cabinet. “Burke has undertaken some work
along another line in tracing out the telautomaton robbery and what may
have become of that model. I haven’t heard from him and I don’t imagine
that anything will develop right away in that direction.”
“What is that?” I inquired, watching Craig as he took from one cabinet
an apparatus which appeared to consist of two coils, or rather sets
of wires, placed on the ends of a magnet bar. He began to adjust the
thing, and I saw from the care with which he was working that it must
be an instrument of some delicacy.
“Just an instrument that may enable me to discover how that attack was
made on you last night,” Kennedy answered, perfunctorily, forgetting
even my question as he worked over the thing.
For several minutes I watched him, wondering at the strange turn of
events that had sent both Shelby and Winifred secretly to Kennedy.
“By the way,” exclaimed Craig, suddenly looking at his watch, “if we
are to meet Hastings and accomplish anything we had better be on our
way down there.”
In the Subway Kennedy relapsed into a brown study of the events of the
day, only breaking away from his reverie as, above the rattle and bang
of the train, he tapped the package he was carrying.
“I was just thinking of that garage incident of yours last night,” he
remarked. “What struck you as being peculiar about it?”
“The whole thing,” I replied, smiling weakly. “I leaned into
trouble――and got it.”
“Just so,” he returned. “Well, do you realize that the only mention we
made of the garage was when we were talking in Hastings’s office? Think
it over.”
He relapsed again into his study and nothing more was said until we
arrived at Wall Street.
Hastings was waiting for us, nervously pacing the floor. Evidently the
warning Kennedy had given had impressed him. He had been so afraid of
even his own shadow that he had scarcely transacted any business at all
that day.
“Kennedy, I’m glad to see you,” he greeted. “What has happened to-day?
What’s that?”
“Nothing much,” returned Craig, vaguely, although his face was not
at all vague, for he had placed his finger on his lips and was most
vigorously pantomiming caution.
Carefully he unwrapped the paper about the coils I had seen. Then he
set the instrument on Hastings’s desk, unscrewed an electric-light
bulb from its socket and attached a wire to the socket. After a final
careful adjustment he placed something to his ear and began walking
quietly about the room, a tense, abstracted, far-away look on his face,
as now and then he paused and listened, holding the free end of the
apparatus near the wall, or a piece of furniture, wherever he chanced
to be.
What he was looking for neither of us could guess, but his caution had
been emphatic enough to halt any question we might have.
Over and over he passed the free end of the apparatus along wall and
floor. At each stop he seemed to be considering something carefully,
then with a negative nod to himself went on.
This had been going on for some fifteen minutes, when he stopped in the
corner back of a coat-tree. He looked about as he pulled the thing
from his ear, saw a heavy pair of shears on Hastings’s desk, and seized
them.
Deliberately he dug into the plaster of the wall, while Hastings and I
bent over anxiously.
He had not gone half an inch before he began to scrape very carefully,
as though he were afraid of hurting something alive.
I looked. There, in the wall, back of the plaster, hung a little
telltale black disk. I recognized it the instant I saw it and turned
quickly, just in time to prevent a question from Hastings.
Some one had been using the detectaphone against us!
Though not a word was said, I realized vaguely what Kennedy later
explained. He had suspected it and had made use of a method of finding
pipes and metals electrically, when concealed in walls under plaster
and paper.
It was a special application of the well-known induction balance
principle. One set of coils on the magnet bar received an alternating
or vibrating current. The other was connected with a little sensitive
telephone. Craig had first established a balance so that there was
no sound in the telephone. When the device came near metal piping
the balance was destroyed and a sound was heard in the telephone.
He had located all the water, steam, and other pipes, the wires
from the telephone, the messenger-call box, and other things. There
still remained one other pair of wires unaccounted for. The balance
had located their existence and exact position. Clever though the
installation of the little mechanical eavesdropper had been as an aid
to crime, Craig’s detectaphone detector had uncovered it!
Impulsively I seized at the devilish little black disk that had
forewarned some one and had nearly cost me my life. I started to yank
at it. The wires yielded their slack, but before I could give them a
final pull Kennedy grasped my hand.
Without a word he wrote on a pad on the desk:
“Leave it there. They don’t know we’ve found it. We can use it against
them!”