you understand yet? It was she--set out to capture me--not I who sought
her. Ask anybody. They'll tell you. I begin to believe everybody knows
it--knew it long before even I saw it. How Lathrop could have missed it
so long is beyond me. Don't you see? It placed me in rather an awkward
position. I wanted to warn him--yet how could I? Of course I never
cared for her. The fact is that I have had to avoid her, even when
she tried to make some business deals through me. Why, only yesterday
Lathrop came to see me. It must have been just before he put that
advertisement in the papers. I had the very deuce of a time to make him
see the case. As luck would have it, though, Kennedy was there. I hope
he got an eyeful. Once before he saw me with her. It was when she was
trying to sell some stock."
Honora said nothing, though apparently the explanation was just what
she wanted to hear and it satisfied her.
I looked over at Craig. If it was true, I felt that it was greatly to
the credit of Shattuck, knowing his reputation. But was it true? Was
it not what he would have said to Honora, anyway? Might it not be that
he was laying the foundations for an alibi in case Kennedy or some one
else retailed stories to her?
"Are they still just as insolent up here to you?" he asked,
solicitously, after another silence, changing the subject to one more
intimate.
"Oh, Vance, it's awful!" she confessed.
"The deuce!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Sometimes I feel as though I could
fight the whole crowd of them, Kennedy included. It's an outrage, this
constant suspicion of you."
"But, Vance," she murmured, "you know you must be careful for yourself,
too."
"And you, Honora?" he replied. "Have you no need of help, no need of a
friend?"
It was evident that each feared for the other, recognizing the
suspicion under which both labored. More than that, there was genuine
regard between them, it was evident, tempered with restraint.
"I suppose you've heard that they've found a Calabar bean down in
Vail's office, on the floor?" asked Shattuck, hesitating, but finally
coming to a remark which evidently had been on his mind and cost him
something to make.
I was all ears, in hope that he would betray something about having
some of the beans in his own possession, or that Honora would betray
something about having Chase search Shattuck's apartment, if, indeed,
she had ordered the young detective to do it. But neither of them
said a word. Was it because they knew nothing, or was there a tacit
understanding between them never to mention some mutual secret?
"So I've been told," was the simple reply Honora made to Shattuck's
inquiry.
"Who told you?"
"Mr. Doyle, himself," she replied.
"Has Kennedy done anything?" he asked, quickly.
"I had another visit from him yesterday."
"What did he want this time?"
"He had a list of words--more of his science. I can't refuse to do what
he asks--and yet--I'm afraid. You know these scientists know so many
things that aren't so about women."
Kennedy nodded over at me. I knew what was passing in his mind. It was
surely strange to hear oneself discussed and I recalled the old adage
about eavesdroppers hearing nothing good of themselves. Besides, I
knew that his Freud theory had struck home. Honora's very anger at
the theory was proof enough that it struck home in one of her own
"complexes."
"Confound him!" muttered Shattuck. "I suppose you are right, though.
You know this ordeal bean from the Calabar? Of course you remember the
derivative from your father's place--the physostigmine. Well, the beans
are used in a queer, primitive sort of dueling by the natives. They cut
the beans in half. Each eats a half. It is a sort of a duel by ordeal."
"Yes," she answered, quickly. "So I've been told."
Kennedy nodded to me.
Neither of them said more about it. Was it because they recognized it
as a dangerous subject? Or had Honora really discovered the dictagraph
in her own home? In that case, this very conversation was being held
for our benefit, out of sheer bravado.
Nothing more of importance was said and we figuratively followed them
out into the hall and over a good-by that was considerably lengthened
by Shattuck and threatened to become sentimental. Only Honora
restrained it.
"What next?" I asked, as we could hear the slam of the door in the
Wilford apartment.
"I don't think I shall stay and listen here," concluded Kennedy. "I
can't see that we've found out a great deal, as it is. There are
several things that must be done immediately. First of all, I want to
see Lathrop. It may be that we'll find out something from him."
We made our way out of the apartment, as we had entered, trusting that
with our care we would not be observed.
A few minutes later we were at the door of the waiting-room of
Lathrop's office.
"Evidently he doesn't take the affair any too deeply," commented Craig.
I looked about. The office was as full of patients as ever, and he was
going about his professional work much as though nothing at all had
occurred to disturb his peace of mind.
We waited until the last patient had gone and finally were able to see
him alone.
"I can guess what you are here for," he greeted, without a trace of
embarrassment. "I suppose the afternoon papers will be full of it.
Already I've had a string of reporters--one from your own paper, Mr.
Jameson," he added, significantly--"a Miss Balcom. Do you know her?"
"Yes," I answered, as offhand as possible, "she is a very clever
writer. Did you--er--tell her any--"
"Not a word to say," he interrupted, bruskly, "not a word to say. I
refused to make any statement. What's the use? The fact stands for
itself."
In spite of what he said, it was evident that he would talk, at least a
bit.
"Then you knew all about--what was going on, all along?" inquired
Kennedy.
"I had my suspicions," the doctor replied, airily. "I cannot afford to
be held up to ridicule. It was a matter of saving my very career. As
for the Wilford story--pouf! I don't care a rap about it--that is, I
didn't until the gossips added the Shattuck scandal to it."
Whatever he might say, it was evident that his lips belied his real
feelings. He was really bitter both toward the memory of Wilford and
toward Shattuck as well, conceal it as much as he might try.
"Then you credit the Shattuck rumors?" demanded Kennedy.
"I won't say," snapped the doctor, testily.
"Where has Mrs. Lathrop gone?" asked Kennedy, point-blank.
"How do I know?" bridled Lathrop. "I've heard her talk about friends
at the Sainte-Germaine--perhaps you might find her there. You're a
detective," he added, coolly, then suddenly: "That's right. Get her
side of the story. Play it up, if you like. You might as well. Yes,
by all means. Then perhaps I can set you right on some points. Don't
mind _me_. Good morning, gentlemen," he bustled, taking up his black
doctor's bag. "I have a very serious case waiting for me."
Kennedy did not comment as we left, but beckoned quickly to a vacant
taxicab and we were whisked to the Sainte-Germaine.
I knew it was of no use to try to see Mrs. Lathrop in the ordinary
manner, and, therefore, adopted one of my many newspaper ruses to find
out where her room was and then to get to it.
As she opened the door to what seemed to be an innocent knock from a
chambermaid or bell-hop, she exclaimed in surprise at seeing Kennedy
and myself.
Almost, I exclaimed also. Vina Lathrop seemed to be a changed woman.
"Why have you followed me here?" she demanded. "Did _he_ send you--or
was it that woman?"
"Neither," returned Kennedy. "It's not so easy to hide away in New
York."
She did not move from the door, nor did she invite us in. Still, I
could see that she was there alone, that the "friends" whom Lathrop had
hinted at were either mythical or that she had not gone to them.
"I thought that perhaps you might like to tell us what the real reason
for the break was," hinted Kennedy. "Of course, Mrs. Lathrop, there's
no use for me to beat about the bush. You know and we know just what
the world is saying. If I might be of any assistance to you--putting
things straight, you know--"
He paused, endeavoring to see whether she showed any disposition to
talk.
For a moment she was silent, biting her lips.
"I never want to speak to him again," she burst out, passionately, at
length. "You will have to see Doctor Lathrop about that--at present,"
she added, sullenly.
"Does Mr. Shattuck know where you are?"
"I suppose every one will know--now," she cried, a look almost of alarm
crossing her now pale face. "Really--I have nothing to say. You must
see my--my lawyer."
"And he is--?"
"I shall let that be known--when I get ready," she blazed, turning.
"Now, might I ask you to leave me? I don't see how you got past the
floor clerk, anyhow. Good-by. I--I don't want to have a scene."
She closed the door and we heard the bolt shoot.
Somehow I could not help having my suspicions aroused by her very
manner, as we turned away. Did she know something--and was she really
afraid of us?
XVI
THE FINESSE
"What's the next move?" I inquired of Kennedy as we entered the
elevator.
He did not answer, and I thought it was because he did not care to do
so.
"Didn't like to talk, even though we were alone with the elevator boy,"
he explained, with his usual caution, when we had arrived at the ground
floor. "You never can tell who is listening in public places."
"No," I answered, dryly. "That was how I found out where she was in the
first place."
Kennedy smiled. "Very good, Walter. Still, it just goes to prove what I
said. Mrs. Lathrop might do the same thing to find out about us."
We sauntered along a few steps through the lobby in silence.
"I don't suppose Shattuck will be in his own apartment after that talk
with Honora," Kennedy considered, glancing at his watch. "Guess we'd
better try to see him at his office, if we want to see him anywhere."
I saw what he was thinking about--the relations of Vina and Shattuck
and the construction that Doctor Lathrop had put on them.
"The finding of that Calabar bean in Shattuck's apartment has puzzled
me," I confessed. "I've often wondered whether he ever missed it,
whether he knows."
"Just what I was thinking about," admitted Kennedy. "On the way
down-town I'm going to drop in and see Mrs. Wilford's detective, Chase."
"Why, Mr. Jameson, you've beaten me to it--and have you got the story?"
I turned in surprise at hearing my name spoken by a woman whom I hadn't
noticed. It was Belle Balcom, always enterprising and on the alert for
a good story for her column of society gossip.
"I thought I had a scoop," she pouted. "And I get here only to see you
coming out."
"Where did you find out?" I asked, in surprise, careful, however, not
to admit that I knew what she meant, although I was certain that it
must be to see Mrs. Lathrop that she had come.
"Never mind," Belle tantalized. "Where did you find out?"
"That would be telling," I begged the question, turning and introducing
Craig.
"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you," she smiled. "Of course I've heard a
great deal about you from Mr. Jameson and I've always admired your
wonderful work."
"Indeed you've helped us a great deal in this case, yourself,"
returned Craig, ignoring the flattery, as he always did.
"I'm so glad," thanked Belle, sincerely. "If there's anything I can do,
ever, I hope you'll ask me. It isn't often that I feel that the stuff I
do has any real importance. More often people think I'm a prying pest,
I imagine. But then without that eternal curiosity, who could write?
Isn't that so?" she appealed to me.
"Quite," I agreed.
"Especially in a woman," thrust Belle.
"I'm sure that can't be so," remarked Craig. "Reporters and detectives
have much in common. Women make good in both fields--very good."
Belle smiled. Sophisticated she might be. Yet no woman can be said
exactly to hate flattery of the right sort.
"How does Mrs. Lathrop take the affair--with bravado?" inquired Belle.
"You see, that expedition down to Greenwich Village with Mr. Jameson
has made me look on this case with a sort of proprietary interest."
Kennedy smiled seriously. "There, now," he nodded, "you're interviewing
_me_."
Belle smiled back in turn, taking the hint. "I'm sure you'd be hard to
interview, if you didn't want to be interviewed, Professor Kennedy,"
she said.
"How did you find out where she had gone--really?" I asked. "Tell us.
It might help--and you remember what you said just a moment ago."
Belle considered an instant.
"Well," she thought, "I don't know as it would be violating any
confidence, after all."
Kennedy, always thoughtful, had gradually edged our way into a sort of
alcove.
"You see," she began, "first I tried to get at Doctor Lathrop himself.
But I guess you must have been there first. He was barricaded, so to
speak. I posed as a patient, tried to think up all kinds of ailments I
could, just to get in. But he had an assistant who interviewed every
patient. I think that fellow would make a medical detective. I thought
I was clever, but he found me out and I was politely requested to step
outside."
I glanced at Kennedy. Evidently Lathrop did not intend to talk. Was it
wholly natural reticence?
"Then," resumed Belle to me, "I thought of our friend, Zona Dare. I
remembered that she had been intimate with Vina Lathrop. Zona wouldn't
say anything. But I didn't need that. From her I got the cue. I knew
she was keeping something from me, just knew it--woman's intuition, I
guess. I knew that Zona lived here at the Sainte-Germaine."
"But Mrs. Lathrop is alone," I hastened.
"Surely. You wouldn't see them together. Trust Zona. She's too clever
for that."
Again I glanced at Kennedy without getting anything from the expression
of his face. Was it a clue? Did it mean anything, this immediate appeal
by Vina for help from the Freudian interpreter of the Village?
We chatted a few minutes longer, as Kennedy turned away further
inquisitorial shafts of the clever reporter. However, somehow I felt
that Belle still had something on her mind.
"Then you aren't going to write it, after all?" she asked, eagerly, of
me, as Kennedy showed signs of leaving.
"Of course not," I assured. "It wouldn't look right--at this stage of
the case--for me to write, do you think? However, that's no reason why
_The Star_ shouldn't have the story."
She beamed.
"Very well, then. I'll try to get it," she replied, rather relieved at
the thought that whatever clever work she had done to get the tip that
had located Vina would not go for naught and would be credited to her.
We bowed ourselves away, leaving Belle the difficult and unenviable job
of getting at Mrs. Lathrop again, something I should not have wanted to
do, judging by the fiery glance that had been shot at us from behind
the slammed door.
"That will be a last straw to Vina Lathrop--when she knows the
newspapers have found her out here," I remarked, as we turned toward
the street entrance.
Kennedy drew me back and we sidled into the protection of the fronds of
a thick clump of palms.
I looked out cautiously. There was Doyle just coming up the steps of
the hotel.
Doyle bustled in, and we let him pass, unaccosted.
"Where did _he_ get his information?" I wondered.
"Not so difficult. If the police drag-net is out, a hotel like the
Sainte-Germaine isn't at all safe," replied Craig. "I imagine we can
leave Vina to their tender mercies--the police and the press."
We left the hotel hurriedly lest we might encounter any one else, and
a few minutes later found ourselves again at Chase's detective agency.
Chase was in and regarded us inquiringly as we entered.
"About this Lathrop case," introduced Kennedy. "You know that she was
very intimate with Mr. Shattuck."
Chase nodded.
"It occurred to me," went on Kennedy, "that since you were working for
Mrs. Wilford you might be able to help me. There were several things
you told me the other day that I've been thinking about."
Chase narrowed his eyes as if trying to fathom what Kennedy was
thinking. "I admit breaking into Shattuck's apartment," he said. "Do
you mean that?"
"Partly. Why did you do it?"
"It was to get some letters Mrs. Lathrop had written to him," returned
Chase, without quizzing.
"Did you get them?"
"I did."
"Where are they?"
Chase balked.
"Did you read them?"
"Yes," he answered, reluctantly.
"What was in them? Shattuck had been pursuing Mrs. Lathrop, hadn't he?"
fenced Kennedy, keenly.
"No--he had not. She had been pursuing him," snapped Chase, though why
he was so evidently put out about it I could not make out at first.
"How about that Calabar bean?"
"I found it in a cabinet, while I was searching for the letters," he
answered, his face betraying no expression.
"Why did you tell me that in the first place?" demanded Kennedy,
suddenly switching the subject. "Did you have any motive?"
"Motive? I thought you ought to know--that's all. He's not _my_ client,
you know."
"But he's a _friend_ of your client and--"
"Say, Kennedy, I know how Doyle has been hounding that poor little
woman. If you want the truth, I didn't tell Doyle because it wouldn't
do any good. I thought you could be _fair_."
"Well, what's your opinion?"
"I haven't any opinion. I know what I found. It's for you to have
an opinion. Besides, I won't sacrifice a client for a friend of the
client. Get me?" he asked, pointedly.
"She has won you, hasn't she?" asked Kennedy, somewhat, I thought, in
Doyle's style.
Chase looked at him a minute. "Say, Kennedy," he returned, "I've always
regarded you as something more than the rest of us."
He stopped as though he would have said more, but considered he had
said enough.
What he meant by his cryptic remarks I could not make out. Was he
determined to save his client, even at the cost of her lover? Kennedy's
face was inscrutable. If he knew what Chase meant, I am sure Chase read
no answer.
We left immediately afterward and soon were back again in the Subway.
As we waited for the train, Kennedy paced the platform.
"I think I'm right, Walter," he remarked. "The thing is to prove it.
I'm going to use a little more of Freud--to apply him to some detective
work--in other words, I'm going to play upon suppressed desires. Just
watch how it works."
Somewhat less than half an hour later we found ourselves in the
hurly-burly of the Wall Street district. Shattuck, I knew, had an
office around the corner not very far from that which Vail Wilford had
occupied.
Kennedy, who had been there before, easily located it and called the
floor from memory.
"It's not a large office," I remarked, as I followed Craig down the
hall and stopped before a single glass door that bore Shattuck's name,
adding, "Banker & Broker."
"But probably it's large enough for all the brokerage business that
Shattuck really does," he returned. "I have an idea that it is just
about enough to keep him from being classed as an idler. Besides, it
gives him standing."
Kennedy handed his card to the boy who presided over a sort of swinging
gate in the outer office.
The door to Shattuck's inner office happened to be open and we could
see him. Consequently it was not possible for him to send out word that
he was not in.
It was a rather nettled office-boy who returned to us.
"For what, may I ask, am I indebted to you for _this_ visit?" inquired
Shattuck with almost insulting bruskness as the boy stood at the door,
admitting us, then carefully closed the door to the outer office.
I felt angry at the tone, but Kennedy kept his temper admirably.
"I suppose," began Craig, clearing his throat and speaking as
deliberately as ever Shattuck did, "that you know the story about Mrs.
Lathrop?"
"Some one on the street called my attention to it," Shattuck
prevaricated, rather than admit interest.
"I thought you might be in a position to explain it--at least to throw
some light on it," pursued Kennedy, directly. "I'm quite interested,
naturally."
"Explain it?" flared Shattuck, eagerly seizing on something that
would divert the main issue. "Explain it? Why, you and Doyle and the
newspapers"--nodding insultingly at me--"ought to be able to do that
best, don't you think? It's you all that have caused a great deal of
trouble. Judging by what I read and hear, you know more about our
affairs in this case than we do ourselves. I'd suggest that perhaps our
positions should be reversed. I might appeal to you for information,
rather than have you coming around here appealing to me."
Not only was it what he said, but it was even more the tone and manner
in which he said it that seemed to rub Kennedy the wrong way. As for
myself, I must confess that I was boiling over at the bravado of the
man.
I would have come back with a quick remark--and probably have exposed
my hand and done exactly what Shattuck expected, for there was no
denying that he was clever with a gambler's cleverness and nerve.
It was not so with Kennedy. For a moment he paused, as though checking
a first remark; then he spoke in the same measured and considered tones
as at the start.
"I can tell you, Shattuck, that I don't like the attitude either you or
Mrs. Wilford assume."
Shattuck merely shrugged superciliously, and would have turned to some
papers on his desk, had not Kennedy possessed one of those compelling
personalities that demand that you hear them out, whether you like it
or not.
"Mrs. Wilford seems to have assumed a sort of passive attitude toward
me," Kennedy resumed.
"You don't expect her to help you?" inquired Shattuck.
"As for yourself," continued Craig, unperturbed, "I am frankly of the
opinion, Shattuck, that your attitude is quite one of open hostility. I
would not presume to dictate to either of you how you should order your
conduct--but--it seems to me that, under the circumstances, it might
not be unwise to take care not to prejudice your cases, you know."
Shattuck involuntarily shot a quick glance from under his heavy
eyebrows at Kennedy. But not even Shattuck's cleverness could read
anything in Craig's face.
What is it that this man knows? Quite apparently that was the sudden
thought working back of Shattuck's beetling brows.
"For instance," continued Kennedy, as though determined to have his way
in the matter and ram the words down Shattuck's throat, "I am sure you
know of that Calabar bean which I--or rather Mr. Jameson--discovered in
Mr. Wilford's office--not very far away from here, I see."
Shattuck's face was a study. Not once did the man lose his poise. It
was not that.
"Well, it raises some interesting problems. I won't say that I
haven't settled them. But, for the sake of argument, let us take the
circumstance--just in itself."
Shattuck calmly lighted a cigarette and deliberately inhaled it, bored.
"Of course," Craig went on, after a pause, "we all know that Doctor
Lathrop is a doctor and hence likely to dabble in almost anything
relating to his profession. Perhaps he knew of the existence and the
properties of the Calabar bean. Quite certainly, I should say. No doubt
he has used the drug--physostigmine. In fact, he tells me he has. Very
well, then. So much for that.
"Take yourself, for example. I think I recall seeing many African
trophies in that very cozy den of yours. Now, the Calabar bean is
well known in Africa, not only in the Calabar, on the west coast,
but in many other parts of the continent that travelers and tourists
visit. So, you see, although at first sight such a bean might seem to
have very little to do with a prosperous broker on Broad Street, it
is not impossible that a judge or jury--or a detective--might see a
connection."
Kennedy paused to watch the effect of the home thrust. I cannot say
that Shattuck even winced. He was a man with too much control over
himself for that. I longed for some of the psychological laboratory
instruments that will reveal, often, what a nerve-strong exterior hides.
"But, quite more important still," continued Kennedy, "is the fact
that the bean, or rather its derivative, physostigmine--which we know
was the poison that killed Wilford--is known and used by oculists
for its curious effect on the pupils. Now, from what I have learned
on unimpeachable authority about Mrs. Wilford as a girl, her father,
Honore Chappelle, a Frenchman, was a well-known oculist. He had no sons
and often used to wish that his only child had not been a girl. For a
time he had some vague idea, I believe, that his daughter might take
up his place in the business. However, that was merely fanciful. As
Honora grew to womanhood and tasted the advantages of the not small
fortune her father had piled up, the social life appealed to her. And
yet, in the girlhood days, who shall say she did not learn something of
the Calabar bean, of the drug, and of its properties? It would be most
unlikely if she did not."
Kennedy paused for a moment, leaving Shattuck almost speechless and
hiding a secret fear.
"You can draw your own conclusions from what I have just said,"
finished Craig. "Sometimes, you know, actions speak louder than words."