steps hurriedly.
"I was just thinking of you, Craig," he beamed as we all shook
hands, "and wondering whether you and Walter were in town. I think
I should have come up to see you to-night, anyhow."
"Why, what's the matter - more, sugar frauds?" laughed Kennedy.
"Or perhaps you have caught another art dealer red-handed?"
"No, not exactly," replied Herndon, growing graver for the moment.
"We're having a big shake-up down at the office, none of your 'new
broom' business, either. Real reform it is, this time."
"And you - are you going or coming?" inquired Craig with an
interested twinkle.
"Coming, Craig, coming," answered Jack enthusiastically. "They've
put me in charge of a sort of detective force as a special deputy
surveyor to rout out some smuggling that we know is going on. If
I make good it will go a long way for me - with all this talk of
efficiency and economy down in Washington these days."
"What's on your mind now?" asked Kennedy observantly. "Can I help
you in any way?" Herndon had taken each of us by an arm and walked
us over to a stone bench in the shade of the library building.
"You have read the accounts in the afternoon papers of the peculiar
death of Mademoiselle Violette, the little French modiste, up here
on Forty-sixth Street?" he inquired.
"Yes," answered Kennedy. "What has that to do with customs reform?"
"A good deal, I fear," Herndon continued. "It's part of a case that
has been bothering us all summer. It's the first really big thing
I've been up against and it's as ticklish a bit of business as even
a veteran treasury agent could wish."
Herndon looked thoughtfully at the passing crowd on the other side
of the balustrade and continued. "It started, like many of our
cases, with the anonymous letter writer. Early in the summer the
letters began to come in to the deputy surveyor's office, all
unsigned, though quite evidently written in a woman's hand,
disguised of course, and on rather dainty notepaper. They warned
us of a big plot to smuggle gowns and jewellery from Paris.
Smuggling jewellery is pretty common because jewels take up little
space and are very valuable. Perhaps it doesn't sound to you like
a big thing to smuggle dresses, but when you realise that one of
those filmy lacy creations may often be worth several hundred, if
not thousand, dollars, and that it needs only a few of them on
each ship that comes in to run up into the thousands, perhaps
hundreds of thousands in a season, you will see how essential it is
to break up that sort of thing. We've been getting after the
individual private smugglers pretty sharply this summer and we've
had lots of criticism. If we could land a big fellow and make an
object-lesson of the extent of the thing I believe it would leave
our critics of the press without a leg to stand on.
"At least that was why I was interested in the letters. But it was
not until a few days ago that we got a tip that gave us a real
working clue, for the anonymous letters had been very vague as to
names, dates, and places, though bold enough as to general charges,
as if the writer were fearful of incriminating herself - or himself.
Strange to say, this new clue came from the wife of one of the
customs men. She happened to be in a Broadway manicure shop one
day when she heard a woman talking with the manicurist about fall
styles, and she was all attention when she heard the customer say,
'You remember Mademoiselle Violette's - that place that had the
exquisite things straight from Paris, and so cheaply, too? Well,
Violette says she'll have to raise her prices so that they will be
nearly as high as the regular stores. She says the tariff has gone
up, or something, but it hasn't, has it?"
"The manicurist laughed knowingly, and the next remark caught the
woman's attention. 'No, indeed. But then, I guess she meant that
she had to pay the duty now. You know they are getting much
stricter. To tell the truth, I imagine most of Violette's goods
were - well - '
"'Smuggled?' supplied the customer in an undertone.
"The manicurist gave a slight shrug of the shoulders and a bright
little yes of a laugh.
"That was all. But it was enough. I set a special customs officer
to watch Mademoiselle, a clever fellow. He didn't have time to
find out much, but on the other hand I am sure he didn't do anything
to alarm Mademoiselle. That would have been a bad game. His case
was progressing favourably and he had become acquainted with one of
the girls who worked in the shop. We might have got some evidence,
but suddenly this morning he walked up to my desk and handed me an
early edition of an afternoon paper. Mademoiselle Violette had been
discovered dead in her shop by the girls when they came to work
this morning. Apparently she had been there all night, but the
report was quite indefinite and I am on my way up there now to meet
the coroner, who has agreed to wait for me."
"You think there is some connection between her death and the
letters?" put in Craig.
"Of course I can't say, yet," answered Herndon dubiously. "The
papers seem to think it was a suicide. But then why should she
commit suicide? My man found out that among the girls it was common
gossip that she was to marry Jean Pierre, the Fifth Avenue jeweller,
of the firm of Lang & Pierre down on the next block. Pierre is due
in New York on La Montaigne to-night or to-morrow morning.
"Why, if my suspicions are correct, it is this Pierre who is the
brains of the whole affair. And here's another thing. You know we
have a sort of secret service in Paris and other European cities
which is constantly keeping an eye on purchases of goods by Americans
abroad. Well, the chief of our men in Paris cables me that Pierre
is known to have made extraordinarily heavy purchases of made-up
jewellery this season. For one thing, we believe he has acquired
from a syndicate a rather famous diamond necklace which it has
taken years to assemble and match up, worth about three hundred
thousand. You know the duty on made-up jewellery is sixty per cent.,
and even if he brought the stones in loose it would be ten per cent.,
which on a valuation of, say, two hundred thousand, means twenty
thousand dollars duty alone. Then he has a splendid 'dog collar' of
pearls, and, oh, a lot of other stuff. I know because we get our
tips from all sorts of sources and they are usually pretty straight.
Some come from dealers who are sore about not making sales
themselves. So you see there is a good deal at stake in this case
and it may be that in following it out we shall kill more than one
bird. I wish you'd come along with me up to Mademoiselle Violette's
and give me an opinion."
Craig had already risen from the bench and we were walking up the
Avenue.
The establishment of Mademoiselle Violette consisted of a three-story
and basement brownstone house in which the basement and first floor
had been remodelled for business purposes. Mademoiselle's place,
which was on the first floor, was announced to the world by a neat
little oval gilt sign on the hand railing of the steps.
We ascended and rang the bell. As we waited I noticed that there
were several other modistes on the same street, while almost directly
across was a sign which proclaimed that on September 15 Mademoiselle
Gabrielle would open with a high class exhibition of imported gowns
from Paris.
We entered. The coroner and an undertaker were already there, and
the former was expecting Herndon. Kennedy and I had already met him
and he shook hands cordially.
Mademoiselle Violette, it seemed, had rented the entire house and
then had sublet the basement to a milliner, using the first floor
herself, the second as a workroom for the girls whom she employed,
while she lived on the top floor, which had been fitted for light
housekeeping with a kitchenette. It was in the back room of the
shop itself on the first floor that her body had been discovered,
lying on a davenport.
"The newspaper reports were very indefinite," began Herndon,
endeavouring to take in the situation. "I suppose they told nearly
all the story, but what caused her death? Have you found that out
yet? Was it poison or violence?
The coroner said nothing, but with a significant glance at Kennedy
he drew a peculiar contrivance from his pocket. It had four round
holes in it and through each hole he slipped a finger, then closed
his hand, and exhibited his clenched fist. It looked as if he wore
a series of four metal rings on his fingers.
"Brass knuckles?" suggested Herndon, looking hastily at the body,
which showed not a sign of violence on the stony face.
The coroner shook his head knowingly. Suddenly he raised his fist.
I saw him press hard with his thumb on the upper end of the metal
contrivance. From the other end, just concealed under his little
linger, there shot out as if released by a magic spring a thin keen
little blade of the brightest and toughest steel. He was holding,
instead of a meaningless contrivance of four rings, a most dangerous
kind of stiletto or dagger upraised. He lifted his thumb and the
blade sprang back into its sheath like an extinguished spark of light.
"An Apache dagger, such as is used in the underworld of Paris," broke
out Kennedy, his eyes gleaming with interest.
The coroner nodded. "We found it," he said, "clasped loosely in her
hand. But it is only by expert medical testimony that we can
determine whether it was placed on her fingers before or after this
happened. We have photographed it, and the prints are being
developed."
He had now uncovered the slight figure of the little French modiste.
On the dress, instead of the profuse flow of blood which we had
expected to see, there was a single round spot. And in the white
marble skin of her breast was a little, nearly microscopic puncture,
directly over the heart.
"She must have died almost instantly," commented Kennedy, glancing
from the Apache weapon to the dead woman and back again. "Internal
hemorrhage. I suppose you have searched her effects. Have you
found anything that gives a hint among them?"
"No," replied the coroner doubtfully, "I can't say we have - unless
it is the bundle of letters from Pierre, the jeweller. They seem
to have been engaged, and yet the letters stopped abruptly, and,
well, from the tone of the last one from him I should say there was
a quarrel brewing."
An exclamation from Herndon followed. "The same notepaper and the
same handwriting as the anonymous letters," he cried.
But that was all. Go over the ground as Kennedy might he could find
nothing further than the coroner and Herndon had already revealed.
"About these people, Lang & Pierre," asked Craig thoughtfully when
we had left Mademoiselle's and were riding downtown to the customs
house with Herndon. "What do you know about them? I presume that
Lang is in America, if his partner is abroad."
"Yes, he is here in New York. I believe the firm has a rather
unsavoury reputation; they have to be watched, I am told. Then,
too, one or the other of the partners makes frequent trips abroad,
mostly Pierre. Pierre, as you see, was very intimate with
Mademoiselle, and the letters simply confirm what the girls told
my detective. He was believed to be engaged to her and I see no
reason now to doubt that. The fact is, Kennedy, it wouldn't
surprise me in the least to learn that it was he who engineered
the smuggling for her as well as himself."
"What about the partner? What role does he play in your suspicions?"
"That's another curious feature. Lang doesn't seem to bother much
with the business. He is a sort of silent partner, although
nominally the head of the firm. Still, they both seem always to be
plentifully supplied with money and to have a good trade. Lang
lives most of the time up on the west shore of the Hudson, and seems
to be more interested in his position as commodore of the Riverledge
Yacht Club than in his business down here. He is quite a sport, a
great motor-boat enthusiast, and has lately taken to hydroplanes."
"I meant," repeated Kennedy, "what about Lang and Mademoiselle
Violette. Were they - ah - friendly?"
"Oh," replied Herndon, seeming to catch the idea. "I see. Of course
- Pierre abroad and Lang here. I see what you mean. Why, the girl
told my man that Mademoiselle Violette used to go motor-boating with
Lang, but only when her fianc=82, Pierre, was along. No, I don't think
she ever had anything to do with Lang, if that's what you are driving
at. He may have paid attentions to her, but Pierre was her lover, and
I haven't a doubt but that if Lang made any advances she repelled them.
She seems to have thought everything of Pierre."
We had reached Herndon's office by this time. Leaving word with his
stenographer to get the very latest reports from La Montaigne, he
continued talking to us about his work.
Dressmakers, milliners, and jewellers are our worst offenders now,"
he remarked as we stood gazing out of the window at the panorama of
the bay off the sea-wall of the Battery. "Why, time and again we
unearth what looks for all the world like a 'dressmakers' syndicate,'
though this case is the first I've had that involved a death.
Really, I've come to look on smuggling as one of the fine arts among
crimes. Once the smuggler, like the pirate and the highwayman, was
a sort of gentleman-rogue. But now it has become a very ladylike
art. The extent of it is almost beyond belief, too. It begins with
the steerage and runs right up to the absolute unblushing cynicism
of the first cabin. I suppose you know that women, particularly a
certain brand of society women, are the worst and most persistent
offenders. Why, they even boast of it. Smuggling isn't merely
popular, it's aristocratic. But we're going to take some of the
flavour out of it before we finish."
He tore open a cable message which a boy had brought in. "Now,
take this, for instance," he continued. "You remember the sign
across the street from Mademoiselle Violette's, announcing that a
Mademoiselle Gabrielle was going to open a salon or whatever they
call it? Well, here's another cable from our Paris Secret Service
with a belated tip. They tell us to look out for a Mademoiselle
Gabrielle on La Montaigne, too. That's another interesting thing.
You know the various lines are all ranked, at least in our estimation,
according to the likelihood of such offences being perpetrated by
their passengers. We watch ships from London, Liverpool, and Paris
most carefully. Scandinavian ships are the least likely to need
watching. Well, Miss Roberts?"
"We have just had a wireless about La Montaigne," reported his
stenographer, who had entered while he was speaking, " and she is
three hundred miles east of Sandy Hook. She won't dock until
tomorrow."
"Thank you. Well, fellows, it is getting late and that means nothing
more doing to-night. Can you be here early in the morning? We'll go
down the bay and 'bring in the ship,' as our men call it when the
deputy surveyor and his acting deputies go down to meet it at
Quarantine. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your kindness in
helping me. If my men get anything connecting Lang with Mademoiselle
Violette's case I'll let you know immediately."
It was a bright clear snappy morning, in contrast with the heat of
the day before, when we boarded the revenue tug at the Barge Office.
The waters of the harbour never looked more blue as they danced in
the early sunlight, flecked here and there by a foaming whitecap as
the conflicting tides eddied about. The shores of Staten Island
were almost as green as in the spring, and even the haze over the
Brooklyn factories had lifted. It looked almost like a stage scene,
clear and sharp, new and brightly coloured.
Perhaps the least known and certainly one of the least recognised
of the government services is that which includes the vigilant
ships of the revenue service. It was not a revenue cutter, however,
on which we were ploughing down the bay. The cutter lay, white
and gleaming in the morning sun, at anchor off Stapleton, like a
miniature warship, saluting as we passed. The revenue boats which
steam down to Quarantine and make fast to the incoming ocean
greyhounds are revenue tugs.
Down the bay we puffed and buffeted for about forty minutes before
we arrived at the little speck of an island that is Quarantine.
Long before we were there we sighted the great La Montaigne
near the group of buildings on the island, where she had been
waiting since early morning for the tide and the customs officials.
The tug steamed alongside, and quickly up the high ladders swarmed
the boarding officer and the deputy collectors. We followed
Herndon straight to the main saloon, where the collectors began to
receive the declarations which had been made out on blanks furnished
to the passengers on the voyage over. They had had several days to
write them out - the less excuse for omissions.
Glancing at each hastily the collector detached from it the slip
with the number at the bottom and handed the number back, to be
presented at the inspector's desk at the pier, where customs
inspectors were assigned in turn.
"Number 140 is the one we want to watch," I heard Herndon whisper
to Kennedy. "That tall dark fellow over there."
I followed his direction cautiously and saw a sparely built, striking
looking man who had just filed his declaration and was chatting
vivaciously with a lady who was just about to file hers. She was a
clinging looking little thing with that sort of doll-like innocence
that deceives nobody.
"No, you don't have to swear to it," he said. "You used to do that,
but now you simply sign your name and take a chance," he added,
smiling and showing a row of perfect teeth.
"Number 156," Herndon noted as the collector detached the stub and
handed it to her. "That was Mademoiselle Gabrielle."
The couple passed out to the deck, still chatting gaily.
"In the old days, before they got to be so beastly particular," I
heard him say, "I always used to get the courtesy of the port, an
official expedite. But that is over now."
The ship was now under way, her flags snapping in the brisk coolish
breeze that told of approaching autumn. We had passed up the lower
bay and the Narrows, and the passengers were crowded forward to
catch the first glimpse of the skyscrapers of New York.
On up the bay we ploughed, throwing the spray proudly as we went.
Herndon employed the time in keeping a sharp watch on the tall,
thin man. Incidentally he sought out the wireless operator and
from him learned that a code wireless message had been received for
Pierre, apparently from his partner, Lang.
"There is no mention of anything dutiable in this declaration by
140 which corresponds with any of the goods mentioned in the first
cable from Paris," a collector remarked unobtrusively to Herndon,
"nor in 156 corresponding to the second cable."
"I didn't suppose there would be," was his laconic reply. "That's
our job - to=20find the stuff."
At last La Montaigne was warped into the dock. The piles of
first-class baggage on the ship were raucously deposited on the
wharf and slowly the passengers filed down the plank to meet the
line of white-capped uniformed inspectors and plain-clothes
appraisers. The comedy and tragedy of the customs inspection had
begun.
We were among the first to land. Herndon took up a position from
which he could see without being seen. In the semi-light of the
little windows in the enclosed sides of the pier, under the steel
girders of the arched roof like a vast hall, there was a panorama
of a huge mass of open luggage.
At last Number 140 came down, alone, to the roped-off dock. He
walked nonchalantly over to the little deputy surveyor's desk, and
an inspector was quickly assigned to him. It was all done neatly
in the regular course of business apparently. He did not know that
in the orderly rush the sharpest of Herndon's men had been picked
out, much as a trick card player will force a card on his victim.
Already the customs inspection was well along. One inspector had
been assigned to about each five passengers, and big piles of finery
were being remorselessly tumbled out in shapeless heaps and exposed
to the gaze of that part of the public which was not too much
concerned over the same thing as to its own goods and chattels.
Reticules and purses were being inspected. Every trunk was presumed
to have a false bottom, and things wrapped up in paper were viewed
suspiciously and unrolled. Clothes were being shaken and pawed.
There did not seem to be much opportunity for concealment.
Herndon now had donned the regulation straw hat of the appraiser,
and accompanied by us, posing as visitors, was sauntering about.
At last we came within earshot of the spot where the inspector was
going through the effects of 140.
Out of the corner of my eyes I could see that a dispute was in
progress over some trifling matter. The man was cool and calm.
"Call the appraiser, he said at last, with the air of a man standing
on his rights. "I object to this frisking of passengers. Uncle Sam
is little better than a pickpocket. Besides, I cans I wait here all
day. My partner is waiting for me uptown."
Herndon immediately took notice. But it was quite evidently, after
all, only an altercation for the benefit of those who were watching.
I am sure he knew he was being watched, but as the dispute proceeded
he assumed the look of a man keenly amused. The matter, involving
only a few dollars, was finally adjusted by his yielding gracefully
and with an air of resignation. Still Herndon did not go and I am
sure it annoyed him.
Suddenly he turned and faced Herndon. I could not help thinking,
in spite of all that he must be so expert, that, if he really were
a smuggler, he had all the poise and skill at evasion that would
entitle him to be called a past master of the art.
"You see that woman over there? "he whispered. "She says she is
just coming home after studying music in Paris."
We looked. It was the guileless ingenue, Mademoiselle Gabrielle.
"She has dutiable goods, all right. I saw her declaration. She
is trying to bring in as personal effects of a foreign resident
gowns which, I believe, she intends to wear on the stage. She's an
actress."
There was nothing for Herndon to do but to act on the tip. The man
had got rid of us temporarily, but we knew the inspector would be,
if anything, more vigilant. I think he took even longer than usual.
Mademoiselle Gabrielle and her maid pouted and fussed over the
renewed examination which Herndon ordered. According to the inspector
everything was new and expensive; according to her, old, shabby, and
cheap. She denied everything, raged and threatened. But when,
instead of ordering the stamp "Passed" to be placed on her half dozen
trunks and bags which contained in reality only a few dutiable
articles, Herndon threatened to order them to the appraiser's stores
and herself to go to the Law Division if she did not admit the points
in dispute, there was a real scene.
"Generally, madame," he remonstrated, though I could see he was
baffled at finding nothing of the goods he had really expected to
find, "generally even for a first offence the goods are confiscated
and the court or district attorney is content to let the person off
with a fine. If this happens again we'll be more severe. So you
had better pay the duty on these few little matters, without that."
If he had been expecting to "throw a scare "into her, it did not
succeed. "Well, I suppose if I must, I must," she said, and the
only result of the diversion was that she paid a few dollars more
than had been expected and went off in a high state of mind.
Herndon had disappeared for a moment, after a whisper from Kennedy,
to instruct two of his men to shadow Mademoiselle Gabrielle and,
later, Pierre. He soon rejoined us and we casually returned to
the vicinity of our tall friend, Number 140, for whom I felt even
less respect than ever after his apparently ungallant action toward
the lady he had been talking with. He seemed to notice my attitude
and he remarked defensively for my benefit, "Only a patriotic act."