gathering headway. As her stern sank and finally the bow dipped into
the water, cheers broke forth. Then a cloud of smoke hid her. There was
an ominous silence. Was she wrecked, at last, after all? A puff of wind
cleared the smoke.
"Just the friction of the ways--set the grease on fire," shouted
Marlowe. "It always does that."
Wedges, sliding ways, and other parts of the cradle floated to the
surface. The tide took her and tugs crept up and pulled her to the
place selected for temporary mooring. A splash of a huge anchor, and
there she rode--safe!
In the revulsion of feeling, every eye on the platform turned
involuntarily to Kennedy. Marlowe, still holding his hand, was
speechless. Marjorie leaned forward, almost hysterical.
"Just a moment," called Craig, as some turned to go down. "There is
just one thing more."
There was a hush as the crowd pressed close.
"There's a conspiracy here," rang out Craig's voice, boldly, "a foreign
trade war. From the start I suspected something and I tried to reason
it out. Having failed to stop the work, failed to kill Marlowe--what
was left? Why, the launching. How? I knew of that motor-boat. What else
could they do with it? I thought of recent tests that have been made
with express cruisers as mine-planters. Could that be the scheme? The
air-boat scheme occurred to me late last night. It at least was worth
trying. You see what has happened. Now for the reckoning. Who was their
agent? I have something here that will interest you."
Kennedy was speaking rapidly. It was one of those occasions in which
Kennedy's soul delighted. Quickly he drew a deft contrast between the
infinitely large hulk of the Usona as compared to the infinitely small
bacteria which he had been studying the day before. Suddenly he drew
forth from his pocket the bullet that had been fired at Marlowe, then,
to the surprise of even myself, he quietly laid a delicate little nail
file and brush in the palm of his hand beside the bullet.
A suppressed cry from Rae Melzer caused me to recollect the file and
brush she had missed.
"Just a second," raced on Kennedy. "On this file and brush I found
spores of those deadly anaerobes--dead, killed by heat and an
antiseptic, perhaps a one-per-cent. solution of carbolic acid at blood
heat, ninety-eight degrees--dead, but nevertheless there. I suppose the
microscopic examination of finger-nail deposits is too minute a thing
to appeal to most people. But it has been practically applied in a
number of criminal cases in Europe. Ordinary washing and even cleaning
doesn't alter microscope findings. In this case this trifling clue is
all that leads to the real brain of this plot, literally to the hand
that directed it." He paused a moment.
"Yesterday I found that anaerobe cultures were being received by some
one in the Belleclaire, and--"
"They were stolen from me. Some one must have got into my office, where
I was studying them." Doctor Gavira had pressed forward earnestly, but
Craig did not pause again.
"Who were these agents sent over to wage this secret war at any cost?"
he repeated. "One of them, I know now, fell in love with the daughter
of the man against whom he was to plot." Marjorie cast a furtive glance
at Fitzhugh.
"Love has saved him. But the other? To whom do these deadly germs
point? Who dum-dummed and poisoned the bullet? Whose own fingers, in
spite of antiseptics and manicures, point inexorably to a guilty self?"
Rae Melzer could restrain herself no longer. She was looking at the
file and brush, as if with a hideous fascination. "They are mine--you
took them," she cried, impulsively. "It was she--always having her
nails manicured--she who had been there just before--she--Alma Hillman!"
XI
THE GUN-RUNNER
"With the treaty ratified, if the deal goes through we'll all be rich."
Something about the remark which rose over the babel of voices arrested
Kennedy's attention. For one thing, it was a woman's voice, and it was
not the sort of remark to be expected from a woman, at least not in
such a place.
Craig had been working pretty hard and began to show the strain. We had
taken an evening off and now had dropped in after the theater at the
Burridge, one of the most frequented midnight resorts on Broadway.
At the table next to us--and the tables at the Burridge were so close
that one almost rubbed elbows with those at the next--sat a party of
four, two ladies in evening gowns and two men in immaculate black and
white.
"I hope you are right, Leontine," returned one of the men, with an
English accent. "The natural place for the islands is under the
American flag, anyway."
"Yes," put in the other; "the people have voted for it before. They
want it."
It was at the time that the American and Danish governments were
negotiating about the transfer of the Danish West Indies, and quite
evidently they were discussing the islands. The last speaker seemed to
be a Dane, but the woman with him, evidently his wife, was not. It was
a curious group, worth more than a passing glance. For a moment Craig
watched them closely.
"That woman in blue," he whispered, "is a typical promoter."
I recognized the type which is becoming increasingly frequent in Wall
Street as the competition in financial affairs grows keener and women
enter business and professional life.
There were plenty of other types in the brilliantly lighted
dining-room, and we did not dwell long on the study of our neighbors. A
few moments later Kennedy left me and was visiting another table. It
was a habit of his, for he had hundreds of friends and acquaintances,
and the Burridge was the place to which every one came.
This time I saw that he had stopped before some one whom I recognized.
It was Captain Marlowe of the American Shipping Trust, to whom Kennedy
had been of great assistance at the time of the launching of his great
ship, the Usona. Marlowe's daughter Marjorie was not with him, having
not yet returned from her honeymoon trip, and he was accompanied by a
man whose face was unfamiliar to me.
As I recognized who it was to whom Kennedy was speaking, I also rose
and made my way over to the table. As I approached, the captain turned
from Kennedy and greeted me cordially.
"Mr. Whitson," he introduced the man with him. "Mr. Whitson is sailing
to-morrow for St. Thomas on the Arroyo. We're preparing to extend our
steamship lines to the islands as soon as the formalities of the
purchase are completed."
Marlowe turned again to Kennedy and went on with the remark he had
evidently been making.
"Of course," I heard him say, "you know we have Mexico practically
blockaded as far as arms and munitions go. Yet, Kennedy, through a
secret channel I know that thousands of stands of arms and millions of
rounds of ammunition are filtering in there. It's shameful. I can't
imagine anything more traitorous. Whoever is at the bottom of it ought
to swing. It isn't over the border that they are going. We know that.
The troops are there. How is it, then?"
Marlowe looked at us as if he expected Kennedy to catch some one by
pure reason. Kennedy said nothing, but it was not because he was not
interested.
"Think it over," pursued Marlowe, who was a patriot above everything
else. "Perhaps it will occur to you how you can be of the greatest
service to the country. The thing is damnable--damnable."
Neither Kennedy nor I having anything definite to contribute to the
subject, the conversation drifted to the islands and Whitson's mission.
Whitson proved to be very enthusiastic about it. He knew the islands
well and had already made a trip there for Marlowe.
A few moments later we shook hands and returned to our own table. It
was getting late and the only type that was left to study was the
common Broadway midnight-life genus. We paid our check and were about
to leave. For an instant we stopped at the coat-room to watch the late
arrivals and the departing throng.
"Hello!" greeted a familiar voice beside us. "I've been looking all
over town for you. They told me you had gone to the theater and I
thought I might possibly find you here."
We turned. It was our old friend Burke, of the Secret Service,
accompanied by a stranger.
"I'd like you to meet Mr. Sydney, the new special consular agent whom
the government is sending to the Danish West Indies to investigate and
report on trade conditions," he introduced. "We're off for St. Thomas
on the Arroyo, which sails to-morrow noon."
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Kennedy. "Is everybody daffy over those
little islands? What takes you down there, Burke?" Burke looked about
hastily, then drew us aside into a recess in the lobby.
"I don't suppose you know," he explained, lowering his voice, "but
since these negotiations began, the consular service has been keenly
interested in the present state and the possibilities of the islands.
The government sent one special agent there, named Dwight. Well, he
died a few days ago. It was very suspicious, so much so that the
authorities in the island investigated. Yet the doctors in the island
have found no evidence of anything wrong, no poison. Still, it is very
mysterious--and, you know," he hinted, "there are those who don't want
us down there."
The Secret Service man paused as though he had put the case as briefly
and pointedly as he could, then went on: "I've been assigned to
accompany the new consul down there and investigate. I've no particular
orders and the chief will honor any reasonable expense account--but--"
He hesitated and stopped, looking keenly at Kennedy's face. I saw what
he was driving at.
"Well--to come to the point--what I wanted to see you about, Kennedy,
is to find out whether you would go with me. I think," he added,
persuasively, "it would be quite worth your while. Besides, you look
tired. You're working too hard. The change will do you good. And your
conscience needn't trouble you. You'll be working, all right."
Burke had been quick to note the haggard expression on Kennedy's face
and turn it into an argument to carry his point. Kennedy smiled as he
read the other's enthusiasm. I would have added my own urging, only I
knew that nothing but a sense of duty would weigh with Craig.
"I'd like to think the proposal over," he conceded, much to my
surprise. "I'll let you know in the morning."
"Mind," wheedled Burke, "I won't take no for an answer. We need you."
The Secret Service man was evidently delighted by the reception Kennedy
had given his scheme.
Just then I caught sight of the party of four getting their hats and
wraps preparatory to leaving, and Kennedy eyed them sharply.
Marlowe and Whitson passed. As they did so I could not help seeing
Whitson pause and shoot a quick glance at the four. It was a glance of
suspicion and it was not lost on Craig. Did they know more of this
Mexican gun-running business than Marlowe had hinted at? I watched
Kennedy's face. Evidently his mind was at work on the same idea as mine.
Burke accompanied us almost all the way home, with Sydney adding his
urging. I could tell that the whole combination of circumstances at the
Burridge had had an effect on Kennedy.
I went to bed, tired, but through the night I knew Craig was engaged on
some work about which he seemed to be somewhat secretive. When I saw
him again in the laboratory, in the morning, he had before him a large
packing-case of stout wood bound with steel bands.
"What's that?" I asked, mystified. He opened the lid, a sort of door,
on which was a strong lock, and I looked inside.
"My traveling laboratory," he remarked, with pride.
I peered in more closely. It was a well-stocked armamentarium, as the
doctors would have called it. I shall not make any attempt to describe
its contents. They were too varied and too numerous, a little bit of
everything, it seemed. In fact, Craig seemed to have epitomized the
sciences and arts. It was not that he had anything so wonderful, or
even comparable to the collection of his laboratory. But as I ran my
eye over the box I would have wagered that from the contents he might
have made shift to duplicate in some makeshift form almost anything
that he might need. It was truly amazing, representing in miniature his
study of crime for years.
"Then you are going with Burke to St. Thomas?" I queried, realizing the
significance of it.
Kennedy nodded. "I've been thinking of what I would do if an important
case ever called me away. Burke's proposal hurried me, that's all. And
you are going, also," he added. "You have until noon to break the news
to the Star."
I did not say anything more, fearful lest he might change his mind. I
knew he needed the rest, and that no matter what the case was in the
islands he could not work as hard as he was doing in New York.
Accordingly my own arrangements with the Star were easily made. I had a
sort of roving commission, anyhow, since my close association with
Kennedy. Moreover, the possibility of turning up something good in the
islands, which were much in the news at the time, rather appealed to
the managing editor. If Kennedy could arrange his affairs, I felt that
the least I could do was to arrange my own.
Thus it came about that Craig and I found ourselves in the forenoon in
a taxicab, on the front of which was loaded the precious box as well as
our other hastily packed luggage, and we were on our way over to
Brooklyn to the dock from which the Arroyo sailed.
Already the clearance papers had been obtained, and there was the usual
last-moment confusion among the passengers as the hour for sailing
approached. It seemed as if we had scarcely boarded the ship when
Kennedy was as gay as a school-boy on an unexpected holiday. I realized
at once what was the cause. The change of scene, the mere fact of
cutting loose, were having their effect.
As we steamed slowly down the bay, I ran my eye over the other
passengers at the rail, straining their eyes to catch the last glimpse
of the towers of New York. There were Burke and Sydney, but they were
not together, and, to all appearances, did not know each other. Sydney,
of course, could not conceal his identity, nor did he wish to, no
matter how beset with unseen perils might be his mission. But Burke was
down on the passenger-list as, and had assumed the role of, a traveling
salesman for a mythical novelty-house in Chicago. That evidently was
part of the plan they had agreed on between themselves. Kennedy took
the cue.
As I studied the various groups, I paused suddenly, surprised. There
was the party which had sat at the table next to us at the Burridge the
night before. Kennedy had already seen them and had been watching them
furtively.
Just then Craig jogged my elbow. He had caught sight of Whitson edging
his way in our direction. I saw what it was that Craig meant. He wanted
purposely to avoid him. I wondered why, but soon I saw what he was up
to. He wanted introductions to come about naturally, as they do on
shipboard if one only waits.
On deck and in the lounging and smoking rooms it did not take long for
him to contrive ways of meeting and getting acquainted with those he
wished to know, without exciting suspicion. Thus, by the time we sat
down to dinner in the saloon we were all getting fairly chummy.
We had met Burke quite as naturally as if we were total strangers. It
was easy to make it appear that Whitson and Sydney were shipboard
acquaintances. Nor was it difficult to secure an introduction to the
other party of four. The girl whom we had heard addressed as Leontine
seemed to be the leader of the group. Leontine Cowell was a striking
personality. Her clear blue eyes directed a gaze at one which tested
one's mettle to meet. I was never quite sure whether she remembered
seeing us at the Burridge, whether she penetrated the parts we were
playing. She was none the less feminine because she had aspirations in
a commercial way. As Kennedy had first observed, she was well worth
study.
Her companion, Barrett Burleigh, was a polished, deferential
Englishman, one of those who seem to be citizens of the world rather
than subjects of any particular country. I wondered what were the real
relations of the two.
Jorgen Erickson was, as I had surmised, a Dane. He proved to be one of
the largest planters in the island, already wealthy and destined to be
wealthier if real estate advanced. The other woman, Nanette, was his
wife. She was also a peculiarly interesting type, a Frenchwoman from
Guadeloupe. Younger and more vivacious than her husband, her snappy
black eyes betokened an attractive personality.
Leontine Cowell, it seemed, had been in the islands not long before,
had secured options on some score of plantations at a low figure, and
made no secret of her business. When the American flag at last flew
over the islands she stood to win out of the increase of land values a
considerable fortune.
Erickson also, in addition to his own holdings, had been an agent for
some other planters and thus had met Leontine, who had been the means
of interesting some American capital.
As for Burleigh, it seemed that he had made the acquaintance of
Leontine in Wall Street. He had been in the Caribbean and the impending
changes in the Danish West Indies had attracted his notice. Whether he
had some money to invest in the speculation or hoped to profit by
commissions derived from sales did not appear. But at any rate some
common bond had thrown the quartet together.
I need not dwell on the little incidents of life on ship. It must have
been the second day out that I observed Leontine and Sydney together on
the promenade-deck. They seemed to be quite interested in each other,
though I felt sure that Leontine was making a play for him. At any
rate, Burleigh was jealous. Whatever might be the scheme, it was
apparent that the young Englishman was head over heels in love with her.
What did it mean? Was she playing with Sydney, seeking to secure his
influence to further her schemes? Or did it mask some deeper, more
sinister motive? From what I had seen of Sydney, I could not think that
he was the man to take such an affair seriously. I felt that he must be
merely amusing himself.
Busy with my speculations, I was astonished soon after to realize that
the triangle had become a hexagon, so to speak. Whitson and Nanette
Erickson seemed to be much in each other's company. But, unlike
Burleigh, Erickson seemed to be either oblivious or complacent.
Whatever it might all portend, I found that it did not worry Kennedy,
although he observed closely. Burke, however, was considerably excited
and even went so far as to speak to Sydney, over whom he felt a sort of
guardianship. Sydney turned the matter off lightly. As for me, I
determined to watch both of these women closely.
Kennedy spent much time not only in watching the passengers, but in
going about the ship, talking to the captain and crew and every one who
knew anything about the islands. In fact, he collected enough
information in a few days to have satisfied any ordinary tourist for
weeks.
Even the cargo did not escape his attention, and I found that he was
especially interested in the rather heavy shipments of agricultural
implements that were consigned to various planters in the islands. So
great was his interest that I began to suspect that it had some bearing
on the gun-running plot that had been hinted at by Marlowe.
It was the evening after one of Kennedy's busy days scouting about that
he quietly summoned both Burke and Sydney to our cabin.
"There's something queer going on," announced Craig, when he was sure
that we were all together without having been observed. "Frankly, I
must confess that I don't understand it--yet."
"You needn't worry about me," interrupted Sydney, hastily. "I can take
care of myself."
Kennedy smiled quietly. We knew what Sydney meant. He seemed to resent
Burke's solicitude over his acquaintance with Leontine and was
evidently warning us off. Kennedy, however, avoided the subject.
"I may as well tell you," he resumed, "that I was quite as much
influenced by a rumor that arms were somehow getting into Mexican ports
as I was by your appeal, Burke, in coming down here. So far I've found
nothing that proves my case. But, as I said, there is something under
the surface which I don't understand. We have all got to stick
together, trust no one but ourselves, and, above all, keep our eyes
open."
It was all that was said, but I was relieved to note that Sydney seemed
greatly impressed. Still, half an hour later, I saw him sitting in a
steamer-chair beside Leontine again, watching the beautiful play of the
moonlight on the now almost tropical ocean after we had emerged from
the Gulf Stream. I felt that it was rather dangerous, but at least he
had had his warning.
Seeking Kennedy, I found him at last in the smoking-room, to my
surprise talking with Erickson. I joined them, wondering how I was to
convey to Craig what I had just seen without exciting suspicion. They
were discussing the commercial and agricultural future of the islands
under the American flag, especially the sugar industry, which had
fallen into a low estate.
"I suppose," remarked Kennedy, casually, "that you are already
modernizing your plant and that others are doing the same, getting
ready for a revival."
Erickson received the remark stolidly. "No," he replied, slowly. "Some
of us may be doing so, but as for me, I shall be quite content to sell
if I can get my price."
"The planters are not putting in modern machinery, then?" queried
Kennedy, innocently, while there flashed over me what he had discovered
about shipments of agricultural implements.
Erickson shook his head. "Some of them may be. But for one that is, I
know twenty whose only thought is to sell out and take a profit."
The conversation trailed off on other subjects and I knew that Kennedy
had acquired the information which he sought. As neatly as I could I
drew him apart from Erickson.
"Strange he should tell me that," ruminated Kennedy as we gained a
quiet corner of the deck. "I know that there is a lot of stuff
consigned to planters in the island, some even to himself."
"He must be lying, then," I hastened. "Perhaps these promoters are
really plotters. By the way, what I wanted to tell you was that I saw
Sydney and Leontine together again."
He was about to reply when the sound of some one approaching caused us
to draw back farther into the shadow. It proved to be Whitson and
Nanette.
"Then you do not like St. Thomas?" we heard Whitson remark, as if he
were repeating something she had just said.
"There is nothing there," she replied. "Why, there aren't a hundred
miles of good roads and not a dozen automobiles."
Evidently the swiftness of life in New York of which she had tasted was
having its effect.
"St. Croix, where we have the plantation, is just as bad. Part of the
time we live there, part of the time at Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas.
But there is little difference. I hope Jorgen is able to sell. At least
I should like to live a part of the year in the States."
"Would he like that, too?"
"Many of us would," she replied, quickly. "For many years things have
been getting worse with us. Just now it seems a bit better because of
the high price of sugar. But who knows how long that will last? Oh, I
wish something would happen soon so that we might make enough money to
live as I want to live. Think; here the best years of life are slipping
away. Unless we do something soon, it will be too late! We must make
our money soon."
There was an air of impatience in her tone, of restless
dissatisfaction. I felt also that there was an element of danger, too,
in a woman just passing from youth making a confidant of another man.
It was a mixed situation with the quartet whom we were watching. One
thing was sufficiently evident. They were all desperately engaged in
the pursuit of wealth. That was a common bond. Nor had I seen anything
to indicate that they were over-scrupulous in that pursuit. Within half
an hour I had seen Leontine with Sydney and Nanette with Whitson. Both
Sydney as consular agent and Whitson through his influence with the
shipping trust possessed great influence. Had the party thought it out
and were they now playing the game with the main chance in view?
I looked inquiringly at Kennedy as the voices died away while the
couple walked slowly down the deck. He said nothing, but he was
evidently pondering deeply on some problem, perhaps that which the
trend of affairs had raised in my own mind.