Gold of the Gods

by Arthur B. Reeve

  XIII

  THE POISONED CIGARETTE

  There was not a grain of superstition in Kennedy, yet I could see thathe was pondering deeply what Inez Mendoza had just said. Was itpossible that there might be something in it--not objectively, butsubjectively? Might that very fear which the Senorita had of the Senoraengender a feeling that would produce the very result that she feared?I knew that there were strange things that modern psychology wasdiscovering. Could there be some scientific explanation of the evil eye?

  Kennedy turned and went back into the hotel, to keep his appointmentwith Whitney, and as he did so I reflected that, whatever credencemight be given the evil-eye theory, there was something now before usthat was a fact--the physical condition which Inez had observed in herfather before his death, saw now in Whitney, and foresaw in Lockwood.Surely that in itself constituted enough of a problem.

  We found Whitney in the cafe, sitting alone in a leather-cushionedbooth, and smoking furiously. I observed him narrowly. His eyes hadeven more than before that peculiar, staring look. By the manner inwhich his veins stood out I could see that his heart action must bevery rapid.

  "Well," he remarked, as we seated ourselves, "how did you come out inyour tete-a-tete?"

  "About as I expected," answered Kennedy nonchalantly. "I let it go onmerely because I wanted Senorita Mendoza to hear certain things, and Ithought that the Senora could tell them best. One of them related tothe history of that dagger."

  I thought Whitney's eyes would pop out of his head. "What about it?" heasked.

  "Well," replied Kennedy briefly, "there was the story of how herbrother had it and was driven crazy until he gave it up to somebody,then committed suicide by throwing himself into Titicaca. The other wasthe tradition that in the days after Pizarro a Mendoza was murdered byit, just as her father has now been murdered."

  Whitney was listening intently, and seemed to be thinking deeply ofsomething.

  "Do you know," he said finally, with a nod to indicate that he knewwhat it was that Kennedy referred to, "I've been thinking of that deMoche woman a good deal since I left you with her. I've had somedealings with her."

  He looked at Kennedy shrewdly, as though he would have liked to askwhether she had said anything about him, but did not because he knewKennedy would not tell. He was trying to figure out some other way offinding out.

  "Sometimes I think she is trying to double-cross me," he said, atlength. "I know that when she talks to others about me she says manythings that aren't so. Yet when she is with me everything is fine, andshe is ready soon to join us, use her influence with influentialPeruvians; in fact, there isn't anything she won't do--manana,to-morrow."

  All that Whitney said we now knew to be true.

  "She has one interesting dilemma, however, which I do not mind tellingyou," remarked Kennedy at length. "She cannot expect me to keep secretwhat she said before all of us. Inez Mendoza would mention it, anyhow."

  "What was that?" queried Whitney, dissembling his interest.

  "Why," replied Kennedy slowly, "it was that, with the plans for diggingfor the treasure which you say you have, suppose you and Lockwood andyour associates have not the dagger--how are you better off thanprevious hunters? And supposing you have it--what does that imply?"

  Whitney thought a moment over the last proposition of the dilemma."Imply?" he repeated slowly. Then the significance of it seemed to dawnon him, the possession of the dagger and its implication in regard tothe murder of Mendoza. "Well," he answered, "we haven't the dagger. Youknow that. But, on the other hand, we think our plans for getting atthe treasure are better than any one else has ever had, more certain ofsuccess."

  "Yet the possession of the dagger, with its inscription, is the onlything that absolutely insures success," observed Kennedy.

  "That's true enough," agreed Whitney. "Confound that man Norton. Howcould he be such a boob as to let the chance slip through his fingers?"

  "He never told you of it?" asked Kennedy.

  "Yes, he told me of the dagger, but hadn't read the inscription, hesaid," answered Whitney. "I was so busy at the time with Lockwood andMendoza, who had the concession to dig for the treasure, that I didn'tpay much attention to what Norton brought back. I thought that couldwait until Lockwood had been persuaded to join the interests Irepresent."

  "Did Lockwood or Mendoza know about the dagger and its importance?"suggested Craig.

  "If they did, they never said anything about it," returned Whitneypromptly. "Mendoza is dead. Lockwood tells me he knew nothing about ituntil very lately--since the murder, I suppose."

  "You suppose?" persisted Kennedy. "Are you sure that he knew nothingabout it before?"

  "No," confessed Whitney, "I'm not sure. Only I say that he told menothing of it."

  "Then he might have known?"

  "Might have. But I don't think it very probable."

  Whitney seemed to be turning something over in his mind. Suddenly hebrought his fist down on the little round table before us, rattling theglasses.

  "Do you know," he exclaimed, "the more I think about it, the moreconvinced I am that Norton ought to be held to account for that loss!He ought to have known. Then the presumption is that he did know. Byheaven, I'm going to have that fellow watched. I'm going to do itto-day, too. I don't trust him. He shall not double-cross me--even ifthat woman does!"

  I wondered whether Whitney was bluffing. If he was, he was making a lotof fuss over it. He talked more and more wildly, as he grew moreexcited over his latest idea.

  "I'll have detectives put on his trail," he blustered. "I'll talk itover with Lockwood. He never liked the man."

  "What did Lockwood say about Norton?" asked Kennedy casually.

  Whitney eyed us a moment.

  "Say," he ejaculated, "it was Norton brought you into this case, wasn'tit?"

  "I cannot deny that," returned Kennedy quietly, meeting his eyes. "Butit is Inez Mendoza now that keeps me in it."

  "So--you're another rival, are you?" purred Whitney sarcastically."Lockwood and de Moche aren't enough. I have a sneaking suspicion thatNorton himself is one of them. Now it's you, too. I suppose Mr. Jamesonis another. Well, if I was ten years younger, I'd cut you all out, orknow the reason why. Oh, YES, I think I will NOT tell you what Mr.Lockwood suspects."

  With every sentence the veins of Whitney's forehead stood out further,until now they were like whipcords. His eyes and face were fairlyapoplectic. Slowly the conviction was forced on me. The man acted forall the world like one affected by a drug.

  "Well," he went on, "you may tell Norton for me that I am going to havehim watched. That will throw a scare into him."

  At least it showed that the breach between Whitney and Norton was deep.Kennedy listened without saying much, but I knew that he was gratified.He was playing Lockwood against de Moche, the Senora against Inez. Nowif Whitney would play himself against Norton, out of the tangle mightemerge just the clues he needed. For when people get fighting amongthemselves the truth comes out.

  "Very well," remarked Craig, rising, with a hurried glance at Whitney'sapoplectic face, "go as far as you like. I think we understand eachother better, now."

  Whitney said nothing, but, rising also, turned on his heel and walkeddeliberately out of the cafe into the corridor of the Prince EdwardAlbert, leaving us standing there.

  Kennedy leaned over and swept up the ashes of Whitney's cigaretteswhich lay in the ash-tray, placing them, stubs and all, in an envelope,as he had done before.

  "We have one sample, already," he said. "Another won't hurt. You cannever have too much material to work with. Let us see where he isgoing."

  Slowly we followed in the direction which Whitney had taken from thecafe. There was Whitney standing by the cigar-stand, gazing intentlydown the corridor.

  Kennedy and I moved over so that we could see what he was gazing at.Just then he started to walk hurriedly in the direction in which he waslooking.

  "Senora de Moche!" exclaimed Craig, drawing me toward a palm.


  It was indeed she. She had left the tea room and gone to her own room.Now she was alighting from the elevator, and had started toward themain dining-room, when her eyes had rested on Whitney. In spite of allthat he had said to us about her, he had received the glance as asignal and was fluttering over to her like a moth to a flame.

  What was the reason back of it all, I asked, as I thought of thosewonderful eyes of hers? Was it a sort of auto-hypnotism? There was, Iknew, a form of illusion known as ophthalmophobia--fear of the eye. Itranged from mere aversion at being gazed at all the way to thesubjective development of real physical action from an otherwisetrivial objective cause. Perhaps Inez was right about the eyes. Onemight fear them, and that fear might cause the precise thing to happenwhich the owner of the eyes intended. Still, as I reflected before,there was a much more important problem regarding eyes before us, thatof the drug that was evidently being used in the cigarettes. What wasit?

  There was no chance of our gleaning anything now from these two whomade such a strange pair. Kennedy turned and went out of the nearestentrance of the hotel.

  "Central Park, West," he directed a cab driver, as we climbed in hismachine; then to me, after giving the number, "I must see Inez Mendozaagain before I can go ahead."

  Inez was not expecting us so soon after leaving her at the hotel, yet Ithink was just a little glad that we had come.

  "Did anything happen after I left?" she asked eagerly.

  "We went back and saw Mr. Whitney," returned Craig. "I believe you areright. He is acting queerly."

  "Alfonso called me up," she volunteered.

  "Was it about anything I should know?" queried Craig.

  "Well," she hesitated, "he said he hoped that nothing that had takenplace would change our own relations. That was about all. He was thedutiful son, and made no attempt to explain anything that was said."

  Kennedy smiled. "You have not seen Mr. Lock, wood since, I suppose?" heasked.

  "You always make me tell what I hadn't intended," she confessed,smiling back. "Yes, I couldn't help it. At least, I didn't see him. Icalled him up. I wanted to tell him what she had said and that ithadn't made any difference to me."

  "What did he say?"

  "I can't remember just how he put it, but I think he meant that it wassomething very much like that anonymous letter I received. We both feelthat there is some one who wants to make trouble between us, and we arenot going to let it happen."

  If she had known of Kennedy's discovery of the shoe-prints, I feel surethat, as far as we were concerned, the case would have ended there. Shewas in no mood to be convinced by such a thing, would probably haveinsisted that some one was wearing a second-hand pair of his shoes.

  Kennedy's eye had been travelling around the room as though searchingfor something.

  "May I have a cigarette out of that case over there?" he asked,indicating a box of them on a table.

  "Why--that is Mr. Lockwood's," she replied. "He left it here the lasttime he was here and I forgot to send it to him. Wait a minute. Let meget you some of father's."

  She left the room. The moment the door closed Kennedy reached over andtook one from the case. "I have some of Lockwood's already, but anotherwon't matter, as long as I can get it," he said. "I thought it was herfather's. When she brings them, smoke one with me, and be careful tosave the stub. I want it."

  A moment later she entered with a metal box that must have held severalhundred. Kennedy and I each took one and lighted it, then for severalminutes chatted as an excuse for staying. As for myself, I was gladenough to leave a pretty large stub, for I did not like it. Thesecigarettes, like those Whitney had offered us, had a peculiar flavourwhich I had not acquired a liking for.

  "You must let me know whether anything else develops from the meetingin the tea room," said Kennedy finally, rising. "I shall be at thelaboratory some time, I think."