The Adventuress

by Arthur B. Reeve

  ‘Good morning,’ greeted Hastings.

  Winifred smiled, but Shelby was plainly annoyed at the intrusion of the lawyer. I could not make out whether there was an aversion to Hastings behind the annoyance or not.

  The introductions over, we sat down for a moment. Hastings had been careful not to say that Kennedy was a detective, but to hint that he was a friend and, by implication, a lawyer.

  ‘It must have been a severe shock when you heard what had happened,’ he began, speaking to Winifred.

  ‘It was, indeed,’ she replied gravely. ‘You see, I stayed here at the Harbour House while my brother and sister-in-law were on the yacht. Johnson came off early because he had to go to the city, and telephoned up to the room that they were going to be late and Frances would stay out on the yacht. Then when I came down this morning they were just bringing the body ashore.’

  She shuddered at the recollection and Shelby flashed a look at Kennedy as though he could knife him for bringing up the distasteful subject. It seemed as though Shelby Maddox was pretty unconcerned about his brother’s death.

  ‘Strange that you heard nothing on the yacht,’ switched Kennedy, looking full at Shelby.

  ‘We didn’t,’ returned the young man, but in a tone that showed his attention was somewhere else.

  I followed the direction of his eyes.

  A petite, frilly, voluptuous figure stood in the doorway. She had an almost orchid beauty that more than suggested the parasite. Of a type quite the opposite of Winifred, she had nevertheless something interesting about her. For the born adventuress is always a baffling study.

  Even before Hastings whispered I knew it must be Paquita.

  She passed across the porch toward a flight of steps that led down to the shore, and as she did so nodded to Shelby with a smile, at the same time casting a look at Winifred such as only one woman can when she is taking in another at a glance. Winifred was first of all a woman. Her face flushed almost imperceptibly, but her own glance of estimation never faltered. I felt that there was a silent clash. Winifred was the antithesis of Paquita.

  Shelby failed even with his cigarette to cover up his confusion. But as I searched his face I thought I saw one thing at least. Whatever might or might not have been the truth in Hastings’s story of Shelby’s acquaintance with Paquita once, it was evident now that Winifred Walcott quite filled his eye.

  As she paused before going down the steps Paquita darted back one more look at Shelby. Had he once felt the lure? At least now he made no move. And Paquita was insanely jealous.

  ‘I should like to have Mr Kennedy look over the Sybarite, especially the room which I sealed,’ suggested Hastings in a tone which was not peremptory, but nevertheless was final.

  Shelby looked from Hastings to Winifred. The passing of Paquita seemed to have thrown a cloud over the sunshine which had brightened the moments before. He was torn between two emotions. There was no denying the request of Hastings. Yet this was no time to leave Winifred suspicious.

  ‘I think you had better go,’ she said finally, as Shelby hesitated.

  ‘Would you not be one of the party?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘I don’t think I could stand it,’ she replied hastily.

  It was perfectly natural. Yet I could see that it left Shelby uncertain of her real reason.

  Reluctantly he said goodbye and we four made our way down the dock to the float where was moored a fast tender of the yacht. We climbed aboard, and the man in charge started the humming, many-cylindered engine. We darted off in a cloud of spray.

  Once I saw Kennedy looking back, and I looked back also. In the far corner of the Casino stood the sallow-faced man, watching us intently. Who and what could he be?

  Westport Bay is one of those fjords, as they almost might be called, which run in among the beautifully wooded hills of the north shore of Long Island.

  The Sybarite was lying at anchor a mile or so off-shore. As we approached her we saw that she was a 150-foot, long, low-lying craft of the new type, fitted with gas engines, and built quite as much for comfort as for speed. She was an elaborately built craft, with all the latest conveniences, having a main saloon, dining-room, library, and many state-rooms, all artistically decorated. In fact, it must have cost a small fortune merely to run the yacht.

  As we boarded it Shelby led the way to the sheltered deck aft, and we sat down for a moment to become acquainted,

  ‘Mito,’ he called to a Japanese servant, ‘take the gentlemen’s hats. And bring us cigars.’

  The servant obeyed silently. Evidently Shelby spared nothing that made for comfort.

  ‘First of all,’ began Craig, ‘I want to see the state-room where Marshall Maddox slept.’

  Shelby arose, apparently willingly enough, and led the way to the lower berth deck. Hastings carefully examined the seal which he had left on the door and, finding it intact, broke it and unlocked the door for us.

  It was a bedroom rather than a state-room. The walls were panelled in wood and the port-hole was finished inside to look like a window. It was toward this port-hole that Kennedy first directed his attention, opening it and peering out at the water below.

  ‘Quite large enough for a man to get through—or throw a body through,’ he commented, turning to me.

  I looked out also. ‘It’s a long way to the water,’ I remarked, thinking perhaps he meant that a boat might have nosed up alongside and someone have entered that way.

  ‘Still, if one had a good-sized cruiser, one might reach it by standing on the roof of the cabin,’ he observed. ‘At any rate, there’d be difficulty in disposing of a body that way.’

  He turned. The wind had swung the yacht around so that the sun streamed in through the open port. Kennedy bent down and picked up some little bright slivers of thin metal that lay scattered here and there on the carpet.

  He looked about at the furniture, then bent down and examined the side of the bedstead. It seemed to be pitted with little marks. He rose, and as he did so his gaze fell on one of the brass fittings of the cabin. It seemed to have turned green, almost to be corroded. With his penknife he scraped off some of the corrosion and placed it on a piece of paper, which he folded up.

  The examination of the state-room completed, Shelby took us about the boat. First of all, he showed us the handsomely furnished main saloon opening into a little library, almost as if it were an apartment.

  ‘It was here,’ he volunteered, ‘that we held the conference last night.’

  For the first time I became aware, although Kennedy had noticed it before, that when we boarded the Sybarite Mito had been about. He had passed twice down the hall while we were in the state-room occupied by Marshall Maddox. He was now busy in the library, but on our entrance had withdrawn deferentially, as though not wishing to intrude.

  Henceforth I watched the Japanese keenly as he padded about the boat. Everywhere we went I fancied that he turned up. He seemed ubiquitous. Was it that he was solicitous of the wants of his master? Had he received instructions from him? Did the slant-eyed Oriental have something hidden behind that inscrutable face of his?

  There did not seem to be anything else that we could discover aboard the yacht. Though we interviewed the officer and those of the crew who had been on watch, we were unable to find out from them that anything unusual had been observed, either as far as any other boat was concerned or on the Sybarite itself. In spite of them, the affair was as completely shrouded in mystery as ever.

  Having looked the yacht over, Kennedy seemed now to be eager to get ashore again.

  ‘I hope you are satisfied, gentlemen?’ asked Shelby at last as our tour brought us to the mahogany steps that led from the outside of the white hull to the tender which had brought us out.

  ‘Very well—so far,’ returned Kennedy.

  Maddox looked up quickly, but did not ask what he meant. ‘If there is any way in which I can be of service to you,’ he continued, ‘you have only to command me. I have as much reason as anyone t
o clear up the mystery in this unfortunate affair. I believe I will go ashore with you.’

  He did not need to say that he was eager to get back to see Winifred Walcott, any more than Kennedy needed to tell me that he would like to see our sallow-faced friend again.

  The tender skimmed over the waves, throwing the spray gaily as we sped back to the Harbour House dock.

  We landed and Maddox excused himself, repeating his desire to aid us. Down the beach toward the bathhouses I could make out the frilly Paquita, surrounded now by several of the bathers, all men. Maddox saw her, but paid no attention. He was headed for the veranda of the Lodge.

  The day was growing older and the Casino was beginning to liven up. In the exquisitely appointed ballroom, which was used also for morning and afternoon dances, strains of the one-step attracted some dozen couples. Kennedy sauntered along, searching the faces we passed in the hope of seeing someone who might be of value to know on the case, now and then reminding Hastings not to neglect to point out anyone who might lend aid. Hastings saw no one, however, and as we mounted the steps to the Lodge excused himself for a minute to send some telegrams to those of the family whom he had forgotten.

  We had promised to meet him in the lobby by the desk, and thither Kennedy bent his steps.

  ‘I think I’ll look over the register,’ he remarked, as we approached the busiest part of the hotel. ‘Perhaps, too, some of the clerks may know something.’

  There was nothing on the register, apparently, for after turning it around and running through it he merely laid his finger on the name ‘Señorita Paquita Gonzales, Maid and Chauffeur, New York,’ written under the date of the day before the arrival of the Maddoxes for the conference, and among the last of the day, showing that she had arrived late.

  As we were looking over the names we were startled by a voice softly speaking behind us.

  ‘Well, I should have known you fellows would be out here before long. It’s a big case. Don’t notice me here. I’ll see you in the writing-room. It’s empty now.’

  We turned in surprise. It was our old friend Burke, of the Secret Service.

  He had already lounged off, and we followed without seeming to do so, stopping only for a moment at the news-stand.

  ‘Why are you here?’ demanded Craig, pointedly, as we three settled ourselves in an angle of the deserted writing-room.

  ‘For the same reason that you are,’ Burke returned, with a smile; then added gravely, ‘I can trust you, Kennedy.’

  Craig was evidently much impressed by the low tone and the manner of the detective, but said nothing.

  ‘They tell me Hastings was in town this morning, at your laboratory,’ went on Burke. ‘Too bad he didn’t take the time to call up his office. But he knows something now—that is, if he has that note I left for him.’

  ‘Why, what is that?’ chorused both Craig and I.

  Just then Hastings himself almost ran into the room as if his life depended on finding us.

  As he saw us he darted over to our corner.

  ‘You are Mr Burke, of the Secret Service?’ he queried as Burke nodded. ‘Kennedy, the safe in the office of Maddox Munitions in New York was robbed late last night or early this morning and the model of the telautomaton is stolen!’

  CHAPTER III

  THE CABARET DANCER

  WE could only stare from Burke to Hastings, startled at the magnitude of the affair as it developed so rapidly.

  For a moment Hastings was at a loss, then darted quickly into a telephone-booth to call up his office on long distance for confirmation of the news.

  As we waited I happened to glance out into the lobby. At the far end, in an angle, to my surprise I saw Shelby and Paquita. Evidently she had hovered about, waiting for a chance to find him alone, and had at last succeeded.

  Already Kennedy and Burke had seen them.

  Paquita was talking earnestly. Of course, we could not overhear what was said, and they were so placed that even if we moved closer to them they would be likely to see us. Still, from our corner we could observe without being observed.

  It seemed as if Paquita were making a desperate effort to attract Shelby, while, on his part, it was quite evident that he was endeavouring to get away.

  Paquita was indeed a fascinating figure. From what I had already observed, a score of the young fellows about the Harbour House would have given their eyes to have been in Shelby’s place. Why was he seeking so to avoid her? Was it that he did not dare to trust himself with the little dancer? Or was there some hold that she had over him which he feared?

  The interview had not proceeded long when Shelby deliberately seemed to excuse himself and walked away. Paquita looked after him as he hurried off, and I would have given much to have been close enough to observe her expression. Was it one of fury, of a woman scorned? At any rate, I would have wagered that it boded no good for Shelby.

  I turned to say something to Kennedy and found that he was looking in another direction. We were not the only observers. From a window outside on the porch the sallow-faced man was also watching. As Shelby walked away the man seemed to be very angry. Was it the anger of jealousy because Paquita was with Shelby or was it anger because Shelby had repulsed her advances? Who was the fellow and why was he so interested in the little dancer and the young millionaire?

  Hastings rejoined us from the telephone-booth, his face almost pale.

  ‘It’s a fact,’ he groaned. ‘They have been trying to reach me all day, but could not. The secret of the telautomaton stolen—the secret that is too terrible to be in the hands of anyone except the Government. How did you hear of it?’ he asked Burke.

  Burke answered slowly, watching the expression on Hastings’s face. ‘When the cashier of the company arrived at the office this morning he found the safe had been rifled. It seems an almost incomprehensible thing—as you will understand when you see it for yourself. The cashier telephoned at once to the Secret Service in the Custom-House, and I jumped out on the case. You did not go to your own office. I did a little hasty deduction—guessed that you might have gone to see Kennedy. At any rate I wanted to see him myself.’

  Kennedy interrupted long enough to tell about the revolver-shot and the attack on Hastings at our very door.

  ‘Whew!’ exclaimed Burke, ‘just missed you. Well,’ he added, with a dry sort of humour, ‘I missed you, too, and decided to come out here on the train. Kennedy, you must go back to town with me and look at that safe. How anybody could get into it is a mystery beyond me. But the telautomaton is gone. My orders are simple—get it back!’

  For a moment neither Kennedy nor Hastings spoke. It was most peculiar—the plans gone in Westport, the model gone in New York.

  ‘Who could have stolen the model?’ I asked finally. ‘Have you any theory, Burke?’

  ‘A theory, yes,’ he replied slowly, ‘but no facts to back it. I suppose you know that the war has driven out some of the most clever and astute crooks that Paris, Vienna, London, and other capitals ever produced. The fact is that we are at present in the hands of the largest collection of high-grade foreign criminals that has ever visited this country. I think it is safe to say that at present there are more foreign criminals of high degree in New York and at the fashionable summer resorts than could be found in all the capitals of Europe combined. They have evaded military service because at heart they are cowards and hate work. War is hard work. Then, there is little chance of plying their trade, for their life is the gay life of the cafés and boulevards. Besides, America is the only part of the world where prosperity is reigning. So they are here, preying on American wealth. Suppose someone—some foreign agent—wanted the telautomaton. There are plenty of tools he could use for his purpose in obtaining it.’

  The countenance of the sallow-faced man recurred to me. It was an alarming possibility that Burke’s speculation raised. Were we really not involved in a pure murder case, but in the intricacies of the machinations of some unknown power?

  Burke looked
at his watch, then again at Kennedy. ‘Really, I think you ought to go back to town,’ he reiterated, ‘and take the case up there.’

  ‘And leave these people all here to do as they please, cover up what they will?’ objected Hastings, who had tried to prevent just that sort of thing by bringing Kennedy out post-haste.

  ‘My men are perfectly competent to watch anything that goes on at Westport,’ returned Burke. ‘I have them posted all about and I’m digging up some good stuff. Already I know just what happened the night before the conference. That cabaret dancer, Paquita, motored out here and arrived about the time the Sybarite cast anchor. She met Shelby Maddox at the Casino and they had a gay supper party. But it ended early. She knew that Marshall Maddox was coming the next day. I know he had known her in the city. As to Shelby we don’t know yet. The meeting may have been chance or it may have been prearranged.’

  I recalled not only the little incident we had just seen, but the glance of jealousy Paquita had given Shelby when she saw him with Winifred. What did it mean? Had Shelby Maddox been using Paquita against his brother, and now was he trying to cast her off? Or was Burke’s theory correct? Was she a member of a clever band of super-criminals, playing one brother against the other for some ulterior end? Was the jealousy feigned or was it real, after all?

  ‘What I am endeavouring to do now,’ went on Burke, ‘is to trace the doings of Paquita the night of the murder. I cannot find out whether she came out at the invitation of Marshall Maddox or not. Perhaps it was Shelby. I don’t know. If it was Marshall, what about his former wife? Did he suppose that she would not be here? Or didn’t he care?’

  ‘Perhaps—blackmail,’ suggested Hastings, who, as a lawyer, had had more or less to do with such attempts.

  Burke shook his head. ‘It might have been, of course, but in that case don’t you think you, as Maddox’s lawyer, would have heard something of it? You have not—have you? You don’t know anything about her?’