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The Adventuress · The Adventuress

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  Chapter twenty five of The Adventuress by Arthur b Reeve. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain. Read by Anne Fletcher, Chapter twenty five, The
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  Adventuress. There was no use in ours staying longer in New York, for
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  the turn in the market had come and it was able to take care of
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  itself. Up in our little office, Kennedy began hastily to pack up what
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  of the stuff he wanted to save, and was just finishing when the telephone
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  rang. It was Hastings, who had been trying to locate us all the
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  morning. The flurry in the market had very much excited him, and the
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  final upward turn had not served to decrease his excitement. There don't seem to
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  be many trains to Westport. In the middle of the day, I heard
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  Kennedy consider over the wire, your car is here. Well, can you
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  go back there with us? Yes, right away. As he hung up,
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  he turned to me, Poor old Hastings hasn't been able to practice his
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  profession for the last few days, Craig smiled. He wants me to hurry
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  up the case. We'll see what we can do. He's coming for us
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  in his car, and then we'll shoot out to Westport. It was a
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  beautiful day, but none of us appreciated it much. As we slid along
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  the splendid roads from the city. There was only one subject uppermost in my
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  mind, at least whence had come this new stock market attack? Who was
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  back of the series of violent deeds which had taken place in less than a
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  week? Above all, where were the precious tell automaton plans? At least
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  it was some relief when we swung into Westport to know that we were back
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  again at the main scene of action, and I felt that now events would
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  develop rapidly. Burke was waiting impatiently at the lodge, though it did not
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  seem as though our arrival was the only thing he had on his mind.
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  What was it found in the little storeroom in the cellar, demanded Kennedy,
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  jumping from the car as we pulled up at the lodge porte Cochere. Without
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  comment, Burke pulled a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and handed it
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  to Craig. We crowded around and read, if a hair of her head
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  is harmed, I will have revenge, though it sends me to prison for
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  life. We looked at the secret service man, inquiringly. Not a soul's
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  been near the store room since we began to watch it this morning, he
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  explained, hurriedly. It must have been left there before we got up,
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  just tucked under the telephone instrument. And Pakita's disappeared. Disappeared, we exclaimed,
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  almost together, as Burke blurted out his startling budget of news. Yes,
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  and not a trace of her. She must have got away before you,
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  fellows were up. I looked again at the crumpled bit of paper.
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  What did it mean? Was it that some one had actually kicked over the
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  traces in working for one higher up? To whom did it refer? Instantly
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  there flashed through my mind the picture of Winifred, as we had seen her
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  borne off by the abductors whom we had foiled. Could it be she taught
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  by Kennedy? I did not allow a first impression to rule. Might it
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  be any one else? I thought of Irene Maddox, of Francis Walcott.
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  It did not seem to fit them. Pequita. Perhaps the note referred to
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  her? If so, who would have sent it? Sanchez? And if
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  from Sanchez to whom was it sent? How about Sanchez, I queried,
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  as much surprise at her disappearance as the rest of us replied. Burke,
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  Oh, how was that I picked him up and had him shadowed. I
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  know that her disappearance mystified him, for he had no dear he was observed
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  at the time he got away again, though, if we're ever to pick
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  that girl up again, shadowing Sanchez may be the best way I've had Riley
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  out. Oh not the same hand that wrote the cipher, interrupted Kennedy,
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  studying the note. I beg, pardon a what of Riley? Any word
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  I should say? Burst out Burke. Down in the cove, little neck
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  they call it, in a deserted barn. We've found a racer answers the
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  description of the one scene in New York, the morning of the robbery,
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  and on the road out here. It's my dope that you made the little
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  garage here untenable, Kennedy, And that whoever it was, took the cart
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  at the cove to hide it, he paused, but not for want of
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  something to say. Before we could urge him, he added, And that
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  scout cruiser too. She's being scuttled out past the point at the entrance to
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  the cove, whoever it is, He's been wiping out all the evidence against
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  him that he can. No word of Paquita or Sanchez, inquired Kennedy again.
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  Burke shook his head, and how is Shelby Maddox? Oh much better?
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  I was in the room during the flurry. You should have seen him.
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  When the turn came. We could hardly keep him in bed. He
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  was frantic. Kennedy had continued studying the anonymous note very carefully as we talked.
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  M It squares with my theory, he mused, more to himself than
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  to us. Yes, it is time to act, and we must act
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  quickly. At Burke, can you get all the Maddoxes up to Shelby's room
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  right away? Perhaps by that time we may have word from Rileigh. At
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  any rate, we shall be ready. Shelby was propped up in bed with
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  pillows, quite reconciled now to being an invalid. When we entered, the
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  best little nurse ever, he greeted us, scarcely, taking his eyes from
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  Winnifred. And a financier too, he answered with a laugh, A power
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  in the market. You mustn't forget Professor Kennedy's machine put in Winnifred, welcoming
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  us with a smile that covered the trace of a blush which glowed through the
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  pretty tan of her cheeks. Shelby grasped Craig's hand. You said you wouldn't
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  work for me, he grinned, But you certainly didn't work against me.
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  Just let me get on my feet again. You won't regret old man that
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  you A knock on the door cut him short. It was Frances and Johnson
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  Walcott. For a moment, the two women looked at each other. Not
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  a word was said, but each understood. Whatever differences had kept them apart
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  seemed to have been swept aside by the emotions of the moment. Francis whispered
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  something in whinn Wyfred's ear as she flung her arms about the girl, and
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  then turned to her brother and bent over him manlike. Johnson Walcott stood awkwardly.
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  His wife saw it. Congratulate them, Johnson, she cried, don't
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  you understand? Before he could reply, there came another tap on the door.
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  It was Burke again, escorting Irene Maddock's reluctant and suspicious Surprised, she
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  glanced from the Walcotts to Shelby, and then at us congratulate, whom she
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  asked quickly, what's it all about? There was a moment of embarrassment when
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  Kennedy came to the rescue, stepping forward and looking at his watch. I'm
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  waiting word from Senorita Paquita and mister Sanchez, he interrupted, But that is
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  no reason why I should not at least begin to tell you what I have
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  discovered. We watched him as he slowly drew from his pocket the crumpled note
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  which Burke had discovered that morning, and the apparently blank sheet of paper we
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  had picked up in Pequita's room. It seemed as if Kennedy's words had recalled
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  them all to their former selves in an instant. Each seemed to be on
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  guard, even Shelby. I suppose you have heard of what we call the
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  science of graphology, he inquired, motioning in pantomime to me to fill a
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  basin with warm water. It is the reading of character in handwriting into the
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  basin. He dropped the blank sheet, and we waited in silence. I
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  at least was not surprised when he held up the wet paper, now covered
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  with figures scrawled all over it. Even though there is writing on this sheet
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  he observed holding up the note and figures on the other. I think any
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  one could tell at a glance that they were not made by the same hand.
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  This was, by no means my first clue he was waving the wet
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  paper with the figures. But it decided me. Though the message was hidden
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  both by sympathetic ink and a cryptogram, still, in the light of this
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  new science, the character of the writer stands out as plain as if it
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  were shouted from the house top. He paused again. Graphology tells me,
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  he proceeded slowly, that the hand that wrote these figures is the hand of
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  one who has all the characteristics of a spy and a traitor. Before we
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  go further, let me call to your mind some rather remarkable deductions and discoveries
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  I have made by the way Burke. You left word where we were in
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  case we get any news. The Secret serviceman nodded but said nothing, as
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  if he did not wish his voice to break the thread of Kennedy's disclosure.
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  The plot against Maddock's munitions, and particularly the wonderful tell automaton, continued.
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  Kennedy gravely was subtle. Apparently all was to be accomplished at one coup.
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  The plans were to be stolen on the Sybarite the same night that the model
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  was to be taken from the safe in New York. How the latter was
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  accomplished we know well enough now. For all practical purposes. Marshal Maddox's keys
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  were to admit the thief to the office, and the burglar's microphone did the
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  rest. How it was accomplished here I know too without doubt. The Japanese
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  Mito admitted the plotter to the Ciberite at least signaled so that it was possible
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  to creep up quietly in a cruiser and throw a chlorine gas bomb through a
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  marked port. Marshal Maddox was overcome killed through the same porthole. His body
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  was thrown. Thus at once, both the plans and the keys that gave
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  access to the model were obtained. As Craig spoke, my mind hastily reviewed
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  the events of what seemed now weeks instead of days past. It was as
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  though he had failed in an explanation of the events. In a silent drama.
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  Mito was seen ashore that night. He resumed he was suspected I was
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  watching him worse than that, he knew too much. He was a weak
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  link and ever present danger. Therefore he must be got out of the way,
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  and he was killed. But his mute lips tell quite as eloquent a
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  story as if he were here before us. Now there is another who played
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  an even more important part. She is not here, but I know you
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  all know whom I mean. Kennedy had thus deftly shifted the picture to the
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  little dancer. As he spoke, Irene Maddox leaned forward, her face burning
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  with indignation at the mere mention of her hay rival, Perkeitter. Kennedy continued,
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  carefully choosing his words. Has been an enigma to me in this case.
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  There's no use mincing matters. There had long been a feud in the
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  family before she appeared. I think there is no need for me here to
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  elaborate how she has brought matters to a crisis, or the enmity which she
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  stirred up. Missus Maddox murmured something bitterly under her breath, but Kennedy quickly
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  changed the subject. We know also that Pequita met to Shelby Maddox. He
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  hurried on in the minds of some it looked as though she might break Shelby
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  too, But it was just because of the reasons that made them think so
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  that precisely the opposite happened. Strangely enough, the little Dancer seems to have
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  fallen in love with him herself. Out of the corner of my eye,
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  I was watching Winifred. Her was set in deep lines. As Kennedy went
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  ahead in his merciless analysis of the case. Shelby colored but said nothing,
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  though his manner was of the man who might have said much if he had
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  not learned that defense was worse than silence. Whenifred's face questioned as plainly as
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  words, whether there must always be present that sinister shadow of Pequita, I
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  wondered whether she was yet convinced that he had never loved the Little Dancer.
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  Kennedy seemed to feel the situation, but he added slowly and significantly. In
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  the meantime, something else had happened. Shelby Maddocks had met some one else
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  he had not dwelt on the gossip about Pequita. I could almost feel the
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  relief of Shelby, for Pequita had been a cause of disagreement even between missus
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  Walcott and the others. Even this new turn of events was used in desperation
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  by the Crow in aiming a blow at Shelby, after having been defeated at
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  every other point. As a last desperate resort, an attempt was directed at
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  Winnifred Walcott herself. It was as though someone tried to strike at Shelby himself
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  and had decided that the surest way to control him was through someone whom he
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  loved. Who was it? He concluded, facing us pointedly, that kidnapped
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  Winifred, and why, As far as I was able to answer, it
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  might have been anybody. I had even considered the possibility that Shelby might have
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  carried her off himself in order to make her turn to him for protection.
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  In fact, I had never been able to account for the presence of Sanchez
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  with us at the time. Had I been mistaken in Sanchez, Attack after
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  attack on those who were getting closer had failed, continued Kennedy. That being
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  the case, those who might talk be silenced. Mito was dead. Still,
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  Pequita remained, she too must be silenced, and so my suspicion,
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  in turn, was thrown on her by this cipher which I have here she
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  was ordered to go to New York in order to mislead me. The plan
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  failed. Always in the most clever schemes of crime, they fail at some
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  point. Unless I am very much mistaken, Paquita has seen through the designs
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  what she will do I do not profess to know, for, in addition
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  to the mixed motice of her hopeless love for Shelby Maddock's and jealousy of Miss
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  Walcott, her disappearance this morning indicates that she is in mortal fear of an
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  attack inspired by the plotter. Unavoidably, my mind raced ahead to Sanchez,
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  who had followed her so jealously. Had he really been in love with her
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  alone, as hopeless as her own for Maddocks, or was he a more
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  sinister figure? Had they been playing a game, each having an insight into
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  the weakness of this unhappy family. I recalled the conversation I had had with
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  Henri in the cabaret and his non committal shrug. Perhaps Sanchez and Pequita had
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  been deeper than we had thought, and now resumed Kennedy, evidently temporizing in
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  the hope that word would soon come from the searches whom we had out now
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  we find that a final effort has been made to remove all incriminating traces of
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  crime. The car, which we could not locate in the garage here,
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  has been found hidden miles away. The fast motor boat which escaped us last
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  night lies at the bottom of the bay. At the same time, an
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  insidious stock market attack has been wrecked, for it was a final purpose in
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  this ambitious scheme, evidently to wreck Maddock's unions in order to gain control of
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  it. Even my own resources of science must have failed if it had not
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  been for the loyalty of one who cast all into the balance. At the
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  final moment, we were following Kennedy intently now, and I did not betray
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  that I saw Shelby's hand steal out and clasp that of Winifred, which was
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  resting on a table beside his bed. She did not withdraw her own hand.
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  The telephone rang, and Burke, who was nearest it, answered.
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  The conversation was brief, evidently the party at the other end was doing most
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  of the talking, but as we scanned the detective's face, we could see
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  that something important had happened. You do not know where Sanchez has gone,
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  asked Burke. Finally adding, keep the boys on the trail then until he
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  gets some clue. Good Bye. He hung up the receiver slowly and turned
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  toward Kennedy. But I do not think any of us were prepared for his
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  message. Pakida has committed suicide, he blurted out. Suddenly, we looked
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  at one another in amazement at this startling turn of events. What did it
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  mean? Had she seen nothing more to live for? Or had some one
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  pursued her? And was she anticipating fate? There was Riley, recounted Burke
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  briefly. Evidently she'd taken poison. They found her body in the woods,
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  not far from where we discovered the car and the sunken bolt. Some children
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  say they saw a man there. He answers the description of Sanchez. Riley
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  is following the clue. What drove her to it? Was there no word,
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  no note, asked Irene Maddox, awed by the tragedy, Yes,
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  replied Burke. On a piece of paper she had written, I've mailed a
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  letter to Shelby Maddock's. May God forgive me for what I've done. There's
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  nothing left in life for me, that is all. We gazed at one
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  another in consternation. Poor girl, repeated Kennedy in a low tone. She
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  was merely a pawn in the hands of another. But it is a dangerous
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  game, this game of hearts, even with the heart of an adventuress.
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  I think we should organize a search for this fellow Sanchez before he can get
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  away, proposed Johnson Walcott, taking a step towards Kennedy. My own car
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  is below. We can get up a posse in no time. Right at
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  the lodge. Before any one could take up the suggestion, the door of
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  the room flew open, and there stood Sanchez himself, pale, his eyes
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  staring, his whole manner that of one who had reached the last point of
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  desperation. Half Way across the room, he stopped, faced us, and
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  tossed down on the table before Kennedy a package wrapped in oiled silk. That
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  is my revenge, he exclaimed, in a voice almost sepulchral. I found
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  eating the boat before I scuttled it. Craig tore it open, there,
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  unrolled before us at last lay the plans of the deadly tele automaton. Of
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  a sudden I realized that the model had destroyed itself in sinking the sybarite.
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  With the plans in our possession, the secret was safe. Slowly, Sanchez
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  raised an accusing finger, but before he could utter a word, Craig had
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  packed against the door and stood holding it. Someone has been keeping under cover
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  here. Craig shot out, suddenly hiding behind others who were his tools.
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  First Mito, then Paquita, who has been driven to her death, and
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  now Sanchez. Graphology first betrayed his fine hand of crime to me. The
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  dock Market attack confirmed my suspicion. Sanchez has completed. Don't shoot Burke,
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  as you covered already, Walter, will you be so kind as to disarm
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  Johnson Walcott? End of Chapter twenty five. End of The Adventuress by Arthur b Reeve