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The Speed Demon · The Adventuress

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  Chapter twenty of The Adventuress by Arthur b Reeve. This LibriVox recording is in
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  the public domain. Read by Anne Fletcher, Chapter twenty, The Speed Daemon.
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  There seemed to be no use in staying longer in our room observing the
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  behavior of the wireless detector when the very neighborhood still bristled with mystery and perhaps
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  danger. Accordingly, we went downstairs again with Burke, just in time to
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  meet Hastings, who had come down on the late afternoon train from the city.
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  Has anything happened since we left, inquired Kennedy of the lawyer. Before
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  he could begin to quiz us. Very little, he replied. The man
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  was still watching that little office where the detectiphone wire led when I left.
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  Not a soul has been near it. I think you can assume that it
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  has been left abandoned. I thought as much, agreed, Craig. Have
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  you heard anything more about the activity of Shelby. He was here at the
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  funeral this afternoon. He's out on the Cibberite now and has been very quiet
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  at least down here. I've been making some inquiries, replied Hastings, slowly,
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  As nearly as any of the brokers I know can tell I should say
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  that Shelby must be doing something. There have been several large blocks of stock
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  unloaded, and they've all been taken up. In spite of it, the
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  price has been maintained, but it's all underground. I haven't decided which side
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  shall be, is on bear or bull? He never was on either side
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  before, so I don't know what he's up to. You can reason it
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  out either way, and after all, it is a matter of fact,
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  not reason. It won't take long to find that out to morrow if we
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  want to, remarked Kennedy. The trouble to day was that there were more
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  pressing things that had to be done. We had scarcely finished outlining to Hastings
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  what we had discovered at Westport. When Riley edged up to report to Burke,
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  Miss Walcott's acting very strangely, sir, He ventured, you'd think she
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  hadn't a friend in the world. How's that cutting, Kennedy. I saw
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  her coming up from the beach a while ago alone, replied Riley. First
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  she passed Missus Maddocks and they scarcely spoke, and then later I saw her
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  do the same thing with Missus Walcott. They've been that way now for some
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  time. Where is she in her room, asked Burke. Riley nodded,
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  yes. I can't see any reason why she should stay here if she feels
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  this way about it, put in Hastings testily. She doesn't belong to the
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  family. Kennedy glanced covertly at me. I fancied, I understood what was
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  in his mind, Whinnifred Walcott probably would not admit it even to herself,
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  why she stayed that little dancer and miss Walcott are as friendly as kill Kenny
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  cats too, added Riley, with a left handed attempt at humor. Oh
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  you have an x ray, I commented Craig with veiled sarcasm, which quite
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  amused me, for the detective actually took it literally and thanked him. Pequitter
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  is still about then, yes, sir, Right after you went upstairs,
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  she had her car brought around and started out for a spin down the shore
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  road. But she must have seen that one of our men was following,
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  for she turned up country and was back again in half an hour. If
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  she intended to do anything, she must have been scared off. She's upstairs
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  now, dressin for dinner. I suppose I've got her check made it.
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  She can't move without my knowing it, and she knows it down the shore
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  road, repeated Kennedy reflectively. I wonder what she could have wanted down there.
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  The wireless impulses come from the water side, Walter, would you mind
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  going down on the dock and telling that young man of mine he'd better get
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  a bite to eat right away, and then he can begin getting the stuff
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  unpacked and set up. While Watkins took a hasty dinner at the lodge,
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  I relieved him of watching the packages he had brought. It was a tiresome
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  weight for I longed to be with Kennedy. One thing, however, broke
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  the monotony once. When I looked up, I caught sight of a launch
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  putting out from the sybarite and feathering over the choppy waves in the direction of
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  the dock. As it came closer, I saw that it contained Shelby Maddock's
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  still alone. He came ashore, and as he walked up the dock,
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  saw me and nodded absently, Evidently he was thinking of something else. I
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  was glad to rejoin Kennedy. A few minutes later, when Watkins returned and
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  began to unwrap the packages as Craig had ordered. Fortunately, for the sake
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  of my curiosity, nothing had occurred during my absence, except that Craig and
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  Burke had seen Shelby enter, although he had done nothing. It was a
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  dinner hour and the guests were beginning to enter the dining room. Shelby had
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  already done so, selecting a table where he was in sight of that usually
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  occupied by the Walcocks. Their table seemed deserted to night. Johnson Walcott was
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  not yet back, and Irene Maddox now sat at another table with those of
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  her family who had come to be with her at the funeral. Winifred did
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  not come down to dinner at all, which seemed to vex Shelby, for
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  it looked as though she were avoiding him. The only person at the table
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  was Francis Walcott. Convinced that no one else was coming in, Shelby glumly
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  hurried through his meal, and, finally, unable to stand it any longer,
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  rose and, on the way out, stopped to talk to his sister.
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  What was said we could not guess, but it was more like a
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  parley during an armistice than a talk between brother and sister, and it did
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  not seem to do Shelby much good. Finally, he drifted out aimlessly into
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  the lobby again. As he stood undecided, we caught a glimpse of the
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  pit teat figure of Pequita flitting from an alcove in his direction. Before he
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  could avoid her. She spoke to him, however, unwelcome the meeting might
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  have been to Shelby, and his face showed plainly that it was so.
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  There could be no doubt of Pequita's eagerness to see him. As I looked
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  at her, I could only wonder at the strangeness of life. She,
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  whom men had pursued and had found elusive even when they thought they had her
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  captured, was now herself in the anomalous role of pursuer, and the man
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  whom she pursued cared no more for her than she for those who pursued her,
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  nay more. He was openly, hopelessly in love with another woman,
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  in every respect, the antithesis of herself. Much as I disliked Pequita's type,
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  though realizing her fascination as a study, I could not help seeing the
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  potential tragedy and pathos of the situation. She did not accuse or upbraid.
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  On the contrary, she was using every art of which she was a past
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  mistress to fascinate and attract. I didn't need prompting from Kennedy to see the
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  strange romance of the situation. The little Dancer was subtly matching all the charm
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  and all the knowledge of men and the world which she possessed against the appeal
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  that Winifred had made to a hitherto latent side of Shelby's nature. The struggle
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  between the two women was no less enthralling than the unraveling of the mystery of
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  martial Maddox's death by heaven. I heard Kennedy mutter under his breath as we
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  watched Pekita and Shelby. I wonder whether it is right to let events take
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  their course. Yes, it must be. If he cannot go through it
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  now, he'll never be able to. Yes, Shelby Maddocks must fight that
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  out for himself. He shall not ruin the life of Winifred Walcott. His
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  remark set me thinking of the responsibility Craig had had thrust on him. It
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  was far more than merely running down the murderer of martial Maddox. Now Shelby
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  himself evidently appreciated what faced him. I could see that he was talking very
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  bluntly and pointedly to her, almost rudely. Now and then she flashed a
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  glance at him, which, with her flushed face and the emotion expressed in
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  her very being, could not have failed only three days ago. Shelby seemed
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  to feel it and took refuge in what looked to be an almost harshness of
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  manner with her. Kennedy jogged my arm and I followed his eyes in the
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  alcove from which she had come. I was not surprised to see Sanchez standing
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  and looking at them. His dark eyes seemed riveted on the man, as
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  though he hated him with a supernal hate. What would he himself not have
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  given to be where Shelby was. I wondered whether his blinded eyes saw the
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  truth about Shelby's position. I doubted it, or it was with difficulty that
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  he restrained himself. Black and ominous were the looks that he darted at the
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  younger man. Indeed, I did not envy him. As I turned to
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  say something to Kennedy, I saw that Sanchez and ourselves were not the only
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  ones interested. Francis Maddox had just come out of the dining room, had
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  seen her brother and Pequita, and had drawn back into the shadow of a
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  doorway leading to the porch, where she could see them better without being seen
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  by them. Yet she betrayed nothing of her feelings toward either. Meanwhile,
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  Shelby had been getting more and more vehement as he talked. I couldn't hear,
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  but it was quite evident now that he was repeating and enforcing the remarks
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  he had made to Pequita the night before during their secret stroll down the beach,
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  And she, instead of getting angry as he no doubt hoped she would,
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  was keeping her temper and her control of herself in a most dangerous manner.
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  There was so much to think about that it was not until now that
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  I noticed that the face we had seen in the alcove was gone. Sanchez
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  had disappeared. Had the thing been too much for him? Was it that
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  he could not trust himself to stay at any rate? He was gone?
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  Just then, Shelby turned on his heel, almost brutally, and deliberately walked
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  away. It was as though he felt it his only escape from temptation.
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  Pequita took an involuntary step after him, and then stopped short. I followed
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  her quick glance to see what it might be that had deterred her. She
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  caught sight of Francis Walcott, whose interests had betrayed her into letting the light
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  stream through the doorway on her face. Instantly, Pequita covered the vexation that
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  was on her face. Least of all would she let this man's sister see
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  it. Consummate actress that she was, she turned and walked across the lobby,
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  and a moment later was in gay conversation with another of her numerous admirers.
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  But it did not take an eye more trained than mine to see the
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  gaiety was forced the animation of quite a different character from that she had showed
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  to Shelby. Of one thing we can be sure, remarked Craig, Miss
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  Walcott will hear all about this. I hope she hears the truth. I'm
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  almost tempted to tell her myself. He paused, debating, No, he
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  decided finally, the time hasn't come yet. Shelby had retreated to the porch,
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  where now he was pacing up and down alone. As he came past
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  the door, his abstracted glance fell with a start on his sister. He
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  drew himself together and spoke to her. Evidently he was debating whether she'd seen
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  anything, and if so, how much, and how she had interpreted it.
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  At any rate, he was at pains to speak now, hoping that
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  she might carry a message which he dared not send. What was going on
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  in their minds, I wouldn't guess, But to outward appearance, they were
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  more like brother and sister than I had seen them ever before. They parted
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  finally, and Shelby continued his measured tread about the porch, as though trying
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  to make up his mind on a course of action. For about quarter of
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  an hour he walked, then, his face set in determined lines, entered
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  the lodge and went deliberately over to a florist's stand. There, oblivious to
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  anything else, he selected the handsomest bunch of violets on the stand. He
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  was about to drop his card into their fragrant and reconciling depths when he paused,
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  replaced the card in his case, and directed the man to deliver them
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  anonymously. There was no need for us to inquire where they were sent.
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  Still oblivious to the gay life of the lodge and casino, he strode out
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  into the night and down to the dock, paying no attention to Craig's student
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  as he passed. He stepped into the tender, which was still waiting,
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  and we saw him head straight for the ciby. Right ten minutes later,
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  the lights in the main saloon flashed up. Shelby was evidently at work over
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  some problem, wrestling it out himself. Was it his relations with Winnifred,
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  or his stock market schemes or both. Well, I've been looking all over
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  for you. Where have you been, sounded Burke's voice back of us.
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  As Kennedy and I were silently looking out over the dark waters at the yacht.
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  Without waiting for us to reply, Burke hurried, on, you remember
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  that opparade of steel that was here from Seaville. Yes, encouraged Kennedy,
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  What of him? He went back to the station and has done his trick.
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  He's just crossed over again with a message to me. That wireless power,
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  wherever it is, is jamming the air again. I thought you'd like
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  to know of it. For just a second. Kennedy looked at Burke in
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  silence, and then, without further inquiry, turned and almost ran down the
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  length of the dock to the float at the end. There, Watkins had
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  already set up on the float a large affair which looked for all the world
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  like a mortar. We watched as Craig fussed with it to make sure that
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  everything was all right. Meanwhile, the student continued adjusting something else that had
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  been let down over the edge of the float into the water. It seemed
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  to be a peculiar disk, heavy and suspended by a stout wire which allowed
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  it to be submerged eight or ten feet. What's this thing, inquired Burke,
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  looking at the mortar over which Craig was bending. Fireworks or are you
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  going to bombard somebody? It's a light weight rocket mortar, explained Kennedy,
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  ramming something into it. You'll see in a moment. Stand back, all
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  of you off the float on the dock. Suddenly there came a deep detonation
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  from the mortar, and a rocket shot out and up in a long,
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  low parabola. Kennedy rushed forward, and another detonation sent a second far out
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  in a different angle. What is it? Gasped Burke, in amazement.
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  Look called Kennedy. Here related another instant, and from every quarter of the
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  harbor there seemed to rise, as if from the waves, huge balls of
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  fire, a brilliant and luminous series of flames, literally from the water itself.
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  It was a moonless night, but these fires seemed literally to roll back
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  the Sumerian darkness. A recent invention explained Craig light bombs for use at night
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  against torpedo, boat and aeroplane attacks. Light bombs, Burke repeated, Yes,
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  made of phosphide of calcium. The mortar hurls them out, and they're
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  so constructed that they float after a short plunge in the water. You see
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  the action of the salt water automatically ignites them merely by contact, and the
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  chemical action of the phosphide and the salt water keeps them phosphorescing for several minutes.
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  As he talked, he shot off some more Kennedy, you're a genius,
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  gasped Burke. You're always ready for anything. The sight before us was
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  indeed a beautiful pyrotechnic display. The bombs lighted up the shores and the low
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  lying hills, making everything stand forth and cast long spectral shadows, cottages hidden
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  among trees or in coves along the wide sweep of the shore line stood out
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  as if in an unearthly flare. What people on the shore thought, we
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  had no time even to wonder. They crowded out on the porches in consternation.
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  The music at the casino who stopped. No one had ever seen anything
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  like it before. It was fire on water. As yet, none of
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  us had even an inkling of what it was that Kennedy expected to discover.
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  But every craft in the harbor now stood out distinct in the glare of miniature
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  sun. We could see that naturally, excitement on the boats was greater than
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  it was on shore, for they were closer to the flares, and therefore
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  it seemed more amazing. Craig was scanning the water, carefully, seeking any
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  sign of something suspicious. There it is, he exclaimed, bending forward and
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  pointing. We strained our eyes. A mile or two out, I could
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  distinguish a power boat of good size, moving swiftly away, as though trying
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  to round the shelter of a point of land. Out of the light.
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  With a glass, some one made out a stubby, wireless mast on her
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  Kennedy's surmise when we had first studied the wireless interference had proved correct. Sure
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  enough, in the blackness of the night there was a fast express cruiser of
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  the new Scout type, not large, almost possible for one man to control,
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  the latest thing in small power boats, and a perfect demon for speed.
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  Was that the source of the strange wireless impulses? Whose was it and
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  why was it there? End of Chapter twenty