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The Wireless Wiretapper · The Adventuress

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Chapter nineteen of The Adventuress by Arthur b Reeve. This LibriVox recording is in
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the public domain. Read by Anne Fletcher, chapter nineteen, The Wireless Wire
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Tapper. A few moments later we went downstairs again, and Burke drove us
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in his car up to the town, where in the main street was a
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little chapel whose bell was now tolling slowly and mournfully. As his car drew
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up at the end of the long line down the street, I saw why
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Kennedy had decided to break into the time so sorely needed in our own investigation
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of the case. It seemed as though every one must be at the funeral,
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even the reporters from New York. Kennedy and I managed to avoid them,
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but their presence testified to the wide interest that the case had aroused throughout
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the country. Rather a turning object lesson in the business that the Maddoxes are
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in, commented Kennedy, as we walked the rest of the way to the
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shrubbery surrounded chapel. If there is such a thing as retributif jo justice,
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this is the result of the business of making a profit out of mere instruments
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to kill I fancied that there was more than coincidence behind the reasoning. The
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Maddoxes had been so long engaged in making munitions, devoid of any feeling of
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patriotism, had amassed such an immense fortune, out of which the curse had
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been taken by no philanthropy, that it must undoubtedly be a true philosophy which
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traced from their very business and consequent character the evils and tragedies that followed in
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the wake of the Maddox millions. I reflected that even over the tele automaton,
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the destroyer itself, there had been no thought of public service in the
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family, but merely the chance to extort more gain from the frailties and sufferings
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of humanity. And now this was the end of one art extortioner. There
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seemed to be something hollow in the funeral of Martial Maddocks. It took me
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some time to explain it to myself. It was not because we were there
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outsiders and in our capacity observers, in fact, almost spies, although that
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may have had something to do with the impression it made on me. The
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little chapel was crowded, but with the curious who had heard vague rumors about
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the death. As I looked at the real mourners, I fancied that my
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impression must be due to them, that somehow this was a mockery of mourning.
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I couldn't imagine that Irene Maddox was overwhelmed by grief after what had occurred
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to her. As for the gay little Paquita, she was of course not
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there at all, and her presence would only have sounded a new note of
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hollowness. I had not seen her manifest any deep sign of grief at present.
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I supposed she was still in New York, going about her own or
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some unknown business, as unconcerned as if nothing had happened. Shelby Maddocks had
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come up from whatever business he was engaged in in New York just in time
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for the service. Once or twice I thought he showed real grief, as
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though the death of his brother brought back to his recollection other and better days.
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Yet I couldn't help wondering whether even his emotions might not be affectation for
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our benefit, for the tragedy seemed not to have deterred him from doing pretty
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much as he might have done. Anyhow, I looked about for Winnifred Walcott.
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Evidently the strain of events had been too much for her. She was
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not there, but her brother was there with his wife, who was next
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to her own brother, Shelby. The service was short and formal, and
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I shall not dwell on it, for after all, nothing occurred during it
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which changed our attitude toward any of those present. For a brief moment at
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the close, the family were together, and I felt that Shelby was the
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most human of them all, at least Missus Walcott and her husband were the
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first to leave, and I couldn't help comparing it with a previous occasion when
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they'd taken Irene Maddox in their car. A little later, Shelby appeared with
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his sister in law, leaving her only when some of her own family,
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who had come to Westport evidently to be with her, appeared. Instead of
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going to the lodge, he walked slowly down to the pier and jumped into
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one of his tenders that was waiting to take him out to the Cybarite alone.
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Now and then I had seen him glance sharply about, but it was
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not at us that he was looking. He seemed rather to be hoping that
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he might chance to meet Winifred Walcott. I think she was much more on
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his mind at present than even his brother. Johnson Walcott and his wife passed
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us in their car, and we could see them stop at the harbor house
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Porte Cochere. Francis Walcott alighted, and after a moment talking together, Johnson
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drove away alone, swinging around into the road to the city. Our friends
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of the Secret Service seemed to be about everywhere, but unobtrusivey observing. There
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was much that was interesting to observe, but nothing that pointed the way to
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the solution of the mystery. The funeral over, it was again the old
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Maddock's house of hate, each member going his own way. It was as
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though an armistice had been declared, and now the truce was over. I
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felt that we might now expect war again to the last dollar. It was
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not to be expected that any of them would allow the other to control without
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a fight, nor relinquish any claim that was not fully compensated. One bright
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spot only shone out in the drab of the situation. So far, the
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dead hand of the Maddock's millions had not stretched out and fallen on the lovely
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and pure personality of Winifred Walcott. The more I thought of it, the
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more I had come to fear that these hates and jealousies and bitter rivalries might
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engulf her as they had many others. Had that been the trouble with Irene
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Maddocks, Had she been once even as Winifred was now, had she been
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drawn into this mailstrom of money? I dreaded the thought of the possible outcome
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of the romance of Shelby Maddox and Winifred. Would it too blast another life?
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Or might it be that by some miracle Winifred might take out the curse
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that hung over the blood money of the Maddoxes. Never before had our responsibility
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in the case far beyond the mere unraveling of the mystery, presented itself to
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me so forcibly as it did now after the solemn and sobering influence of the
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last rites of the murdered head of the house. We came along past the
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carriage entrance to the lodge. Again, beside the door were piled several large
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packages, and the uniformed boy who presided over that entrance of the lodge was
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evidently much worried over them. Burke had left us on the way up,
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and as we turned the boy at the door caught sight of Kennedy and hurried
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over to us. The young man said, these were for you, sir,
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he announced, indicating the packages. Undecided whether to play for a tip
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or to ask to have them taken away. Oh Yes, recognized Kennedy as
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Watkins, who had brought them down. Appeared some stuff I had brought from
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the city. Will you help me down to the dock with them? The
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boy was more than willing. Not only were the packages to be taken away
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from his door, but Kennedy had crossed his palm with a coin with Watkins.
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He carried the things down. Kennedy had no intention at present, evidently
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of using the material which had come from New York, but left it in
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the little summer house in charge of the student. We were about to turn
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back to the casino and the lodge when Craig caught my eye and nodded in
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the direction of the beach. There I could see the solitary figure of a
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girl coming slowly along. It was Winifred Walcott. I watched her. Evidently
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she'd been out for a walk alone. Now and then she gave a quick
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glance across the water, and I soon realized that it was at the sipperite.
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She looked. Shelby had long since reached the yacht, but apparently she'd
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seen his tender dashing out there. I couldn't help but think of the stroll
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that Shelby had taken with Paquita the night before down the beach in the same
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direction. Was Winnifred thinking of it too? And was she sorry that she
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had dismissed him without accepting his explanation at its face value. That shows what
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a great part chance plays in our lives, mused Kennedy to me, as
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we watched her there thinking of each other. If Shelby had been a few
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minutes later, or she had been a few minutes earlier, they would have
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met. I suppose they're both too proud to go to each other. Now.
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You're not contemplating being a match maker, I hazarded. On the contrary,
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he smiled, I think we shall gain more by letting events take their
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natural course. No chance must bring them together again. Miss Walcott had seen
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us by this time and seemed to realize that we were talking about her,
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for she quickened her pace, and, instead of coming up to the summer
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house, left the beach by another the flight of steps, though not so
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far away that we couldn't see the faint flush on her cheeks as she purposely
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avoided us. We too went toward the lodge, but did not overtake her.
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On the veranda of the lodge waiting for us. Was Riley just returned
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from the city. Where is Pekita? Inquired Kennedy, tell me what has
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happened? Nothing much, returned Riley chagrined. I stuck to her pretty closely.
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She's back, you know. I think I have an idea of what
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it was all about, ventured Kennedy. Riley nodded, mister Burke has told
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me something of the cipher message to her. Sir, I think you are
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right. She must have tried to divert our attention. How does she seem,
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inquired Kennedy. Riley chuckled. I think she's terribly miffed, he replied.
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She acts to me as though she was disappointed in us, in you,
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particularly you. You don't follow her about New York. I don't think
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she quite understands what happened. You don't play, According to Hoyle. What
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did she do after that last telephone call? Nothing? Absolutely nothing? Oh
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it was a plant, all right. She came back in the car after
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a while. We passed the church while the funeral was going on. She
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never even looked. Say what has become of Sanchez? Kennedy retailed what Winifred
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had said about the sallow faced man and his solicitude. I wager he'll be
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along soon, now, asserted Riley, with professional assurance. I just saw
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Irene Maddox after she came back from the funeral. She seems to be rather
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out of it, doesn't she Since her own folks arrived the Maddox isn't the
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walk Cart seem to feel they have no further responsibility. Kennedy smiled at the
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gruelity of the detective. What made you connect Sanchez and Irene Maddox, he
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asked? Don't you think she is really through with him? I guess she
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is, returned Riley, but I can't say the same of him. If
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I could only get at the true relation of that fellow with Pakita, I'd
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be a good deal happier. Missus. Maddox may have hired him to shadow
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her, But if you want to know what I think it is that that
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Max or whatever he is, has actually fallen in love with the girl.
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Another love affair, I queried sarcastically. Then all I've got to say is
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that they're well matched. All right, defended Riley rather hotly. But we
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know that he double cross missus maddocks, don't we Well, then if he's
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working for anybody else, now, what reason have you to suppose that he
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won't double cross them too? Mister Burke thinks there may be a gang of
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all right, what's to prevent this Sanchez from being stuck on her? In
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that case, there are all sorts in the underworld, and there's no telling
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what a woman or a man may do. But look at the way she
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acts towards Shelby Maddox, I urged, If ever, there was a woman
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who threw herself at a man, that's a case of it. Part of
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the game. Part of the game, returned Riley, What game? Interrupted
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Kennedy, who had been listening to us in amuse silence. Riley was not
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ready with an answer on the spur of the moment, and as it was
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not my contention, I did not attempt it. Well finished the secret serviceman
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as he left us. I'm going to look about just the same, and
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you can take it from me. This thing will never be cleared up until
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we explain that, fella. Sanchez. Kennedy said nothing as Riley walked away,
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but I fancied that underneath he concurred largely with the operative. We were
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about to leave the verandah when Burke rejoined us, his face indicating that some
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new problem had come up. I wonder what Shelby Maddocks can be up to,
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he began, as though appealing for aid. I was using the telephone,
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and while I waited for my number, I got to talking with the
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little girl at the switchboard. She tells me that in the last day or
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two while Shelby's been out here, he's been talking a great deal over the
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wire with New York and has placed some large orders through different brokers for Maddock's
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munitions stuck. It was an important piece of news, I recalled, Hastings
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wonder at Shelby's trips into the city and our own discovery that he'd been visiting
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a broker, coupled with the presence of Pequita downtown in the same building Maddock's
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munitions isn't so low that it's a good bye, considered Burke, unless there's
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some scheme to manipulate it up. It had a little slump when Marshall Maddox
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died, but recovered what its future will be without him. No one can
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say there's no reason why it shouldn't decline, but it hasn't done. So
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perhaps that's the game, I suggested, Maybe Shelby is holding the market up.
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Some one must be supporting it. Why if it weren't for some support,
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I'll wager the stock would have broken worse than it did, and it
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wouldn't have recovered. Kennedy nodded, not so much in approval of the explanation
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as at the line of thought that the idea suggested. Do you suppose,
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speculated Burke, that there can be some manipulation of Maddock's munitions going on under
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cover? What can be Shelby's purpose in all this? Perhaps we're mistaken in
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that young man, and he's a great deal deeper than any of us give
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him credit for being. Would it be impossible that he might be planning to
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get the control from the others? It was an explanation that could not be
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easily put aside, only death had rested the control from the elder brother who
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was there to take his place. Had Shelby undergone a transformation almost overnight,
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or more horrible thought, had the whole affair been preconceived, from the conference
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on the yacht and the murder to the manipulation of the market. What with
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both Riley and Burke theorizing on the case, I could see that Kennedy was
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growing a bit impatient, though he formed many of them. Theories never appealed
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to Kennedy as long as one little fact might knock out the prettiest deduction.
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We've been away from our room a long time, he interjected, as though
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remembering what we had originally started to do. Something must have happened by this
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time, or we'll never get anything. Let's go up there and see whether
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our wireless wire tapper has caught anything. Yet scarcely passed the door, Kennedy
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nudged me a signal to be on guard. I looked cautiously about sitting in
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the lobby where she could see. Everybody who came and went was Pequita.
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She saw us approaching, but made no effort to avoid us. In fact,
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I felt sure that it was we for whom she was looking. If
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it was, Kennedy did not give her any satisfaction by letting her know that
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we had even noticed it. We passed by, still chatting, though careful
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to say nothing that could not safely be overheard, and entered the elevator.
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As the door clang shut, Pequita flashed a chagrined glance at us. It
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said, as plainly as words, that she wanted to focus our attention on
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herself instead of something else. Up in the room, Kennedy fairly ripped the
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wax cylinder from his wireless machine and jammed it into what looked like a miniature
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phonograph, a recording device invented by Marconi, he explained, as a succession
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of strange sounds issued from the producer. I could make nothing out of it,
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but Kennedy seemed quite excited and dilated. It's not a wireless message at
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all, he exclaimed, Then what is it? I inquired. He listened
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a moment more and then burst out, No, not a message, that's
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just wireless power itself, and it seems to come from the water side too.
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He relapsed into silence, leaving us only to speculate what possible object would
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there be in the use of wireless power solely? Why did it come from
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the water? Was there a boat hanging about, perhaps flying the burghee of
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some well known club, yet in reality to be used for some criminal purpose.
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End of Chapter nineteen