Part 18

For a moment the two women looked at each other. Not a word was said, but each understood. Whatever differences had kept them apart seemed to have been swept aside by the emotions of the moment. Frances whispered something in Winifred’s ear as she flung her arms about the girl, then turned to her brother and bent over him.

Man-like, Johnson Walcott stood awkwardly. His wife saw it.

“Congratulate them, Johnson,” she cried. “Don’t you understand?”

Before he could reply there came another tap on the door. It was Burke again, escorting Irene Maddox, reluctant and suspicious.

Surprised, she glanced from the Walcotts to Shelby, then at us.

“Congratulate whom?” she asked, quickly. “What is it all about?”

There was a moment of embarrassment, when Kennedy came to the rescue, stepping forward and looking at his watch.

“I’m waiting word from Señorita Paquita and Mr. Sanchez,” he interrupted, “but that is no reason why I should not at least begin to tell you what I have discovered.”

We watched him as he slowly drew from his pocket the crumpled note which Burke had discovered that morning, and the apparently blank sheet of paper we had picked up in Paquita’s room.

It seemed as if Kennedy’s words had recalled them all to their former selves. In an instant each seemed to be on guard, even Shelby.

“I suppose you have heard of what we call the science of graphology?” he inquired, motioning in pantomime to me to fill a basin with warm water. “It is the reading of character in handwriting.”

Into the basin he dropped the blank sheet. We waited in silence. I, at least, was not surprised when he held up the wet paper, now covered with figures scrawled over it.

“Even though there is writing on this sheet,” he observed, holding up the note, “and figures on the other, I think any one could tell at a glance that they were not made by the same hand. This was by no means my first clue.” He was waving the wet paper with the figures. “But it decided me. Though the message was hidden both by sympathetic ink and a cryptogram, still, in the light of this new science, the character of the writer stands out as plain as if it were shouted from the house-top.”

He paused again. “Graphology tells me,” he proceeded, slowly, “that the hand that wrote these figures is the hand of one who has all the characteristics of a spy and a traitor. Before we go further, let me call to your mind some rather remarkable deductions and discoveries I have made. By the way, Burke, you left word where we were, in case we get any news?”

The Secret Service man nodded, but said nothing, as if he did not wish his voice to break the thread of Kennedy’s disclosure.

“The plot against Maddox Munitions and particularly the wonderful telautomaton,” continued Kennedy, gravely, “was subtle. Apparently all was to be accomplished at one coup. The plans were to be stolen on the _Sybarite_ the same night that the model was to be taken from the safe in New York. How the latter was accomplished we know well enough, now, for all practical purposes. Marshall Maddox’s keys were to admit the thief to the office. The burglar’s microphone did the rest.

“How it was accomplished here I know, too. Without a doubt, the Japanese, Mito, admitted the plotter to the _Sybarite_, at least signaled so that it was possible to creep up quietly in a cruiser and throw a chlorine-gas bomb through a marked port. Marshall Maddox was overcome――killed. Through the same port-hole his body was thrown.

“Thus at once both the plans and the keys that gave access to the model were obtained.”

As Craig spoke, my mind hastily reviewed the events of what seemed now weeks instead of days past. It was as though he had failed in an explanation of the events in a silent drama.

“Mito was seen ashore that night,” he resumed. “He was suspected. I was watching him. Worse than that, he knew too much. He was a weak link, an ever-present danger. Therefore he must be got out of the way. He was killed. But his mute lips tell quite as eloquent a story as if he were here before us now. There is another who played an even more important part. She is not here, but I know you all know whom I mean.”

Kennedy had thus deftly shifted the picture to the little dancer. As he spoke, Irene Maddox leaned forward, her face burning with indignation at the mere mention of her hated rival.

“Paquita,” Kennedy continued, carefully choosing his words, “has been an enigma to me in this case. There is no use mincing matters. There had long been a feud in the family, before she appeared. I think there is no need for me here to elaborate how she has brought matters to a crisis, or the enmity which she stirred up.”

Mrs. Maddox murmured something bitterly under her breath, but Kennedy quickly changed the subject.

“We know, also, that Paquita met Shelby Maddox,” he hurried on. “In the minds of some it looked as though she might break Shelby, too. But it was just because of the reasons that made them think so that precisely the opposite happened. Strangely enough, the little dancer seems to have fallen in love with him herself.”

Out of the corner of my eye I was watching Winifred. Her face was set in deep lines as Kennedy went ahead in his merciless analysis of the case. Shelby colored, but said nothing, though his manner was of the man who might have said much, if he had not learned that defense was worse than silence. Winifred’s face questioned as plainly as words whether there must always be present that sinister shadow of Paquita. I wondered whether she was yet convinced that he had never loved the little dancer.

Kennedy seemed to feel the situation. “But,” he added, slowly and significantly, “in the mean time something else had happened. Shelby Maddox had met some one else.”

He had not dwelt on the gossip about Paquita. I could almost feel the relief of Shelby, for Paquita had been a cause of disagreement even between Mrs. Walcott and the others.

“Even this new turn of events was used in desperation by the criminal. In aiming a blow at Shelby, after having been defeated at every other point, as a last desperate resort an attempt was directed at Winifred Walcott herself. It was as though some one tried to strike at Shelby himself, and had decided that the surest way to control him was through some one whom he loved. Who was it,” he concluded, facing us pointedly, “that kidnapped Winifred, and why?”

As far as I was able to answer, it might have been anybody. I had even considered the possibility that Shelby might have carried her off himself in order to make her turn to him for protection. In fact, I had never been able to account for the presence of Sanchez with us at the time. Had I been mistaken in Sanchez?

“Attack after attack on those who were getting closer had failed,” continued Kennedy. “That being the case, those who might talk must be silenced. Mito was dead. Still Paquita remained. She, too, must be silenced. And so my suspicion, in turn, was thrown on her. By this cipher which I have here she was ordered to go to New York, in order to mislead me. The plan failed. Always in the most clever schemes of crime, they fail at some point. Unless I am very much mistaken, Paquita has seen through the designs. What she will do I do not profess to know. For, in addition to the mixed motives of her hopeless love for Shelby Maddox and jealousy of Miss Walcott, her disappearance this morning indicates that she is in mortal fear of an attack inspired by the plotter.”

Unavoidably my mind raced ahead to Sanchez, who had followed her so jealously. Had he really been in love with her――a love as hopeless as her own for Maddox? Or was he a more sinister figure? Had they been playing a game, each having an insight into the weakness of this unhappy family? I recalled the conversation I had had with Henri in the cabaret and his noncommittal shrug. Perhaps Sanchez and Paquita had been deeper than we had thought.

“And now,” resumed Kennedy, evidently temporizing in the hope that word would soon come from the searchers whom we had out, “now we find that a final effort has been made to remove all incriminating traces of crime. The car which we could not locate in the garage here has been found hidden miles away. The fast motor-boat which escaped us last night lies at the bottom of the bay. At the same time an insidious stock-market attack has been wrecked, for it was a final purpose in this ambitious scheme evidently to wreck Maddox Munitions in order to gain control of it. Even my own resources of science must have failed if it had not been for the loyalty of one who cast all into the balance at the final moment.”

We were following Kennedy intently now, and I did not betray that I saw Shelby’s hand steal out and clasp that of Winifred, which was resting on a table beside his bed. She did not withdraw her own hand.

The telephone rang and Burke, who was nearest it, answered.

The conversation was brief. Evidently the party at the other end was doing most of the talking, but as we scanned the detective’s face we could see that something important had happened.

“You do not know where Sanchez has gone?” asked Burke, finally, adding, “Keep the boys on the trail then, until you get some clue. Good-by.”

He hung up the receiver slowly and turned toward Kennedy, but I do not think any of us were prepared for his message.

“Paquita has committed suicide!” he blurted out, suddenly.

We looked at one another in amazement at this startling turn of events.

What did it mean? Had she seen nothing more to live for, or had some one pursued her and was she anticipating fate?

“It was Riley,” recounted Burke, briefly. “Evidently she had taken poison. They found her body in the woods not far from where we discovered the car and the sunken boat. Some children say they saw a man there――he answers the description of Sanchez. Riley is following the clue.”

“What drove her to it? Was there no word, no note?” asked Irene Maddox, awed by the tragedy.

“Yes,” replied Burke. “On a piece of paper she had written, ‘I have mailed a letter to Shelby Maddox. May God forgive me for what I have done. There is nothing left in life for me.’ That is all.”

We gazed at one another in consternation.

“Poor girl!” repeated Kennedy in a low tone. “She was merely a pawn in the hands of another. But it is a dangerous game――this game of hearts――even with the heart of an adventuress.”

“I think we should organize a search for this fellow Sanchez before he can get away,” proposed Johnson Walcott, taking a step toward Kennedy. “My own car is below. We can get up a posse in no time right at the Lodge.”

Before any one could take up the suggestion the door of the room flew open.

There stood Sanchez himself――pale, his eyes staring, his whole manner that of one who had reached the last point of desperation.

Half-way across the room he stopped, faced us, and tossed down on a table before Kennedy a package wrapped in oiled silk.

“That is my revenge!” he exclaimed in a voice almost sepulchral. “I found it in the boat before I scuttled it.”

Craig tore it open. There, unrolled before us, at last lay the plans of the deadly telautomaton.

Of a sudden I realized that the model had destroyed itself in sinking the _Sybarite_. With the plans in our possession the secret was safe.

Slowly Sanchez raised an accusing finger, but before he could utter a word Craig had backed against the door and stood holding it.

“Some one has been keeping under cover here,” Craig shot out suddenly, “hiding behind others who were his tools――first Mito, then Paquita, who has been driven to her death, now Sanchez.

“Graphology first betrayed his fine hand of crime to me. The stock-market attack confirmed my suspicion. Sanchez has completed―― Don’t shoot! Burke has you covered already. Walter――will you be so kind as to disarm Johnson Walcott?”

THE END

Transcriber’s Note:

Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative spellings were retained. Misspelled words were corrected.

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations were added. Duplicate letters at line endings or page breaks were removed.