XI
THE SHOE-PRINTS
"I'm afraid we've neglected the Senorita a bit, in our efforts tofollow up what clues we have in the case," remarked Kennedy, as we rodeuptown again. "She needs all the protection we can give her. I thinkwe'd better drop around there, now that she is pretty likely to be leftalone."
Accordingly, instead of going back to the laboratory, we dropped offnear the apartment of the Mendozas and walked over from the subway.
As we turned the corner, far down the long block I could see theentrance to the apartment.
"There she is now," I said to Kennedy, catching sight of her familiarfigure, clad in sombre black, as she came down the steps. "I wonderwhere she can be going."
She turned at the foot of the steps and, as chance would have it,started in the opposite direction from us.
"Let us see," answered Kennedy, quickening his pace.
She had not gone very far before a man seemed to spring up from nowhereand meet her. He bowed, and walked along beside her.
"De Moche," recognized Kennedy.
Alfonso had evidently been waiting in the shadow of an entrance downthe street, perhaps hoping to see her, perhaps as our newspaper friendhad seen before, to watch whether Lockwood was among her callers. As wewalked along, we could see the little drama with practically no fear ofbeing seen, so earnestly were they talking.
Even during the few minutes that the Senorita was talking with him noone would have needed to be told that she really had a great deal ofregard for him, whatever might be her feelings toward Lockwood.
"I should say that she wants to see him, yet does not want to see him,"observed Kennedy, as we came closer.
She seemed now to have become restive and impatient, eager to cut theconversation short.
It was quite evident at the same time that Alfonso was deeply in lovewith her, that though she tried to put him off he was persistent. Iwondered whether, after all, some of the trouble had not been thatduring his lifetime the proud old Castilian Don Luis could never haveconsented to the marriage of his daughter to one of Indian blood. Hadhe left a legacy of fear of a love forbidden by race prejudice?
In any event, the manner of Alfonso's actions about the Mendozaapartment was such that one could easily imagine his feelings towardLockwood, whom he saw carrying off the prize under his very eyes.
As for his mother, the Senora, we had already seen that Peruvians ofher caste were also a proud old race. Her son was the apple of her eye.Might not some of her feelings be readily accounted for? Who were theseto scorn her race, her family?
We had walked along at a pace that finally brought us up with them. AsKennedy and I bowed, Alfonso seemed at first to resent our intrusion,while Inez seemed rather to welcome it as a diversion.
"Can we not expect you?" the young man repeated. "It will be only for afew minutes this afternoon, and my mother has something of very greatimportance to tell."
He was half pleading, half apologizing. Inez glanced hastily around atKennedy, uncertain what to say, and hoping that he might indicate somecourse. Surreptitiously, Kennedy nodded an affirmative.
"Very well, then," she replied reluctantly, not to seem to change whathad been her past refusal too suddenly. "I may ask Professor Kennedy,too?"
He could scarcely refuse before us. "Of course," he agreed, quicklyturning to us. "We were speaking about meeting this afternoon at fourin the tea room of the Prince Edward. You can come?"
Though the invitation was not over-gracious, Kennedy replied, "Weshould be delighted to accompany Miss Inez, I am sure. We happened tobe passing this way and thought we would stop in to see if anything newhad happened. Just as we turned the corner we saw you disappearing downthe street, and followed. I trust everything is all right?"
"Nothing more has happened since this morning," she returned, with alook that indicated she understood that Kennedy referred to theanonymous letter. "I had a little shopping to do. If you will excuseme, I think I will take a car. This afternoon--at four."
She nodded brightly as we assisted her into a taxicab and left us threestanding there on the curb. For a moment it was rather awkward. ToAlfonso her leaving was somewhat as though the sun had passed under acloud.
"Are you going up toward the University?" inquired Kennedy.
"Yes," responded the young man reluctantly.
"Then suppose we walk. It would take only a few more minutes,"suggested Kennedy.
Alfonso could not very well refuse, but started off at a brisk pace.
"I suppose these troubles interfere seriously with your work," pursuedCraig, as we fell into his stride.
"Yes," he admitted, "although much of my work just now is onlypolishing off what I have already learned--getting your American pointof view and methods. You see, I have had an idea that the canal willbring both countries into much closer relations than before. And if youwill not learn of us, we must learn of you."
"It is too bad we Americans don't take more interest in the countriessouth of us," admitted Craig. "I think you have the right idea, though.Such men as Mr. Whitney are doing their best to bring the two nationscloser together."
I watched the effect of the mention of Whitney's name. It seemeddistasteful, only in a lesser degree than Lockwood's.
"We do not need to be exploited," he ventured. "My belief is that weshould not attract capital in order to take things out of the country.If we might keep our own earnings and transform them into capital, itwould be better. That is why I am doing what I am at the University."
I could not believe that it explained the whole reason for his presencein New York. Without a doubt the girl who had just left us weighedlargely in his mind, as well as his and his mother's ambitions, bothpersonal and for Peru.
"Quite reasonable," accepted Kennedy. "Peru for the Peruvians. Yetthere seems to be such untold wealth in the country that taking outeven quite large sums would not begin to exhaust the natural resources."
"But they are ours, they belong to us," hastened de Moche, then caughtthe drift of Kennedy's remarks, and was on his guard.
"Buried treasure, like that which you call the Gold of the Gods, isalways fascinating," continued Kennedy. "The trouble with such easymoney, however, is that it tends to corrupt. In the early days historyrecords its taint. And I doubt whether human nature has changed muchunder the veneer of modern civilization. The treasure seems to leaveits trail even as far away as New York. It has at least one murder toits credit already."
"There has been nothing but murder and robbery from the time that thepeje chica was discovered," asserted the young man sadly. "You arequite right."
"Truly it would seem to have been cursed," added Craig. "The spirit ofMansiche must, indeed, watch over it. I suppose you know of the loss ofthe old Inca dagger from the University Museum and that it was thatwith which Don Luis was murdered?"
It was the first time Kennedy had broached the subject to de Moche, andI watched closely to see what was its effect.
"Perhaps it was a warning," commented Alfonso, in a solemn tone, thatleft me in doubt whether it was purely superstitious dread or in thenature of a prophecy of what might be expected from some quarter ofwhich we were ignorant.
"You have known of the existence of the dagger always, I presume,"continued Kennedy. "Have you or any one you know ever sought todiscover its secret and search it out?"
"I think my mother told you we never dig for treasure," he answered."It would be sacrilegious. Besides, there is more treasure buried bynature than that dedicated to the gods. There is only one trouble thatmay hurt our natural resources--the get-rich-quick promoter. I wouldadvise looking out for him. He flourishes in a newly opened countrylike Peru. That curse, I suppose, is much better understood byAmericans than the curse of Mansiche. But as for me, you must rememberthat the curse is part of my religion, as it were."
We had reached the campus by this time, and parted at the gate, each togo his way.
"You will drop in on me if you hear anything?" invited Craig.
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"Yes," promised Alfonso. "We shall see you at four."
With this parting reminder he turned toward the School of Mines whilewe debouched off toward the Chemistry Building.
"The de Moches are nobody's tools," I remarked. "That young man seemsto have a pretty definite idea of what he wants to do."
"At least he puts it so before us," was all that Kennedy would grant."He seems to be as well informed of what passed at that visit to theSenora as though he had been there too."
We had scarcely opened the laboratory door when the ringing of thetelephone told us that some one had been trying to get in touch forsome time.
"It was Norton," said Kennedy, hanging up the receiver. "I imagine hewants to know what happened after we left him and went up to seeWhitney."
That was, in fact, just what Norton wanted, as well as to make clear tous how he felt on the subject.
"Really, Kennedy," he remarked, "it must be fine to feel that yourchair in the University is endowed rather than subsidized. You saw howWhitney acted, you say. Why, he makes me feel as if I were his hiredman, instead of head of the University's expedition. I'm glad it'sover. Still, if you could find that dagger and have it returned itmight look better for me. You have no clue, I suppose?"
"I'm getting closer to one," replied Craig confidently, though on whathe could base any optimism I could not see.
The same idea seemed to be in Norton's mind. "You think you will havesomething tangible soon?" he asked eagerly.
"I've had more slender threads than these to work on," reassuredKennedy. "Besides, I'm getting very little help from any of you. Youyourself, Norton, at the start left me a good deal in the dark over thehistory of the dagger."
"I couldn't do otherwise," he defended. "You understand now, I guess,how I have always been tied, hand and foot, by the Whitney influence.You'll find that I can be of more service, now."
"Just how did you get possession of the dagger?" asked Kennedy, andthere flashed over me the recollection of the story told by the Senora,as well as the letter which we had purloined.
"Just picked it up from an Indian who had an abnormal dislike to work.They said he was crazy, and I guess perhaps he was. At any rate, helater drowned himself in the lake, I have heard."
"Could he have been made insane, do you think?" ruminated Craig. "It'spossible that he was the victim of somebody, I understand. The insanitymight have been real enough without the cause being natural."
"That's an interesting story," returned Norton. "Offhand, I can't seemto recall much about the fellow, although some one else might haveknown him very well."
Evidently he either did not know the tale as well as the Senora, or wasnot prepared to take us entirely into his confidence.
"Who is Haggerty?" asked Craig, thinking of the name signed to theletter we had read.
"An agent of Whitney and his associates, who manages things in Lima,"explained Norton. "Why?"
"Nothing--only I have heard the name and wondered what his connectionmight be. I understand better now."
Kennedy seemed to be anxious to get to work on something, and, after afew minutes, Norton left us.
No sooner had the door closed than he took the glass-bell jar off hismicroscope and drew from a table drawer several scraps of paper onwhich I recognized the marks left by the carbon sheets. He set to workon another of those painstaking tasks of examination, and I retired tomy typewriter, which I had moved into the next room, in order to leaveKennedy without anything that might distract attention from his work.
One after another he examined the sheets which he had marked, startingwith a hand-lens and then using one more powerful. At the top of thetable lay the specially prepared paper on which he had caught andpreserved the marks in the dust of the Egyptian sarcophagus in theMuseum.
Besides these things, I noticed that he had innumerable photographs,many of which were labelled with the stamp of the bureau in the ParisPalais de Justice, over which Bertillon had presided.
One after another he looked at the carbon prints, comparing them pointby point with the specially prepared copy of the shoe-prints in thesarcophagus. It was, after all, a comparatively simple job. We had theprints of de Moche and Lockwood, as well as Whitney, all of themcrossed by steps from Norton.
"Well, what do you think of that?" I heard him mutter.
I quit my typewriter, with a piece of paper still in it, and hurriedinto the main room.
"Have you found anything?"
"I should say I had," he replied, in a tone that betrayed his ownastonishment at the find. "Look at that," he indicated to me, handingover one of the sheets. "Compare it with this Museum foot-print."
With his pencil Kennedy rapidly indicated the tell-tale points ofsimilarity on the two shoe-prints.
I looked up at him, convinced now of some one's identity.
"Who was it?" I asked, unable to restrain myself longer.
Kennedy paused a minute, to let the importance of the surprise beunderstood.
"The man who entered the Museum and concealed himself in thesarcophagus in the Egyptian section adjoining Norton's treasures,"replied Kennedy slowly, "was Lockwood himself!"