Gold of the Gods

  XIX

  THE BURGLAR POWDER

  It was not until after dinner that we heard again from Norton. He hadevidently spent the time faithfully hanging about the Prince EdwardAlbert, but Whitney had not come in, although the Senora and Alfonsowere about.

  "I saw them leaving the dining-room," he reported to us in thelaboratory directly afterward, "just as Whitney came in. They could notsee me. I took good care of that. But, say, there is a change inWhitney, isn't there? I wonder what caused it?"

  "It's as noticeable as that?" asked Kennedy. "And did she notice it?"

  "I'm sure of it," replied Norton confidently. "She couldn't help it.Besides, after he left her and went into the dining-room himself sheand Alfonso seemed to be discussing something. I'm sure it was that."

  Kennedy said nothing, except to thank Norton and compliment him on hispowers of observation. Norton took the praise with evidentsatisfaction, and after a moment excused himself, saying that he hadsome work to do over in the Museum.

  He had no sooner gone than Kennedy took from a drawer a little packetof powder and an atomizer full of liquid, which he dropped into hispocket.

  "I think the Prince Edward Albert will be the scene of our operations,to-night, Walter," he announced, reaching for his hat.

  He seemed to be in a hurry and it was not many minutes before weentered. As he passed the dining-room he glanced in. There was Whitney,not half through a leisurely dinner. Neither of the de Moches seemed tobe downstairs.

  Kennedy sauntered over to the desk and looked over the register. Wealready knew that Whitney and the Senora had suites on the eighthfloor, on opposite sides and at opposite ends of the hall. The de Mochesuite was under the number 810. That of Whitney was 825.

  "Is either 823 or 827 vacant?" asked Kennedy as the clerk came over tous.

  He turned to look over his list. "Yes, 827 is vacant," he found.

  "I'd like to have it," said Kennedy, making some excuse about ourluggage being delayed, as he paid for it for the night.

  "Front!" called the clerk, and a moment later we found ourselves in theelevator riding up.

  The halls were deserted at that time in the evening except for abelated theatre-goer, and in a few minutes there would ensue a periodin which there was likely to be no one about.

  We entered the room next to Whitney's without being observed by any oneof whom we cared. The boy left us, and it was a simple matter afterthat to open a rather heavy door that communicated between the twosuites and was not protected by a Yale lock.

  Instead of switching on the lights, Kennedy first looked aboutcarefully until he was assured that there was no one there. It seemedto me to be an unnecessary caution, for we knew Whitney was down-stairsand would probably be there a long time. But he seemed to think itnecessary. Positive that we were alone, he made a hasty survey of therooms. Then he seemed to select as a starting-point a table in onecorner of the sitting-room on which lay a humidor and a heavy metal boxfor cigarettes.

  Quickly he sprinkled on the floor, from the hall door to the table onwhich the case of cigarettes lay, some of the powder which I had seenhim wrap up in the laboratory before we left. Then, with the atomizer,he sprayed over it something that had a pungent, familiarodour--walking backwards from the hall door to the table, as he sprayed.

  "Don't you want more light?" I asked, starting to cross to a window tolet the moonlight stream in.

  "Don't walk on it, Walter," he whispered, pushing me back. "No, I don'tneed any more light."

  "What are you doing?" I asked, mystified at his actions.

  "First I sprinkled some powdered iodine on the floor," he replied, "andthen sprayed over just enough ammonia to moisten it. It will evaporatequickly, leaving what I call my anti-burglar powder."

  "I'm sure I wouldn't be thought one of the fraternity for the world," Iobserved, stepping aside to give him all the room he wanted in which tooperate.

  He had finished his work by this time and now the evening wind wasblowing away the slight fumes that had arisen. For a few moments heleft our door into Whitney's room open, in order to insure clearingaway the odour. Then he quietly closed it, but did not lock it again.

  We waited a few minutes, then Craig leaned over to me. "I wish you'd godown and see how near Whitney is through dinner," he said. "If he isthrough, do something, anything to keep him down there. Only be ascareful as you can not to be seen by any one who knows us."

  I rode down in an empty elevator and cautiously made my way to thedining-room. Whitney had finished much sooner than I had expected andwas not there. Much as I wanted not to be seen, I found that it wasnecessary to make a tour of the hotel to find him and I did so,wondering what expedient I would adopt to keep him down there if Ifound him. I did not have to adopt any, however. Whitney was almostalone in the writing-room, and a big pile of letters beside him showedme that he would be busy for some time. I rode back to the room to tellCraig, flattering myself that I had not been seen.

  "Good," he exclaimed. "I don't think we'll have to wait much longer, ifanything at all is going to happen."

  In the darkness we settled ourselves for another vigil that was to lastwe knew not how long. Neither of us spoke as we half crouched in theshadow of our room, listening.

  Slowly the time passed. Would any one take advantage of the opportunityto tamper with the box of cigarettes on the table?

  I fell to speculating. Who could it possibly have been that hadconceived this devilish plot? What was back of it all? I wonderedwhether it were possible that Lockwood, now that Mendoza was out of theway, could desire to remove Whitney, the sole remaining impediment topossessing the whole of the treasure as well as Inez? Then there werethe Senora and Alfonso, the one with a deep race and family grievance,the other a rejected suitor. What might not they do with some weirdSouth American poison?

  Once or twice we heard the elevator door clang and waited expectantly,but nothing happened. I began to wonder whether, even if some one had apass-key to the suite, we could hear him enter if he was quiet. Theoutside hall was thickly carpeted, and deadened every footfall if oneexercised only reasonable care. The rooms themselves were much the same.

  "Don't you think we might have the door ajar a little?" I suggestedanxiously.

  "Sh!" was Kennedy's only comment in the negative.

  I glanced now and then at my watch and by straining my eyes wassurprised to see how early it was yet. The minutes were surelyleaden-footed.

  In the darkness, I fell again to reviewing the weird succession ofevents. I am not by nature superstitious, but in the black silence Icould well imagine a staring succession of eyes, beginning with thedilated pupils of Whitney and passing on to the corpse-like expressionof Mendoza, but always ending with the remarkable, piercing, black eyesof the Indian woman with the melancholy-visaged son, as they hadimpressed me the first time I saw them and, in fact, ever since. Was ita freak of my mind, or was there some reason for it?

  Suddenly I heard in the next room what sounded like a series of littleexplosions, as though some one were treading on match heads.

  "My burglar powder works," muttered Craig to me in a hoarse whisper."Every step, even those of a mouse running across, sets it off!"

  He rose quickly and threw open the door into Whitney's suite. I sprangafter him.

  There, in the shadows, I saw a dark form, starting back in quickretreat. But we were too late. He was cat-like, too quick for us.

  In the dim light of the little explosions we could catch a glimpse ofthe person who had been craftily working with the dread drug to driveWhitney and others insane. But the face was masked!

  He banged shut the door after him and fled down the hall, making a turnto a flight of steps.

  We followed, and at the steps paused a moment. "You go up, Walter,"shouted Kennedy. "I'll go down."

  It was fifteen minutes later before we met downstairs, neither of uswith a trace of the intruder. He seemed to have vanished like smoke.

  "Must have had a room, like ourselv
es," remarked Craig somewhatchagrined at the outcome of his scheme. "And if he was clever enough tohave a room, he is clever enough to have a disguise that would fool theelevator boys for a minute. No, he has gone. But I'll wager he won'ttry any more substitutions of stramonium-poisoned cigarettes for awhile. It was too close to be comfortable."

  We were baffled again, and this time by a mysterious masked man. Couldit be the same whom we heard over the vocaphone addressed as "Doc"?Perhaps it was, but that gave us no hint as to his identity. He seemedjust as far away as ever.

  We waited around the elevators for some time, but nothing happened.Kennedy even sought out the manager of the hotel, and after telling whohe was, had a search made of the guests who might be suspected. Thebest we could do was to leave word that the employees might be put onthe lookout for anything of a suspicious nature.

  Whitney, the innocent cause of all this commotion, was still in thewriting-room with his letters.

  "I think I ought to tell him," decided Kennedy as we passed down thelobby.

  He seemed surprised to see us, as we strolled up to his writing desk,but pushed aside the few letters which he had not finished and asked usto sit down.

  "I don't know whether you have noticed it," began Craig, "but I wonderhow you feel?"

  Whitney had expected something else rather than his health as thesubject of a quiz. "Pretty good now," he answered before he knew it,"although I must admit that for the past few days I have wonderedwhether I wasn't slowing up a bit--or rather going too fast."

  "Would you like to know why you feel that way?" asked Craig.

  Whitney was now genuinely puzzled. It was perfectly evident, as it hadbeen all the time, that he had not the slightest inkling of what wasgoing on.

  As Craig briefly unfolded what we had discovered and the reason for it,Whitney watched him aghast.

  "Poisoned cigarettes," he repeated slowly. "Well, who would ever havethought it. You can bet your last jitney I'll be careful what I smokein the future, if I have to smoke only original packages. And it wasthat, partly, that ailed Mendoza?"

  Kennedy nodded. "Don't take any pilocarpine, just because I told youthat was what I used. You have given yourself the best prescription,just now. Be careful what you smoke. And, don't get excited if you seemto be stepping on matches up there in your room for a little while,either. It's nothing."

  Whitney's only known way of thanking anybody was to invite them toadjourn to the cafe, and accordingly we started across the hall, afterhe had gathered up his correspondence. The information had made morework that night impossible for him.

  As we crossed from the writing-room, we saw Alfonso de Moche coming infrom the street. He saw us and came over to speak. Was it acoincidence, or was it merely a blind? Was he the one who had got awayand now calculated to come back and throw us off guard?

  Whitney asked him where he had been, but he replied quickly that hismother had not been feeling very well after dinner and had gone to bed,while he strolled out and had dropped into a picture show. That, Ifelt, was at least clever. The intruder had been a man.

  De Moche excused himself, and we continued our walk to the cafe, whereWhitney restored his shattered peace of mind somewhat.

  "What's the result of your detective work on Norton?" ventured Kennedyat last, seeing that Whitney was in a more expansive frame of mind, andtaking a chance.

  "Oh," returned Whitney, "he's scared, all right. Why, he has beenhanging around this hotel--watching me. He thinks I don't know it, Isuppose, but I do."

  Kennedy and I exchanged glances.

  "But he's slippery," went on Whitney. "He knows that he is beingshadowed and the men tell me that they lose him, now and then. To tellthe truth I don't trust most of these private detectives. I think theirlittle tissue paper reports are half-faked, anyhow."

  He seemed to want to say no more on the subject, from which I took itthat he had discovered nothing of importance.

  "One thing, though," he recollected, after a moment. "He has been goingto see Inez Mendoza, they tell me."

  "Yes?" queried Kennedy.

  "Confound him. He pretty nearly got Lockwood in bad with her, too,"said Whitney, then leaning over confidentially added, "Say, Kennedy,honestly, now, you don't believe that shoe-print stuff, do you?"

  "I see no reason to doubt it," returned Kennedy with diplomaticfirmness. "Why?"

  "Well," continued Whitney, still confidential, "we haven't got thedagger--that's all. There--I never actually asserted that before,though I've given every one to understand that our plans are based onsomething more than hot-air. We haven't got it, and we never had it."

  "Then who has it?" asked Kennedy colourlessly.

  Whitney shook his head. "I don't know," he said merely.

  "And these attacks on you--this cigarette business--how do you explainthat," asked Craig, "if you haven't the dagger?"

  "Jealousy, pure jealousy," replied Whitney quickly. "They are so afraidthat we will find the treasure. That's my dope."

  "Who is afraid?"

  "That's a serious matter," he evaded. "I wouldn't say anything that Icouldn't back up in a case of that kind. I'd get into trouble."

  There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the conversation andKennedy made a move as though to go.

  "Just give us a square deal," said Whitney as we left. "That's all wewant--a square deal."

  Kennedy and I walked out of the Prince Edward Albert and turned downthe block.

  "Well, have you found out anything more?" asked a voice in the shadowbeside us.

  We turned. It was Norton.

  "I saw you talking to Whitney in the writing-room," he said, with alaugh, "then in the cafe, and I saw Alfonso come in. He still has thoseshadows on me. I wouldn't be surprised if there was one of them aroundin a doorway, now."

  "No," returned Kennedy, "he didn't say anything that was important.They still say they haven't the dagger."

  "Of course," said Norton.

  "You'll wait around a little longer?" asked Kennedy as we came to acorner and stopped.

  "I think so," returned Norton. "I'll keep you posted."

  Kennedy and I walked on a bit.

  "I'm going around to see how Burke, O'Connor's man, is getting onwatching the Mendoza apartment, Walter," he said at length. "Then Ihave two or three other little outside matters to attend to. You looktired. Why don't you go home and take a rest? I shan't be working inthe laboratory to-night, either."

  "I think I will," I agreed, for the strain of the case was beginning totell on me.