IX
THE PAPER FIBRES
Kennedy examined the anonymous letter carefully for several minutes,while we watched him in silence.
"Too clever to use a typewriter," he remarked, still regarding the notethrough the lens of a hand-glass. "Almost any one would have used amachine. That would have been due to the erroneous idea thattypewriting cannot be detected. The fact is that the typewriter isperhaps a worse means of concealing identity than is disguisedhandwriting, especially printing like this. It doesn't afford theeffective protection to the criminal that one supposes. On thecontrary, the typewriting of such a note may be the direct means bywhich it can be traced to its source. We can determine what kind ofmachine it was done with, then what particular machine was used can beidentified."
He paused and indicated a number of little instruments which he hadtaken from a drawer and laid on the table, as he tore off a bit of thecorner of the sheet of paper and examined it.
"There is one thing I can do now, though," he continued. "I can studythe quality of the paper in this sheet. If it were only torn like thosewarnings we have already received, it might perhaps be mated withanother piece as accurately as if the act had been performed before oureyes."
He picked up a little instrument with a small curved arm and a finelythreaded screw that brought the two flat surfaces of the arm and theend of the screw together.
"There is no such good fortune in this case, however," he resumed,placing the paper between the two small arms. "But by measurements madeby this vernier micrometer caliper I can find the precise thickness ofthe paper as compared to the other samples."
He turned to a microscope and placed the corner of the paper under it.Then he drew from the drawer the four scraps of paper which had alreadybeen sent to us, as well as a pile of photographs.
"Under ordinary circumstances," he explained, "I should think that whatI am doing would be utterly valueless as a clue to anything. But we arereduced to the minutiae in this affair. And to-day science is not readyto let anything pass as valueless."
He continued to look at the various pieces of paper under themicroscope. "I find under microscopic examination," he went on,addressing Inez, but not looking up from the eye-piece as he shiftedthe papers, "that the note you have received, Senorita Mendoza, iswritten on a rather uncommon linen bond paper. Later I shall take anumber of microphotographs of it. I have here, also, about a hundredmicrophotographs of the fibres in other kinds of paper, many of thembonds. These I have accumulated from time to time in my study of thesubject. None of them, as you can see, shows fibres resembling this onein question, so that we may conclude that it is of uncommon quality.
"Here I have the fibres, also, of four pieces of paper that havealready figured in the case. These four correspond, as well as theindentures of the torn edges. As for the fibres, lest you shouldquestion the accuracy of the method, I may say that I know of a casewhere a man in Germany was arrested, charged with stealing a governmentbond. He was not searched until later. There was no evidence, save thatafter the arrest a large number of spitballs were found around thecourtyard under his cell window. This method of comparing the fibres ofthe regular government paper was used, and by it the man was convictedof stealing the bond. I think it is unnecessary to add that in thepresent case I can see definitely that not only the four pieces ofpaper that bore warnings to us were the same kind, but that this wholesheet, with its anonymous warning to you, is also the same."
Inez Mendoza looked at Kennedy as though he possessed some weird power.Her face, which had already been startled into an expression of fear athis mention of Lockwood, now was pale.
"Other warnings?" she repeated tremulously.
Quickly Kennedy explained what had already happened to us, watching theeffect on her as he read of the curse of Mansiche and the Gold of theGods.
"Oh," she cried, mastering her emotion with a heroic effort, "I wish myfather had never become mixed up in the business. Ever since I was alittle girl I have heard these vague stories of the big fish and thelittle fish, the treasure, and the curse. But I never thought they wereanything but fairy tales. You remember, when I first saw you, I did noteven tell them to you."
"Yes," returned Kennedy. "I remember. But had you no other reason? Didyou, down in your heart, think them really fairy tales?"
She shuddered. "Perhaps not," she murmured. "But I have heard enough ofyou detectives to know that you do not think a woman's fears exactlyevidence."
"Still they might lead to evidence," suggested Kennedy.
She looked at him, more startled than ever, for already he had givenher a slight exhibition of his powers.
"Mr. Kennedy," she exclaimed, "I am positively afraid of you, afraidthat every little thing I do may lead to something I don't intend."
There was a frankness about the remark that would have been flatteringfrom a man, but from her excited sympathy.
"No," she went on, "I have nothing tangible--only my feelings. I fear Imust admit that my father had enemies, though who they are I cannottell you. No, it is all in my heart--not in my head. There are thosewhom I dislike--and there are those whom I like and trust. You may callme foolish, but I cannot help trusting--Mr. Lockwood."
She had not meant to say his name, and Kennedy and I looked at her insurprise.
"You see?" she continued. "Every time I talk I say something, conveysome impression that is the opposite of what I wish. Oh--what shall Ido? Have I no one to trust?"
She was crying.
"You may trust me, Senorita," said Kennedy, in a low tone, pausingbefore her. "At least I have no other interest than finding the truthand helping you. There--there. We have had enough to-day. I cannot askyou to try to forget what has happened. That would be impossible. But Ican ask you, Senorita, to have faith--faith that it will all turn outbetter, if you will only trust me. When you feel stronger--then come tome. Tell me your fears--or not--whichever does you the most good. Onlykeep your mind from brooding. Face it all as you know your father wouldhave you do."
Kennedy's words were soothing. He seemed to know that tears were thesafety-valve she needed.
"Mr. Jameson will see that you get home safely in a taxicab," hecontinued. "You can trust him as you would myself."
I can imagine circumstances under which I would have enjoyed escortingInez to her home, but today was not one of the times. Yet she seemed sohelpless, so grateful for everything we did for her that I did not needeven the pressure of her little hand as she hurried into the apartmentfrom the car with a hasty word of thanks.
"You will tell Mr. Kennedy--you will both be--so careful?" shehesitated before leaving me.
I assured her that we would, wondering what she might fear for us, as Idrove away again. There did not happen to be any of the newspaper menabout at the time, and I did not stop.
Back in the laboratory, I found Kennedy arranging something under therug at the door as I came up the hall.
"Don't step there, Walter," he cautioned. "Step over the rug. I'mexpecting visitors. How was she when she arrived home?"
I told him of her parting injunction.
"Not bad advice," he remarked. "I think there's a surprise back ofthose warnings. They weren't sent just for effect."
He had closed the door, and we were standing by the table, looking atthe letters, when we heard a noise at the door.
It was Norton again.
"I've been thinking of what you told me last night," he explained,before Kennedy had a chance to tell him to step over the rug. "Hasanything else happened?"
Kennedy tossed over the anonymous letter, and Norton read it eagerly.
"Whom does it mean?" he asked, quickly glancing up, then adding, "Itmight mean any of us who are trying to help her."
"Exactly," returned Kennedy. "Or it might be Lockwood, or even deMoche. By the way, you know the young man pretty well, don't you? Iwonder if you could find him anywhere about the University this morningand persuade him to visit me?"
"I will try," agreed No
rton. "But these people are so very suspiciousjust now that I can't promise."
Norton went out a few minutes later to see what he could do to locateAlfonso, and Kennedy replaced another blank sheet of paper for thatunder the rug on which Norton had stepped before we could warn him.
No sooner had he gone than Kennedy reached for the telephone and calledWhitney's office. Lockwood was there, as he had hoped, and, after ashort talk, promised to drop in on us later in the morning.
It was fully half an hour before Norton returned, having finally foundAlfonso. De Moche entered the laboratory with a suspicious glanceabout, as though he thought something might have been planted there forhim.
"I had a most interesting talk with your mother yesterday," beganKennedy, endeavouring by frankness to put the young man at ease. "Andthis morning, already, Senorita Mendoza has called on me."
De Moche was all attention at the words. But before he could sayanything Kennedy handed him the anonymous letter. He read it, and hisface clouded as he handed it back.
"You have no idea who could have sent such a note?" queried Craig, "orto whom it might refer?"
He glanced at Norton, then at us. It was clear that some sort ofsuspicion had flashed over him. "No," he said quickly, "I know no onewho could have sent it."
"But whom does it mean?" asked Kennedy, holding him to the part that heavoided.
The young man shrugged his shoulders. "She has many friends," heanswered simply.
"Yes," persisted Kennedy, "but few against whom she might be warned inthis way. You do not think it is Professor Norton, for instance--ormyself?"
"Oh, no, no--hardly," he replied, then stopped, realizing that he hadeliminated all but Lockwood, Whitney, and himself.
"It could not be Mr. Lockwood?" demanded Craig.
"Who sent it?" he asked, looking up.
"No--whom it warns against."
De Moche had known what Kennedy meant, but had preferred to postponethe answer. It was native never to come to the point unless he wasforced to do so. He met our eyes squarely. He had not the penetratingpower that his mother possessed, yet his was a sharp faculty ofobservation.
"Mr. Lockwood is very friendly with her," he admitted, then seemed tothink something else necessary to round out the idea. "Mr. Kennedy, Imight have told her the same myself. Senorita Mendoza has been a verydear friend--for a long time."
I had been so used to having him evasive that now I did not exactlyknow what to make of such a burst of confidence. It was susceptible ofat least two interpretations. Was he implying that it was sent to castsuspicion on him, because he felt that way himself or because hehimself was her friend?
"There have been other warnings," pursued Kennedy, "both to myself andMr. Jameson, as well as Professor Norton and Dr. Leslie. Surely youmust have some idea of the source."
De Moche shook his head. "None that I can think of," he replied. "Haveyou asked my mother?"
"Not yet," admitted Kennedy.
De Moche glanced at his watch. "I have a lecture at this hour," heremarked, evidently glad of an excuse to terminate the interview.
As he left, Kennedy accompanied him to the door, careful himself tostep over the mat.
"Hello, what's new?" we heard a voice in the hall.
It was Lockwood, who had come up from downtown. Catching sight of deMoche, however, he stopped short. The two young men met face to face.Between them passed a glance of unconcealed hostility, then each noddedstiffly.
De Moche turned to Kennedy as he passed down the hall. "Perhaps it mayhave been sent to divert suspicion--who can tell?" he whispered.
Kennedy nodded appreciatively, noting the change.
At the sound of Lockwood's voice both Norton and I had taken a stepfurther after them out into the hall, Norton somewhat in advance. As deMoche disappeared for his lecture, Kennedy turned to me from Lockwoodand caught my eye. I read in his glance that fell from me to the matthat he wished me quietly to abstract the piece of paper which he hadplaced under it. I bent down and did so without Lockwood seeing me.
"Why was he here?" demanded Lockwood, with just a trace of defiance inhis voice, as though he fancied the meeting had been framed.
"I have been showing this to every one who might help me," returnedKennedy, going back into the laboratory after giving me an opportunityto dispose of the shoe-prints.
He handed the anonymous letter and the other warnings to the youngsoldier of fortune, with a brief explanation.
"Why don't they come out into the open, whoever they are?" commentedLockwood, laying the papers down carelessly again on the table. "I'llmeet them--if they mean me."
"Who?" asked Kennedy.
Lockwood faced Norton and ourselves.
"I'm not a mind reader," he said significantly. "But it doesn't takemuch to see that some one wants to throw a brick at me. When I haveanything to say I say it openly. Inez Mendoza without friends just nowwould be a mark, wouldn't she?"
His strong face and powerful jaw were set in a menacing scowl. He wouldbe a bold man who would have come between Lockwood and the lady underthe circumstances.
"You are confident of Mr. Whitney?" inquired Kennedy.
"Ask Norton," replied Lockwood briefly. "He knew him long before I did."
Norton smiled quietly. "Mr. Kennedy should know what my opinion of Mr.Whitney is, I think," replied Norton confidently.
"I trust that you will succeed in running these blackmailers down,"pursued Lockwood, still standing. "If I did not have more than I canattend to already since the murder of Mendoza I'd like to take a handmyself. It begins to look to me, after reading that letter, as thoughthere was nothing too low for them to attempt. I shall keep this latestmatter in mind. If either Mr. Whitney or myself get any hint, we'llturn it over to you."
Norton left shortly after Lockwood, and Kennedy again picked up theletter and scanned it. "I could learn something, I suppose, if Ianalyzed this printing," he considered, "but it is a tedious process.Let me see that envelope again. H-m, postmarked by the uptownsub-station, mailed late last night. Whoever sent it must have done sonot very far from us here. Lockwood seemed to take it as though itapplied to himself very readily, didn't he? Much more so than de Moche.Only for the fact that the fibres show it to be on paper similar to thefirst warnings, I might have been inclined to doubt whether this wasbona fide. At least, the sender must realize now that it has producedno appreciable effect--if any was intended."
Kennedy's last remark set me thinking. Could some one have sent theletter not to produce the effect apparently intended, but with theultimate object of diverting suspicion from himself? Lockwood, atleast, had not seemed to take the letter very seriously.