CHAPTER XXXV
THE BURIED TREASURE
Senora de Moche--for I had no doubt now that this was the PeruvianIndian woman of whom Senorita Inez had spoken--seemed to lose interestin us and in the concert the moment Don Luis went out. Her son alsoseemed restive. He was a good-looking fellow, with high forehead, noseslightly aquiline, chin and mouth firm, in fact the whole face refinedand intellectual, though tinged with melancholy.
We strolled down the wide veranda, and as we passed the woman and herson I was conscious of that strange feeling (which psychologists tellus, however, has no foundation) of being stared at from behind.
Kennedy turned suddenly and again we passed, just in time to catch in alow tone from the young man, "Yes, I have seen him at the University.Everyone knows that he--"
The rest was lost.
It was quite evident now that they thought we were interested in them.There was, then, no use in our watching them further. Indeed, when weturned again, we found that the Senora and Alfonso had risen, gonethrough the long, open window inside, and were making their way slowlyto the elevator.
The door of the elevator had scarcely closed when Kennedy turned on hisheel and quickly made his way back to the alcove where we had beensitting. Lying about on the ash tray on a little wicker table wereseveral of Mendoza's half-burned cigarettes. We sat down a moment and,after a hasty glance around, Craig gathered them up and folded them in apiece of paper.
Leisurely Kennedy strolled over to the desk, and, as guests in a summerhotel will do, looked over the register. The Mendozas, father anddaughter, were registered in rooms 810 and 812, a suite on the eighthfloor. Lockwood was across the hall in 811.
Turning the pages, Kennedy paused, then nudged me. Senora de Moche andSenor Alfonso de Moche were on the same floor in 839 and 841, justaround an "L" in the hall. The two parties must meet frequently not onlydownstairs in the inn, but in the corridors and elevators.
Kennedy said nothing, but glanced at his watch. We had nearlythree-quarters of an hour to wait yet until our pretty client returned.
"There's no use in wasting time or in trying to conceal our identity,"he said finally, drawing a card from his pocket and handing it to theclerk. "Senora de Moche, please."
Much to my surprise, the Senora telephoned down that she would see us inher own sitting-room, and I followed Kennedy into the elevator.
Alfonso was out and the Senora was alone.
"I hope that you will pardon me," began Craig with an elaborateexplanation, "but I have become interested in an opportunity to investin a Peruvian venture and they tell me at the office that you are aPeruvian. I thought that perhaps you could advise me."
She looked at us keenly. I fancied that she detected the subterfuge, yetshe did not try to avoid us. On closer view, her eyes were reallyremarkable--those of a woman endowed with an abundance of health andenergy--eyes that were full of what the old phrenologists used to callamativeness, denoting a nature capable of intense passion, whether oflove or hate. Yet I confess that I could not find anything especiallyabnormal about them, as I had about Mendoza's.
"I suppose you mean that scheme of Senor Mendoza and his friend, Mr.Lockwood," she returned, speaking rapidly. "Let me tell you about it.You may know that the Chimu tribes in the north were the wealthiest atthe time of the coming of the Spaniards. Well, they had a custom ofburying with their dead all their movable property. Sometimes a commongrave or _huaca_ was given to many. That would become a cache oftreasure.
"Back in the seventeenth century," she continued, leaning forwardeagerly as she talked, "a Spaniard opened a Chimu _huaca_ and found goldthat is said to have been worth a million dollars. An Indian told him ofit. After he had shown him the treasure, the Indian told the Spaniardthat he had given him only the little fish, the _peje chica_, but thatsome day he would give him the big fish, the _peje grande_.
"The Indian died," she went on solemnly, flashing at Craig a glance fromher wonderful eyes. "He was poisoned by the other members of his tribe."She paused, then flashed, "That is my tribe, my family."
She paused a moment. "The big fish is still a secret--or at least itwas until they got it from my brother, to whom the tradition had beenintrusted. They drove him crazy--until he talked. Then, after he hadtold the secret, and lost his mind, he threw himself one day into LakeTiticaca."
She stopped dramatically in her passionate out-pouring of the tragediesthat had followed the hidden treasure.
"I cannot tell you more than you probably already know," she resumed,watching our faces intently. "You know, I suppose, that the treasure isbelieved to be in a large mound, a tumulus I think you call it, visiblefrom our town of Truxillo. Many people have tried to open it, but themass of sand pours down on them and they have been discouraged. ButSenor Mendoza believes that he knows just where to bore and Mr. Lockwoodhas a plan for a well-timbered tunnel which can be driven at the rightpoint."
She said it with a sort of quiet assurance that conveyed the impressionwithout her saying it that the venture was somehow doomed to failure,that these desecrators were merely toying with fate. All through herremarks one could feel that she suspected Mendoza of having beenresponsible for the downfall and tragedy of her brother, who hadbetrayed the age-old secret.
Her eyes assumed a far-away, dreamy look as she went on. "You must knowthat we Peruvians have been so educated that we never explore ruins forhidden treasure--not even if we have the knowledge of engineering to doso."
Apparently she was thinking of her son and his studies at theUniversity. One could follow her thoughts as they flitted from him tothe beautiful girl with whom she had seen us.
"We are a peculiar race," she proceeded. "We seldom intermarry withother races. We are as proud as Senor Mendoza, as proud of our unmixedlineage as your 'belted earls.'"
She said it with a quiet dignity quite in contrast with the nervous,hasty manner of Don Luis. There was no doubt that the race feeling cutdeep.
Kennedy had been following her closely and I could see that the crosscurrents of superstition, avarice and race hatred in the case presenteda tangle that challenged him.
"Thank you," he murmured, rising. "You have told me quite enough to makeme think seriously before I join in any such undertaking."
She smiled enigmatically and we bowed ourselves out.
"A most baffling woman," was Craig's only comment as we rode down againin the elevator to wait for the return of Don Luis and the Senorita.
Scarcely had their chair set them down at the inn than Alfonso seemed toappear from nowhere. He had evidently been waiting in the shadow of theporch for them.
We stood aside and watched the little drama. For a few minutes theSenorita talked with him. One did not need to be told that she had adeep regard for the young man. She wanted to see him, yet she did notwant to see him. Don Luis, on the contrary, seemed to become quiterestive and impatient again and to wish to cut the conversation short.
It was self-evident that Alfonso was deeply in love with Inez. Iwondered whether, after all, the trouble was that the proud oldCastilian Don Luis would never consent to the marriage of his daughterto one of Indian blood? Was he afraid of a love forbidden by raceprejudice?
In any event, one could easily imagine the feelings of Alphonso towardLockwood, whom he saw carrying off the prize under his very eyes. As forhis mother, we had seen that the Peruvians of her caste were a proud oldrace. Her son was the apple of her eye. Who were these to scorn herrace, her family?
It was a little more than an hour after our first meeting when theparty, including Lockwood, who had finished his letters, gathered againup in the rooms of the Mendozas.
It was a delightful evening, even in spite of the tension on which wewere. We chatted about everything from archeology to Wall Street, untilI could well imagine how anyone possessed of an imagination susceptibleto the influence of mystery and tradition would succumb to theglittering charm of the magic words, _peje chica_, and feel all the goldhunter's enthusiasm when brought into the a
tmosphere of the _pejegrande_. Visions of hidden treasure seemed to throw a glamour overeverything.
Kennedy and the Senorita had moved over to a window, where they weregazing out on the fairyland of Atlantic Beach spread out before them,while Lockwood and Don Luis were eagerly quizzing me on thepossibilities of newspaper publicity.
"Oh, Professor Kennedy," I heard her say under her breath, "sometimes Ifear that it is the _mal de ojo_--the evil eye."
I did not catch Craig's answer, but I did catch time and again narrowlyobserving Don Luis. Our host was smoking furiously now, and his eyes hadeven more than before that peculiar, staring look. By the way his veinsstood out I could see that Mendoza's heart action must be rapid. He wastalking more and more wildly as he grew more excited. Even Lockwoodnoticed it and, I thought, frowned.
Slowly the conviction was forced on me. The man was mad--raving mad!
"Really, I must get back to the city tonight," I overheard Craig say tothe Senorita as finally he turned from the window toward us.
Her face clouded, but she said nothing.
"If you could arrange to have us dine with you tomorrow night up here,however," he added quickly in a whisper, "I think I might be prepared totake some action."
"By all means," she replied eagerly, as though catching at anything thatpromised aid.
On the late train back, I half dozed, wondering what had causedMendoza's evident madness. Was it a sort of auto-hypnotism? There was, Iknew, a form of illusion known as ophthalmophobia--fear of the eye. Itranged from mere aversion at being gazed at, all the way to thesubjective development of real physical illness out of otherwisetrifling ailments. If not that, what object could there be for anyone tocause such a condition? Might it be for the purpose of robbery? Or mightit be for revenge?
Back in the laboratory, Kennedy pulled out from a cabinet a peculiarapparatus. It seemed to consist of a sort of triangular prism set withits edge vertically on a rigid platform attached to a massive stand.
Next he lighted one of the cigarette stubs which he had carried away socarefully. The smoke curled up between a powerful light and the peculiarinstrument, while Craig peered through a lens, manipulating the thingwith exhaustless patience and skill.
Finally he beckoned me over and I looked through, too. On a sort of finegrating all I could see was a number of strange lines.
"That," he explained in answer to my unspoken question as I continued togaze, "is one of the latest forms of the spectroscope, known as theinterferometer, with delicately ruled gratings in which power to resolvethe straight close lines in the spectrum is carried to the limit ofpossibility. A small watch is delicate, but it bears no comparison tothe delicacy of these detraction spectroscopes.
"Every substance, you know, is, when radiating light, characterized bywhat at first appears to be almost a haphazard set of spectral lineswithout relation to one another. But they are related by mathematicallaws and the apparent haphazard character is only the result of our lackof knowledge of how to interpret the results."
He resumed his place at the eye-piece to check over his results."Walter," he said finally with a twinkle of the eye, "I wish you'd goout and find me a cat."
"A cat?" I repeated.
"Yes--a cat--felis domesticus, if it sounds better that way, a plainordinary cat."
I jammed on my hat and, late as it was, sallied forth on this apparentlyridiculous mission.
Several belated passers-by and a policeman watched me as though I were ahouse-breaker and I felt like a fool, but at last by perseverance andtact I managed to capture a fairly good specimen of the species andtransported it in my arms to the laboratory without an undue number ofscratches.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE WEED OF MADNESS
In my absence Craig had set to work on a peculiar apparatus, as thoughhe were distilling something from several of the other cigarette stubs.
I placed the cat in a basket and watched Craig until finally he seemedto be rewarded for his patient labors. It was well along toward morningwhen he obtained in a test-tube a few drops of a colorless, almostodorless liquid.
I watched him curiously as he picked the cat out of the basket and heldit gently in his arms. With a dropper he sucked up a bit of the liquidfrom the test-tube. Then he let a small drop fall into the eye of thecat.
The cat blinked a moment and I bent over to observe it more closely. Thecat's eye seemed to enlarge, even under the light, as if it were theproverbial cat's eye under a bed.
What did it mean? Was there such a thing as the drug of the evil eye?
"What have you found?" I queried.
"Something very much like the so-called 'weed of madness,' I think," hereplied slowly.
"The weed of madness?" I repeated.
"Yes, something like that Mexican toloache and the Hindu datura whichyou must have heard about," he continued. "You know the jimsonweed--the Jamestown weed? It grows almost everywhere in the world, butmost thrivingly in the tropics. They are all related in some way, Ibelieve. The jimson weed on the Pacific coast of the Andes has largewhite flowers which exhale a faint, repulsive odor. It is a harmlesslooking plant with its thick tangle of leaves, a coarse green growth,with trumpet-shaped flowers. But, to one who knows its properties, it isquite too dangerously convenient.
"I think those cigarettes have been doped," he went on positively. "Itisn't toloache that was used. I think it must be some particularlyvirulent variety of the jimson weed. Perhaps it is in the preparation ofthe thing. The seeds of the stramonium, which is the same thing, containa higher percentage of poison than the leaves and flowers. Perhaps theywere used. I can't say."
He took a drop of the liquid he had isolated and added a drop of nitricacid. Then he evaporated it by gentle heat and it left a residue whichwas slightly yellow.
Next he took from the shelf over his table a bottle marked alcoholicsolution, potassium hydrate, and let a drop fall on it. Instantly theresidue became a beautiful purple, turning rapidly to violet, then todark red and finally disappeared.
"Stramonium all right," he nodded with satisfaction. "That was known asVitali's test. Yes, there was stramonium in those cigarettes--daturastramonium--perhaps a trace of hyocyamino. They are all, like atropine,mydriatic alkaloids, so-called from the effect on the eye. Oneone-hundred-thousandth of a grain will affect the cat's eye. You saw howit acted. It is more active than even atropine. Better yet, youremember how Don Luis's eyes looked."
"How about the Senora?" I put in.
"Oh," he answered quickly, "her pupils were normal enough. Didn't younotice that? This concentrated poison which has been used in Mendoza'scigarettes does not kill, at least not outright. It is worse. Slowly itaccumulates in the system. It acts on the brain. Of all the dangers tobe met with in superstitious countries, these mydriatic alkaloids areamong the worst. They offer a chance for crimes of the most fiendishnature--worse than the gun or the stiletto, and with little fear ofdetection. It is the production of insanity!"
Horrible though the idea was I could not doubt it in the face of Craig'sinvestigations and what I had already seen. In fact, it was necessaryfor me only to recall the peculiar sensations I myself had experiencedafter smoking merely a few puffs of one of Mendoza's cigarettes in orderto be convinced of the possible effect of the insidious poison containedin the many that he smoked.
It was almost dawn before Craig and I left the laboratory after hisdiscovery of the manner of the stramonium poisoning. I was thoroughlytired, though not so much so that my dreams were not haunted by asuccession of baleful eyes peering at me from the darkness.
I slept late, but Kennedy was about early at the laboratory, verifyinghis experiments and checking over his results, carefully endeavoring toisolate any other of the closely related mydriatic alkaloids that mightbe contained in the noxious fumes of the poisoned tobacco. Though he wasalready convinced of what was going on, I knew that he considered it amatter of considerable medico-legal importance to be exact, for if theaffair ever came to the stage of securi
ng an indictment, the chargecould be sustained only by specific proof.
Early in the forenoon Kennedy left me alone in the laboratory and made atrip downtown, where he visited a South American tobacco dealer andplaced a rush order for a couple of hundred cigarettes, duplicating inshape and quality those which Senor Mendoza doza preferred, except,however, the deadly drug which was in those he was smoking.
I had some writing to do and was busily engaged at my typewriter when Isuddenly became conscious of that feeling of being watched. Perhaps Ihad heard a footstep outside and did not remember it, but at any rate Ihad the feeling. I stopped tapping the keys suddenly and wheeled aboutin my chair just in time to catch a glimpse of a face dodging back fromthe window. I don't think that I would be prepared to swear just who itwas, but there was just enough that was familiar about the fleetingglimpse of the eyes to make me feel uncomfortable.
I ran to the door, but it was too late. The intruder had disappeared.Still, the more I thought about it, the more determined I was to verifymy suspicions, if possible. I put on my hat and walked over to theregistrar's office. Sure enough, Alfonso de Moche was registered in thesummer school as well as in the regular course. I was now fullyconvinced that it was he who had been watching us.
Not satisfied, I determined to make further inquiries about the youngman. He had been at the University that morning, I learned from one ofhis professors, and that convinced me more than ever that he hademployed at least a part of the time in spying on us. As I had expected,the professor told me that he was an excellent student, though veryquiet and reserved. His mind seemed to run along the line of engineeringand mining, especially, and I could not help drawing the conclusion thatperhaps he, too, was infected by the furore for treasure hunting, inspite of his Indian ancestry.
Nothing further occurred, however, during the day to excite suspicionand Craig listened with interest, though without comment, when I relatedwhat had happened. He divided his time during the rest of the daybetween some experimental work of his own and fits of deep reverie inwhich he was evidently trying to piece together the broken strands ofthe strange story in which we were now concerned.
The package of cigarettes which he had ordered was delivered late in theafternoon. Kennedy had already wrapped up a small package of a powderand filled a small atomizer with some liquid. Stowing these things awayin his pockets as best he could, with a little vial which he shoved intohis waistcoat pocket, he announced that he was ready at last to take anearly train to Atlantic Beach.
We dined that night, as Craig had requested, with the Mendozas andLockwood up in the sitting-room of Don Luis's suite. It was adelightfully situated room, overlooking the boardwalk and the ocean, andthe fresh wind that was wafted in from the water made it quite the equalof a roof garden.
Dinner had been ordered but not served, when Craig maneuvered to get afew minutes alone with Inez. Although I could not hear, I gathered thathe was outlining at least a part of his plans to her and seeking herco-operation. She seemed to understand and approve, and I really believethat the dinner was the first in a long time that the distracted girlhad really enjoyed.
While we were waiting for it, I suddenly became aware that she hadcontrived to leave Kennedy and myself alone in the sitting-room for amoment. It was evidently part of Craig's plan. Instantly he opened alarge case in which Mendoza kept cigarettes and hastily substituted forthose in it an equal number of the cigarettes which he had had made.
The dinner itself was more like a family party than a formal dinner, forKennedy, when he wanted to do so, had a way of ingratiating himself andleading the conversation so that everyone was at his ease. Everythingprogressed smoothly until we came to the coffee. The Senorita poured,and as she raised the coffee pot Kennedy called our attention to a longline of colliers just on the edge of the horizon, slowly making theirway up the coast.
I was sitting next to the Senorita, not particularly interested incolliers at that moment. From a fold in her dress I saw her hastily drawa little vial and pour a bit of yellowish, syrupy liquid into the cupwhich she was preparing for her father.
I could not help looking at her quickly. She saw me, then raised herfinger to her lips with an explanatory glance at Kennedy, who waskeeping the others interested in colliers. Instantly I recognized thelittle vial that Kennedy had shoved into his vest pocket.
More coffee and innumerable cigarettes followed. I did my best to aid inthe conversation, but my real interest was centered in Don Luis himself,whom I could not help watching closely.
Was it a fact or was it merely imagination? He seemed quite different.The pupils of his eyes did not seem to be quite so dilated as they hadbeen the night before. Even his heart action appeared to be more normal.I think the Senorita noticed it, too.
Dinner over and darkness cutting off the magnificent sweep of oceanview, Inez suggested that we go down to the concert, as had been theircustom. It was the first time that Kennedy had not seemed to fall inwith any of her suggestions, but I knew that that, too, must be part ofhis preconcerted plan.
"If you will pardon us," he excused, "Mr. Jameson and I have somefriends over at Stillson Hall whom we have promised to run in to see. Ithink this would be a good opportunity. We'll rejoin you--in the alcovewhere we were last night, if possible."
No one objected. In fact I think Lockwood was rather glad to have achance to talk to Inez, for Kennedy had monopolized a great deal of herattention.
We left them at the elevator, but instead of leaving the Inn Kennedyedged his way around into the shadow of a doorway where we could watch.Fortunately the Senorita managed to get the same settee in the cornerwhich we had occupied the night before.
A moment later I caught a glimpse of a familiar face at the long windowopening on the veranda. Senora de Moche and her son had drawn upchairs, just outside.
They had not seen us and, as far as we knew, had no reason to suspectthat we were about. As we watched the two groups, I could not fail tonote that the change in Don Luis was really marked. There was none ofthe wildness in his conversation, as there had been. Once he even metthe keen eye of the Senora, but it did not seem to have the effect ithad had on the previous occasion.
"What was it you had the Senorita drop into his coffee?" I asked Craigunder my breath.
"You saw that?" he smiled. "It was pilocarpine, jaborandi, a plant foundlargely in Brazil, one of the antidotes for stramonium poisoning. Itdoesn't work with everyone. But it seems to have done so with Mendoza.Besides, the caffeine in the coffee probably aided the pilocarpine. Didyou notice how it contracted his pupils almost back to normal again?"
Kennedy did not take his eyes off the two groups as he talked. "I've gotat the case from a brand-new angle, I think," he added. "Unless I ammistaken, when the criminal sees Don Luis getting better, it will meananother attempt to substitute more cigarettes doped with that drug."
Satisfied so far with the play he was staging, Kennedy moved over to thehotel desk, and after a quiet conference with the head clerk, found outthat the room next to the suite of the Mendozas was empty. The clerkgave him several keys and with a last look at the Senora and her son, tosee whether they were getting restive, I followed Craig into theelevator and we rode up to the eighth floor again.
The halls were deserted now and we entered the room next to the Mendozaswithout being observed. It was a simple matter after that to open arather heavy door that communicated between the two suites.
Instead of switching on the light, Kennedy first looked about carefullyuntil he was assured that no one was there. Quickly he sprinkled on thefloor from the hall door to the table on which the case of cigaretteslay some of the powder which I had seen him wrap up in the laboratorybefore we left. Then with the atomizer he sprayed over it something thathad a pungent, familiar odor, walking backwards from the hall door as hedid so.
"Don't you want more light?" I asked, starting to cross to a window toraise a shade to let the moonlight stream in.
"Don't walk on it, Walter," he whispered,
pushing me back. "First Isprinkled some powdered iodine and then ammonia enough to moisten it. Itevaporates quickly, leaving what I call my anti-burglar powder."
He had finished his work and now the evening wind was blowing away theslight fumes that had risen. For a few moments he left the door into thenext room open to clear away the odor, then quietly closed it, but didnot lock it.
In the darkness we settled ourselves now for a vigil that was to last weknew not how long. Neither of us spoke as we half crouched in the shadowof the next room, listening.
Slowly the time passed. Would anyone take advantage of the opportunityto tamper with that box of cigarettes on Mendoza's table? Who was it whohad conceived and executed this devilish plot? What was the purposeback of it all?
Once or twice we heard the elevator door clang and waited expectantly,but nothing happened. I began to wonder whether if someone had apass-key to the Mendoza suite we could hear them enter. The outside hallwas thickly carpeted and deadened every footfall if one exercised onlyreasonable caution.
"Don't you think we might leave 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 was surprised to see how early itwas. The minutes were surely leaden-footed.
In the darkness and silence I fell to reviewing the weird succession ofevents which had filled the past two days. I am not by naturesuperstitious, but in the darkness I could well imagine a staringsuccession of eyes, beginning with the dilated pupils of Don Luis andalways ending with those remarkable piercing black eyes of the Indianwoman with the melancholy-visaged son.
Suddenly I heard in the next room what sounded like a series of littleexplosions, as though someone were treading on match-heads.
"My burglar powder," muttered Craig 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 the Mendoza suite. I sprangthrough after him.
There, in the shadows, I saw a dark form, starting back in retreat. Butit was too late.
In the dim light of the little explosions, I caught a glimpse of aface--the face of the person who had been craftily working on thesuperstition of Don Luis, now that his influence had got from thegovernment the precious concession, working with the dread drug to drivehim insane and thus capture both Mendoza's share of the fortune as wellas his daughter, well knowing that suspicion would rest on the jealousIndian woman with the wonderful eyes whose brother had already beendriven insane and whose son Inez Mendoza really loved better thanhimself--the soldier of fortune, Lockwood.
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