CHAPTER V
THE "THE DANSANT"
I felt, however, that Seabury accepted this conclusion reluctantly, infact with a sort of mental reservation not to cease activity himself.
The remainder of the forenoon, and for some time during the earlyafternoon, Craig plunged into one of his periods of intense work andabstraction at the laboratory.
It was, indeed, a most unusual and delicate test which he was making.For one thing, I noticed that he had, in a sterilizer, some peculiargranular tissue that had been sent to him from a hospital. This tissuehe was very careful to cleanse of blood and then by repeated boilingsprepare for whatever use he had in mind.
As for myself, I could only stand aside and watch his preparations insilence. Among the many peculiar pieces of apparatus which he had, Irecall one that consisted of a glass cylinder with a siphon tube runninginto it halfway up the outside. Inside was another, smaller cylinder.All about him as he proceeded were glass containers, capillary pipettes,test tubes, Bunsen burners, and dialyzers of porous parchment paperwhose wrappers described them as "permeable for peptones, but not foralbumins."
Carefully set aside was the blood which he had drawn from Seabury'sveins, allowed to stand till the serum separated out from the clot.Next he pipetted it into a centrifuge tube and centrifuged it at highspeed, some sixteen thousand revolutions, until the serum was perfectlyclear, with no trace of a reddish tint, nor even cloudy. After that hedrew off the serum into a little tube, covered it with a layer of asubstance called toluol from another sterile pipette, and finally placedit in an incubator at a temperature of about ninety-eight.
It was well along toward four o'clock when he paused as if some mentalalarm clock had awakened him to another part of the plan of action hehad laid out.
"Walter," he remarked, hastily doffing his stained old laboratory coat,"I think we'd better drop around to the Vanderveer."
Curious as I had been at the preparations he was making in thelaboratory, I was still glad at even the suggestion of something that myless learned mind could understand and it was not many seconds before wewere on our way.
Through the lobby of the famous new hostelry we slowly lounged along,then down a passage into the tea room, where, in the center of a circleof quaint little wicker chairs and tables, was a glossy dancing floor.
Kennedy selected a table not in the circle, but around an "L,"inconspicuously located so that we could watch the dancing withoutourselves being watched.
At one end of the room an excellent orchestra was playing. I gazedabout, fascinated. At the dancing tea was represented, apparently, muchwealth--women whose throats and fingers glittered with gold and gems,men whose very air exuded prosperity--or at least its veneer.
About it all was the glamor of the _risque_. One felt a sort ofcompromising familiarity in this breaking down of old social restraintsthrough the insidious influence of the tea room, with its accompanimentsof music and dancing.
"I suppose," remarked Craig after we had for some time settled ourselvesand watched the brilliant scene, "that, like many others, Walter, youhave often wondered whether these modern dances are actually asstimulating as they seem."
I shrugged my shoulders non-committally.
"Well, there is what psychologists might call a real dance neurosis," hewent on, contemplatively, toying with a glass. "In fact few persons canwithstand the physical effect of the peculiar rhythm, the close contact,and the sinuous movements--at least where, so to speak, the surroundingsare suggestive and the dance becomes less restrained and more sensuous,as it does often in circumstances like these, often among strangers."
The music had started again and one after another couples seemed tofloat past in unhesitating hesitation--dowager and debutante, dandy anddoddering octogenarian.
"Why," he exclaimed, looking out at the whirling kaleidoscope, "here inthe most advanced epoch, people of culture and intelligence frankly saythey are 'wild' for something primitive."
"Still," I objected, "dancing even in the wild, stimulating emotionalmanner you see here need not be merely an incitement to love, need it?May it not be a normal gratification of the love instinct--eroticismtranslated into rhythm? Perhaps it may represent sex, but notnecessarily badly."
Kennedy nodded. "Undoubtedly the effect of the dances is in direct ratioto the sexual temperament of the dancer," he admitted.
He paused and again watched the whirl.
"Does Mrs. Seabury herself understand it?" he mused, only half speakingto me. "I'm sure that this Sherburne is clever enough to do so, at anyrate."
A hearty round of applause came from the dancers as the music ceased.None left the floor, however, but remained waiting for the encoreeagerly, scarcely changing the positions in which they had stopped.
"To my mind," Kennedy resumed, with the music, "several things seemsignificant. Many people have noticed that after marriage womengenerally lose much of their ardor for dancing. I feel that it is anunsafe matter on which to generalize, but--well--Mrs. Seabury seems notto have lost it."
"Then," I inquired quickly, "you imply that--she is not really as muchin love with her husband as she would have us think--or, perhaps,herself believes?"
"Not quite that," he replied doubtfully. "But I am wondering whetherthere is such a factor that must be considered."
Before I could answer Kennedy touched my arm. Instinctively I followedthe direction of his eye and saw Mrs. Seabury step out on the flooracross from us. Without a word from Craig, I realized that the man withher must be Sherburne, our "tango thief."
Fashionably dressed, affable, seemingly superficially, at least, welleducated, tall, graceful, with easy manners, I could not help seeing ata glance that he was one of the most erotic dancers on the little floor.
As they passed near us, Mrs. Seabury caught Kennedy's eye in momentaryrecognition. Her face, flushed with the dance, colored perhaps a shadedeeper, but not noticeably to her partner, who was devoting himselfwholly and skillfully to leading her in a manner that one could seecalled forth frequent comment from others, less favored.
As they sat down after this dance and the encore, Craig motioned to thewaiter at our table and whispered to him.
A few moments later, a man whom I had seen around the hotel on myinfrequent visits, but did not know, slipped quietly into a seat besideKennedy, even deeper in the shadow of the recess in which we weresitting.
"Walter, I'd like to have you meet Mr. Dunn, the house detective,"whispered Kennedy under his breath.
The usual interchange of remarks followed, during which Dunn wasevidently waiting for Kennedy to reveal the real purpose of our visit.
"By the way, Dunn," remarked Craig at length, "who is that fellow--overthere with the woman in blue--the fellow with the heavy braided coat?"
Dunn craned his neck cautiously, then shrugged his shoulders. "I've seenhim here with her before," he remarked. "I don't know him, though. Why?"
Briefly Kennedy sketched such facts of a supposedly hypothetical case aswould be likely to secure an opinion from the house man. Dunn narrowedhis eyes thoughtfully.
"That's rather a ticklish situation, Kennedy," Dunn remarked when Craighad stated the case, omitting all reference to Seabury's name as well ashis suspicions. "Of course," he went on, "I know we've got to protectthe name of the hotel. And I know we can't have men meeting our womenpatrons, doing a gavotte or two--and then fox-trotting them intoblackmail."
Dunn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You see, we can do a great deal tosuppress card sharps, agents for fake mining stocks, passers ofworthless checks, and confidence men of that sort. But it is not sosimple to thwart the vultures who prey on the gullibility and passionsof the so-called idle rich."
"There must be something you can do to get it on this fellow, though,"persisted Craig.
"Well," considered the house man, "we have what might be called ourhotel secret service--several men and women operating entirely apartfrom the hotel force of detectives who, like myself, are too well knownto cleve
r crooks. Nobody knows them, except myself. There's one--thatgirl over there dancing with that middle-aged man who has mail sent herebut doesn't live here. Could they be of use?"
"Just the thing," exclaimed Craig enthusiastically. "Can't you have herget acquainted--just as a precaution--with that man? His name, by theway, I understand is Sherburne."
"I'll do it," agreed Dunn, rising unostentatiously.
Just then I happened to glance across the floor and over the heads ofthose seated at the tables at a door opposite us. It was my turn hastilyto seize Kennedy's elbow.
"Good God!" I exclaimed involuntarily.
There, in the further doorway of the tea room, stood Judson Seaburyhimself!
Without a word, Craig rose and quickly crossed the dancing floor,stopping before Mrs. Seabury's table. Instead of waiting to beintroduced, he sat down deliberately, as though he had been there allthe time and had just gone out of the room and come back. He did it allso quickly that he was able in a perfectly natural way to turn and seethat Seabury himself had been watching and now was advancing slowly,picking his way among the crowded tables.
From around my corner I saw Craig whisper a word or two to Mrs. Seabury,then rise and meet Seabury less than halfway from the door by which hehad been standing.
The tension of the situation was too much for Mrs. Seabury. Confoundedand bewildered, she fled precipitately, passing within a few feet of mytable. Her face was positively ghastly.
As for Sherburne, he merely sat a moment and surveyed the irate husbandwith calm and studied insolence at a safe distance. Then he, too, roseand turned deliberately on his heel.
Curious to know how Craig would meet the dilemma, I watched eagerly andwas surprised to see Seabury, after a moment's whispered talk, turn andleave the tea room by the same door through which he had entered.
"What did you do?" I asked, as Craig rejoined me a few moments later."What did you say? My hat's off to you," I added in admiration.
"Told him I had trailed her here with one of my operatives, but wasconvinced there was nothing wrong, after all," he returned.
"You mean," I asked as the result of Craig's quick thinking dawned onme, "that you told him Sherburne was _your_ operative?"
Kennedy nodded. "I want to see him, now, if I can," he said simply.