CHAPTER VIII
THE ANESTHETIC VAPORIZER
Craig had completed a hasty search of the room, with its little dressingtable, two trunks, and a cabinet. Everything seemed to have been kept ina most neat and orderly manner by the attentive Cecilie, who wasapparently a model servant.
The little white bathroom was equally immaculate, and Kennedy passednext to an examination of the little room of the French maid.
Cecilie was a pretty, dark little being, with snapping black eyes, thetype of winsome French maid that one would naturally have expectedRawaruska, with her artist's love of the beautiful, to have picked outto serve her dainty self.
As I ran my eye over the group that was now intently watching Kennedy atwork, I fancied I caught Elsa Hoffman eyeing Cecilie sharply, and I amsure that once at least those black eyes snapped back a wireless messageof defiance at the penetrating eyes of blue. I could feel instinctivelythe atmosphere of hostility between the two women.
"The door was not locked, you say?" repeated Craig, following up one ofthe first of his own questions to Cecilie, which had resulted inunearthing this new fact.
"Non, monsieur," replied Cecilie in accented English which was charming."Mam'selle--we all called her that, her stage name,--used to leave itopen in case of fire or accident. She had a terrible fear of drowning.You know there have been some awful wrecks lately, and she was, oh, sonervous."
"But her valuables?" prompted Craig quickly, watching the effect of hisquestion.
"All in the ship's safe, in care of the purser," replied Cecilie. "Sowere Miss Hoffman's."
"Yes," corroborated Thompson, "and, besides, the corridors andpassageways are well patrolled by stewards at all times."
The search of Cecilie's room, which was smaller and more scantilyfurnished, took only a few minutes.
A suppressed exclamation from Craig served to divert my attention fromthe study of those around me to the study of Kennedy himself, and whathe had discovered.
Hidden away in the back of a drawer in a small chiffonier, he had comeacross several articles that aroused interest if they did not whet theblade of suspicion.
"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed the maid as Kennedy suppressed a smile ofgratification at the outcome of the search. "But that is not mine!"
Kennedy drew out from the back of the drawer, where it had been tucked,a little silken bag. He opened it. On the surface it seemed that the bagwas empty. But as he brought it cautiously closer to his face to peerin, I could see that just a whiff of its contents was enough.
"What have you there?" I asked Kennedy, careful that no one else couldoverhear us.
"Cayenne pepper, snuff, and some other chemical," sneezed Craig. "Veryeffective to throw into the face of anyone," he commented, closingquickly the bag by its loose drawing strings, "that is, if you merelywant to blind him and put him out temporarily."
I did not pay much attention to the protests of the maid, nor the lookof triumph that crossed the face of Elsa Hoffman and surprise exhibitedby Dr. Preston. For Kennedy had picked up from the same drawer a littletoilet vaporizer, too, and was examining it minutely.
As he held it up, I could see, or rather I fancied that it was empty. Hepressed the bulb lightly, then seemed to start back quickly.
"What's that?" I queried, mystified at his actions.
"Something the French secret service spies call the 'bad perfume,'" hereturned frankly, "an anesthetic so incredibly rapid and violent thatthe spies, usually women, who use it wear a filter veil over their ownmouths and noses to protect themselves."
The whole thing was so queer that I could only wonder what might be theexplanation. Cecilie was protesting volubly, now in fair English, now inliquid French, that she knew absolutely nothing of the articles.
I wondered whether Rawaruska herself might not have placed them there.Might she not have been a spy, one of those clever little dancers whohad wormed themselves by their graceful agility into the good graces ofsome of the world's leading men and made Russia a recognized diplomaticpower?
Something like the same idea must have been suggested to Dr. Sanderson,who was standing next me, for he bent over and remarked to me in anundertone, with a significant glance at what Kennedy had discovered, "Isuppose you realize that the position of the Russian government hasundergone a marked change since the Russian dancers have woninternational popularity?"
I had not thought much about it before, but now that he mentioned it, Icould not help a nod of assent.
"Why, I have heard," he continued with the air of a man who is impartinga big piece of information, "that the beautiful young women of theimperial ballet mingle in the society of the capitals of the world, makefriends with politicians, social leaders, high officials, and exert agreat influence in favor of their own country wherever they go. Nodoubt," he added, "they sometimes convey valuable information to theForeign Office which could not be obtained in any other way."
I was not paying much attention to him, but still the doctor rattled onin an undertone, "Some of these dancers are past masters in the art ofintrigue. Do you suppose Rawaruska and the rest have had the task setfor them to win back the public opinion of your country, which departedfrom its traditional policy of friendliness during the Japanese war?"
I made no answer. I was engrossed in considering the primary question.Could it have been a suicide, after all? Surely she had removed theevidences of it much better than in any other case I had ever seen.
Or, had there been a "triangle," perhaps a quadrangle here? I could notpersuade myself that De Guerre cared greatly for his wife, exceptperhaps to be jealous of anyone else having her. He was too attentive toElsa Hoffman, and she, in turn, was not of the type to care much foranyone. As for Dr. Preston, although he seemed to have had a friendshipfor Rawaruska, I could not exactly fit him into the scheme of things.
We proceeded up the bay on the _Sylvania_, but were able to discovernothing further that night. As we left the ship at the dock in themorning we ran across Wade, who was quietly directing a dozen or so ofhis men.
"Any trace yet of the Invincible?" asked Craig, stopping in anunostentatious corner.
The customs man shook his head gravely. "Not yet," he replied. "But I'mnot discouraged. If we miss it here in the customs inspection it will besure to turn up later. There's a shady jeweler on Fifth Avenue, Margot,who knows these Antwerp people pretty well. I have a man working there,a diamond cutter, and other agents in the trade. Oh, I'll hear about itsoon enough, if it is here. Only I'd like to have done somethingspectacular, something that would count for me at Washington. Have youfound out anything?"
Briefly Kennedy told him some of the scattered facts we had discovered,just enough to satisfy him without taking him into our confidence.
"I'm going to be busy in the laboratory, Walter," remarked Kennedy asour taxicab extricated itself from the ruck of the river-front streets."I don't know that there is anything that you can do--except--well, yes.I wish you'd try to keep an eye on some of these people--that maid,Cecilie, especially."
We had learned that De Guerre was to stop at the Vanderveer and, laterin the morning, I dropped into the hotel and glanced over the register.De Guerre was registered there and Cecilie had a little room, also,pending the disposal he would make of her. Miss Hoffman had rooms of herown, which she had evidently re-engaged, with a family in a residentialstreet not far from the hotel.
The clerk told me that De Guerre was out, but that the maid had returnedafter having been out alone, for a short time, also. The lobby of theVanderveer was fairly crowded with people by this time, and I found nodifficulty in keeping in the background and still seeing pretty mucheverything that went on.
It was rather tame, however, and I was still debating whether I shouldnot do something active, when I happened to glance up and catch sight ofa familiar face. It was Dr. Preston making inquiries for someone of theroom clerk. I dodged back of a pillar and waited, covering myself withan early morning war extra that repeated the news of the night before.
A few moments later, Preston, who had received an answer from whomeverhe was calling, edged his way toward one of the deserted littlereception rooms near a side carriage entrance. Carefully, I trailed him.
It was some minutes before I could make up my mind to risk passing thedoor of the little parlor and being discovered, but I was growingimpatient. As I glanced in I was astonished to see him talking earnestlyto Cecilie. I did not dare stop, for fear one or the other might lookup, but I could see that Preston was eagerly questioning her. Her facewas averted from me and I could not read even her expression. Thepassageway was deserted, and if I paused I would inevitably attractattention. So I kept on, turning instinctively in the labyrinth andcoming back to the lobby, where I found a position near the telephonebooths which gave me a concealed view at least of the door of the parloraround an angle. I waited.
Perhaps five minutes passed. Then Cecilie and Dr. Preston suddenlyemerged from the reception room. Evidently the maid was anxious to getaway, perhaps afraid to be seen with him. With a word, she almost randown the corridor in the direction of the rear elevators, and Preston,with a queer look on his face, came slowly toward me.
Instinctively I drew back into a telephone booth; then it occurred to methat if I emerged just as he passed he would not be likely to suspectanything, and I might have a chance to study him.
I did so, and was quite amused at the look of surprise on his face as Igreeted him. Still, I do not think he thought I was shadowing him. Wepaused for a moment on the street, after a conventional exchange ofremarks about the tragedy to poor little Rawaruska.
"That Miss Hoffman seems to be a very capable woman," I remarked, by wayof dragging the conversation into channels into which it seemed unlikelyto drift naturally.
"Y-yes," he agreed, as I caught a sidelong glance from the corner of hiseye. "I believe she has had a rather checkered career. I understand thatshe was a nurse, a trained nurse, once."
There was something about the remark that impressed me. It was madedeliberately, I fancied. What his purpose was, I could not fathom, but Ifelt that in the instant while he had hesitated he had debated and madeup his mind to say it.
My face betraying nothing to his searching glance, he pulled hastily athis watch. "I'm going downtown on the subway--to clear up some of themuss that this European business has got me in with my bankers," he saidquickly. "I'd be glad to have you call on me at any time at theCharlton, just up the avenue a bit. Good-day, sir. I'm glad to have metyou. Drop in on me."
He was gone, scarcely waiting for me to reply, leaving me to wonder whatwas the cause of his strange actions.
Mechanically I looked at my own watch and decided that I had left Craigundisturbed long enough.