Part 46 (1/2)

XXIII

THE CASE OF MRS. ARMITAGE

To look at him no one would have thought that Bill Quinn had a trace of sentiment in his make-up. Apparently he was just the grizzled old veteran of a hundred battles with crime, the last of which--a raid on a counterfeiter's den in Long Island--had laid him up with a game leg and a soft berth in the Treasury Department, where, for years he had been an integral part of the United States Secret Service.

But in the place of honor in Quinn's library-den there hung the photograph of a stunningly handsome woman, her sable coat thrown back just enough to afford a glimpse of a throat of which Juno might have been proud, while in her eyes there sparkled a light which seemed to hint at much but reveal little. It was very evident that she belonged to a world entirely apart from that of Quinn, yet the very fact that her photograph adorned the walls of his den proved that she had been implicated in some case which had necessitated Secret Service investigation--for the den was the shrine of relics relating to cases in which Quinn's friends had figured.

Finally, one evening I gathered courage to inquire about her.

”Armitage was her name,” Quinn replied. ”Lelia Armitage. At least that was the name she was known by in Was.h.i.+ngton, and even the investigations which followed Melville Taylor's exposure of her foreign connections failed to reveal that she had been known by any other, save her maiden name of Lawrence.”

”Where is she now?” I asked.

”You'll have to ask me something easier,” and Quinn smiled, a trifle wistfully, I thought. ”Possibly in London, perhaps in Paris, maybe in Rio or the Far East. But wherever she is, the center of attention is not very far away from her big violet-black eyes. Also the police of the country where she is residing probably wish that they had never been burdened with her.”

”You mean--”

”That she was a crook? Not as the word is usually understood. But more than one string of valuable pearls or diamonds has disappeared when milady Armitage was in the neighborhood--though they were never able to prove that she had lifted a thing. No, her princ.i.p.al escapade in this country brought her into contact with the Secret Service, rather than the police officials--which is probably the reason she was nailed with the goods. You remember the incident of the 'leak' in the peace note, when certain Wall Street interests cleaned up millions of dollars?”

”Perfectly. Was she to blame for that?”

”They never settled who was to blame for it, but Mrs. Armitage was dealing through a young and decidedly attractive Was.h.i.+ngton broker at the time and her account mysteriously multiplied itself half a dozen times.

”Then there was the affair of the Carruthers Code, the one which ultimately led to her exposure at the hands of Taylor and Madelaine James.”

The Carruthers Code [Quinn went on] was admittedly the cleverest and yet the simplest system of cipher communication ever devised on this side of the Atlantic, with the possible exception of the one mentioned in Jules Verne's ”Giant Raft”--the one that Dr. Heinrich Albert used with such success. Come to think of it, Verne wasn't an American, was he? He ought to have been, though. He invented like one.

In some ways the Carruthers system was even more efficient than the Verne cipher. You could use it with less difficulty, for one thing, and the key was susceptible of an almost infinite number of variations. Its only weakness lay in the fact that the secret had to be written down--and it was in connection with the slip of paper which contained this that Mrs. Armitage came into prominence.

For some two years Lelia Armitage had maintained a large and expensive establishment on Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue, not far from Sheridan Circle.

Those who claimed to know stated that there had been a Mr. Armitage, but that he had died, leaving his widow enough to make her luxuriously comfortable for the remainder of her life. In spite of the incidents of the jeweled necklaces, no one took the trouble to inquire into Mrs.

Armitage's past until the leak in connection with the peace note and the subsequent investigation of Paul Connor's brokerage house led to the discovery that her name was among those who had benefited most largely by the advance information.

It was at that time that Melville Taylor was detailed to dig back into her history and see what he could discover. As was only natural, he went at once to Madelaine James, who had been of a.s.sistance to the Service in more than one Was.h.i.+ngton case which demanded feminine finesse, plus an intimate knowledge of social life in the national capital.

”Madelaine,” he inquired, ”what do you know of a certain Mrs. Lelia Armitage?”

”Nothing particularly--except that one sees her everywhere. Apparently has plenty of money. Supposed to have gotten it from her husband, who has been dead for some time. Dresses daringly but expensively, and--while there are at least a score of men, ranging all the way from lieutenants in the army to captains of industry, who would like to marry her--she has successfully evaded scandal and almost gotten away from gossip.”

”Where'd she come from?”

”London, I believe, by way of New York. Maiden name was Lawrence and the late but not very lamented Mr. Armitage was reputed to have made his money in South Africa.”

”All of which,” commented Taylor, ”is rather vague--particularly for purposes of a detailed report.”

”Report? In what connection?”