Part 25 (2/2)

”There was some crooked business about that dagger down there as well as here,” he pursued. ”There are many interests connected with it.

Don't you think that it would be worth while watching Norton?” he paused, then added: ”We do--and we're going to do it.”

”Thank you very much,” returned Kennedy quietly. ”Mr. Whitney has already told me he intended to do so.”

Lockwood eyed us critically, as though not quite sure what to make of the cool manner in which Craig took it.

”I think if I were you,” he said at length, ”I'd keep a close watch on the de Moches, both of them, too.”

”Exactly,” agreed Craig, without showing undue interest.

Lockwood had risen. ”Well,” he snapped, ”you may not think much of what I am telling you now. But just wait until OUR detectives begin to dig up facts.” No sooner had he left than I turned to Craig. ”What was that?” I asked. ”A plant?”

”Perhaps,” he returned, clearing up the materials which he had been using.

The telephone rang.

”h.e.l.lo, Norton,” I heard Craig answer. ”What's that? You are shadowed by some one--you think it is by Whitney?”

I had been expecting something of the sort, and listened attentively, but it was impossible to gather the drift of the one-sided conversation.

As Kennedy hung up the receiver I remarked, ”So it was not a bluff, after all.”

”I think my plan is working,” he remarked thoughtfully. ”You heard what he said? He guesses right the first time, that it is Whitney. The last thing he said was, 'I'll get even! I'll take some action!' and then he rang off. I think we'll hear something soon.”

Instead of going out, Kennedy pulled out the several unsigned letters we had collected, and began the laborious process of studying the printing, a.n.a.lyzing it, in the hope that he might discover some new clue.

XVI

THE EAR IN THE WALL

Perhaps an hour later our laboratory door was flung open suddenly, and both Kennedy and I leaped to our feet.

There was Inez Mendoza, alone, pale and agitated.

”Tell me, Professor Kennedy,” she cried, her hands clasped before her in frantic appeal, ”tell me--it isn't true--is it? He wasn't there--no--no--no!”

She would have fainted if Craig had not sprung forward and caught her in time to place her in our only easy-chair.

”Walter,” he said, ”quick--that bottle of aromatic spirits of ammonia over there--the second from the left.”

I handed it to him, and threw open the window to allow the fresh air to blow in. As I did so one of the papers Kennedy had been studying blew off the table, and, as luck would have it, fell almost before her. She saw it, and in her hypersensitive condition recognized it instantly.

”Oh--that anonymous letter!” she cried. ”Tell me--you do not think that--the friend of my father's that it warned me to beware of--was--”

She did not finish the sentence. She did not need to do so.

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