The Adventuress Read online

  Instantly I recognised it as that of Irene Maddox. It needed no clairvoyancy to tell precisely of whom she was talking. I wondered whether she was trying to vent her grudge against Paquita at the expense of Shelby and Winifred. At least I could fancy how Shelby would bless his sister-in-law as a trouble-maker, if he knew.

  ‘I can’t believe that you are right,’ returned the other voice, and it was plainly that of Winifred.

  There was a quiver of emotion in it, as though Winifred were striving hard to convince herself that that something she had heard was not true.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ replied Mrs Maddox. ‘That is what I used to think—once—that it couldn’t be so. But you do not know that woman—nor men, either.’

  She made the last remark with unconcealed bitterness. I could not help feeling sorry for her in the misfortune in which her own life with Maddox had ended. Yet it did not seem right that she should poison all romance. Still, I reflected, what, after all, did I really know, and why should I rise to the defence of Shelby? Better, far, that Winifred should learn now than to learn when it was too late.

  ‘I have been watching her,’ pursued Irene. ‘I found that I could not trust any man where that woman was concerned. I wish I had never trusted any.’

  ‘I cannot believe that Shelby would deliberately deceive me,’ persisted Winifred.

  Irene Maddox laughed hollowly. ‘Yet you know what we discovered this afternoon,’ she pressed. ‘Why, I cannot even be sure that that detective, Kennedy, may not be working against me. And as for that lawyer of my husband’s, Hastings, I don’t know whether I detest him more than I fear him. Let me warn you to be careful of him, too. Remember, I have been observing for a long time. I don’t trust him, or any other lawyer. You never can tell how far they may be concerned in anything.’

  There was a peculiar piquancy to the innuendo. Evidently Irene Maddox suspected Hastings of much. And again I was forced to ask myself, what did I really so far know?

  I fancied I could detect that the poor woman had reached a point where she was suspicious of everybody and everything, not an unnatural situation, I knew, with a woman in her marital predicament.

  ‘What has Mr Hastings done?’ inquired Winifred.

  ‘Done?’ repeated Mrs Maddox. ‘What has he left undone? Why, he shielded Marshall in everything, whenever I mentioned to him this Paquita woman—said it was not his business what his client’s private life was unless he was directed to interest himself in it by his client himself. He was merely an attorney, retained for certain specific purposes. Beyond that he was supposed to know nothing. Oh, my dear, you have much to learn about the wonderful freemasonry that exists among men in matters such as this.’

  I caught Kennedy’s quizzical smile. We were having a most telling example of freemasonry among women, into which Irene was initiating a neophyte. I felt sure that Winifred would be much happier if she had been left alone, and events might have a chance to explain themselves without being misinterpreted—a situation from which most of the troubles both in fact and in fiction arise. In her watching of her errant husband, Irene had expected everyone immediately to fall in line and aid her—forgetting the very human failing that most people possess of objecting to play the role of informer.

  ‘What fools men are!’ soliloquised Irene Maddox a moment later, as though coming to the point of her previous random remarks. ‘Just take that little dancer. What do they see in her? Not brains, surely. As for me, I don’t think she has even beauty. And yet, look at them! She has only to appear up there in the Casino at this very moment to be the most popular person on the floor, while other girls go begging for partners.’

  I could feel Winifred bridling at the challenge in the remark. She had tasted popularity herself. Was she to admit defeat at the hands of the little adventuress? Criticise as one might, there was still a fascination about the mystery of Paquita.

  One could feel the coolness that had suddenly risen in the summer-house—as if a mist from the water had thrown it about. Nor did the implication of the silence escape Irene Maddox.

  ‘You will pardon me, my dear,’ she said, rising. ‘I know how thankless such a job is. Perhaps I had better not be seen with you. Yes, I am sure of it. I think I had better return to the hotel.’

  For a moment Winifred hesitated, as if in doubt whether to go, too, or to stay.

  Finally it seemed as if she decided to stay. I do not know which course would have been better for Winifred—to accompany the elder woman and imbibe more of the enforced cynicism, or to remain, brooding over the suspicions which had been injected into her mind. At any rate, Winifred decided to stay, and made no move either to detain or accompany the other.

  Irene Maddox arose and left Winifred alone. If she had been watching Paquita there was no further need. Winifred would watch now quite as closely.

  As her footsteps died away, instead of remaining near the dock Kennedy turned and, keeping back in the shadows where we could not be seen by the silent watcher in the summer-house, we went along down the shore.

  In the shelter of a long line of bath-houses that belonged to the hotel we paused. There was no one in bathing at this hour, and we sat down and waited.

  ‘What did you make of that conversation?’ I whispered cautiously, lowering my voice so that we might not be eavesdropped upon in turn.

  ‘Not strange that Mrs Maddox hates the little dancer,’ replied Craig sententiously. ‘It’s quite evident Riley was right and that Shelby must be with her. I wonder whether they will return this way or on the land? It’s worth taking a chance. Let’s stay awhile, anyway.’

  He lapsed into silence, as though trying to motivate the actors in the little drama which was unfolding.

  It was not long before, down the beach, we saw a man and a woman coming toward us rapidly. Kennedy and I drew back farther, and as we did so I saw that the figure above us in the summer-house had moved away from the edge so as to be less conspicuous.

  The crackle of some dry sea-grass back of the bathhouse startled us, but we did not move. It was one of the Secret Service men. There was no reason why we should conceal from him that we were on a similar quest. Yet Kennedy evidently considered it better that nothing should happen to put anyone on guard. We scarcely breathed. He passed, however, without seeing us, and we flattered ourselves that we were well hidden.

  A few minutes later the couple approached. It was unmistakably Shelby Maddox and Paquita.

  ‘It’s no use,’ we heard Shelby say, as they passed directly beside the bath-houses. ‘Even down here on the beach they are watching. Still, I have had a chance to say some of the things I wanted to say. From now on—we are strangers—you understand?’

  It was not said as brutally as it sounds on paper. Rather it gave the impression, from Shelby’s tone, that they had never been much more.

  For a moment Paquita said nothing. Then suddenly she burst forth with a little bitter laugh.

  ‘It takes two to be strangers. We shall see!’

  Without another word she turned, as though in a fit of pique and anger, and ran up the flight of steps from the bathhouses to the Casino, passing within five feet of us, without seeing us.

  ‘We shall see,’ she muttered under her breath; ‘we shall see!’

  In surprise Shelby took a step or two after her, then paused.

  ‘The deuce take her,’ he swore under his breath, then strode on in the direction of the steps to the dock and the summer-house.

  He had scarcely gained the level when the figure in the summer-house emerged from the gloom.

  ‘Well, Shelby—a tryst with the other charmer, was it?’

  ‘Winifred!’

  Miss Walcott laughed sarcastically. ‘Is that all that your fine speeches mean, Shelby?’ she said reproachfully. ‘At the Lodge you scarcely bow to her; then you meet her secretly on the beach.’

  ‘Winifred—let me explain,’ he hastened. ‘You do not understand. She is nothing to me—never has been. I am not like Marshal
l was. When she came down here the other night she may have thought she could play with me as she had with him. I met her—as I have scores of others. They have always been all the same to me—until that night when I met you. Since then—have I even looked at her—at anyone else?’

  ‘Another pretty speech,’ cut in Winifred icily. ‘But would you have met her now, if you had known that you would be watched?’

  ‘I should have met her in the lobby of the hotel, if that had been the only way,’ he returned boldly. ‘But it was not. I do not understand the woman. Sometimes I fear that she has fallen in love with me—as much as her kind can fall in love. I sent for her, yes, myself. I wanted to tell her bluntly that there could never be anything between us, that we could not—now—continue even the acquaintance.’

  ‘But you knew her before—in the city, Shelby,’ persisted Winifred. ‘Besides, was it necessary to take her arm, to talk so earnestly with her? I saw you when you started.’

  ‘I had to be courteous to her,’ defended Shelby, then stopped, as though realising too late that it was not defence he should attempt, but rather confession of something that did not exist and a prayer of forgiveness for nothing.

  ‘I did not believe what I heard,’ said Winifred coldly. ‘I was foolish enough to listen to you, not to others. It is what I see.’

  ‘To others?’ he asked, quickly. ‘Who—what have they told you about me? Tell me.’

  ‘No—it was in confidence. I cannot tell you who or what. No, not another word of that. You have opened my eyes yourself. You have only yourself to thank. Take your little Mexican dancer—let us see what she does to you!’

  Winifred Walcott had moved away toward the steps up to the Casino.

  ‘Please!’ implored Shelby. ‘Why, I sent for her only to tell her that she must keep away. Winifred!’

  Winifred had turned and was running up the steps. Instead of waiting, as he had done with Paquita, Shelby took the steps two at a time. A moment later he was by her side.

  We could not hear what he said as he reached her, but she took no pains to modulate her own voice.

  ‘No—no!’ she exclaimed angrily, choking back a sob. ‘No—leave me. Don’t speak to me. Take your little dancer, I say!’

  A moment later she had come into the circle of light from the Casino. Pursuit meant only a scene.

  At the float at the other end of the pier bobbed one of the tenders of the Sybarite. Shelby turned deliberately and called, and a moment later his man ran up the dock.

  ‘I’m not going to go out to the yacht tonight,’ he ordered. ‘I shall sleep at the Lodge. Tell Mito, and come ashore with my things.’

  Then he turned, avoiding the Casino, and walked slowly up to the Harbour House, as we followed at a distance.

  I wondered if he might be planning something.

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE SERPENT’S TOOTH

  WE were approaching the hotel when we met Riley’s operative with whom we had been talking shortly before. He was looking about as though in doubt what to do next.

  ‘So you managed to pick them up again on the beach?’ greeted Kennedy.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘We were back of the bath-houses as they came along. You passed within a few feet of us.’

  The detective stared blankly as Kennedy laughed.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing very much. I missed them at first, because of the delay of that fellow, Mito. But I reasoned that they must have strolled down the beach, though I didn’t know how far. I took a chance and made a short cut overland. Fortunately I caught up with them just as they were about to turn back. I was a little careful, I suppose—after what happened.’

  He hesitated a bit apologetically, then went on: ‘I couldn’t hear much of what they said. Queer fellow, that Shelby. First he sends to meet the girl, then they quarrel nearly all the time they are together.’

  ‘What did the quarrel seem to be about?’ demanded Kennedy. ‘Couldn’t you get any of it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I caught enough of it,’ returned the operative confidently. ‘I can’t repeat exactly what was said, for it came to me only in snatches. They seemed to be arguing about something. Once he accused her of having been the ruin of his brother. She did not answer at first—just laughed sarcastically. But Shelby wasn’t content with that. Finally she turned on him.

  ‘“You say that I ruined Marshall Maddox,” she cried. “His wife says I ruined him. Oh, Shelby, Shelby, he wasn’t a man who had reached the age of discretion, I suppose—was he? Oh, it’s always I who do things—never anybody else.”’

  ‘Yes,’ prompted Kennedy. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘She was bitter—angry. She stopped short. “Shelby Maddox,” she cried, “you had better be careful. There is as much crime and hate and jealousy in every one of you as there is in Sing Sing. I tell you, be careful. I haven’t told all I know—yet. But I will say that wherever your house of hate goes and whomever it touches, it corrupts. Be careful how you touch me!” Say, but Paquita was mad! That was when they turned back. I guess Shelby sort of realised that it was no use. They turned so suddenly that they almost caught me listening.’

  ‘Anything else?’ inquired Kennedy. ‘What did Shelby have to say about himself? Do you think he’s tangled up with her in any way?’

  ‘I can’t tell. Most of what they said was spoken so low that it was impossible for me to hear even a word. I think both of them realised that they were being watched and listened to. It was only once in a while when their feelings got the better of them that they raised their voices, and then they pretty soon caught themselves and remembered.’

  ‘Then it was no lover’s meeting?’ I asked.

  ‘Hardly,’ returned the detective, with a growl. ‘And yet she did not seem to be half as angry at Shelby as she did at the others. In fact, I think that a word from him would have smoothed out everything. But he wouldn’t say it. She tried hard to get him, too. That little dancer is playing a game—take it from me. And she’s artful, too. I wouldn’t want to be up against her—no, sir.’

  There was something incongruous about the very idea of this bull-necked flatty and the dainty little adventuress—as though the hippopotamus might fear the peacock. I would have laughed had the business itself not been so important. What was her game? In fact, what was Shelby’s game? Each seemed to be playing a part.

  ‘How about Mito?’ I asked. ‘Have you seen him again since you were jiu-jitsued?’

  The detective shook his head. ‘No,’ he returned, reminiscently. ‘He seems to have disappeared altogether. Believe me, I have been keeping an eye peeled for him. That Jap is a suspicious character. And it’s just when you can’t put your fingers on him that he is plotting some deviltry, depend on it.’

  We left the Secret Service operative and continued toward the hotel. In the lobby Kennedy and I looked about eagerly in the hope of finding Winifred, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Our search was partly rewarded, however. At the end of the porch, in the shadow, we did find Frances Walcott and Irene Maddox. It was evident that they had seriously disagreed over something, and it did not require much guessing to conclude that it had to do with Winifred. Though Frances Walcott was really a Maddox and Irene Maddox was not, one would have scarcely guessed it. The stamp of the house of hate was on both.

  Just a fragment of the conversation floated over to us, but it was enough.

  ‘Very well, then,’ exclaimed Mrs Maddox. ‘Let them go their own way. You are like all the rest—you seem to think that a Maddox can do no wrong. I was only trying to warn Winifred, as I wish someone had warned me.’

  The answer was lost, but Mrs Walcott’s reply was evidently a sharp one, for the two parted in unconcealed anger and suspicion. Everywhere the case seemed to drag its slimy trail over all.

  Look about as we might, there was no sign of Paquita. Nor was our friend Sanchez about, either. We seemed to have lost t
hem, or else, like Mito, they were undercover.

  ‘I think,’ decided Kennedy, ‘that I’ll just drop into our rooms, Walter. I haven’t much hope that we’ll find anything yet, but it will be just as well to be on the watch.’

  Accordingly, we mounted by a rear staircase to our floor, and for a moment Kennedy busied himself adjusting the apparatus.

  ‘A bit early, I think,’ he remarked finally. ‘There are too many people about to expect anything yet. We may as well go downstairs again. Perhaps Burke may return and I’m rather anxious to know what it is he has been after.’

  For a moment, as we retraced our steps downstairs, I attempted, briefly, a résumé of the case so far, beginning with the death of Maddox, and down to the attack on Hastings and then on myself. As I viewed the chief actors and their motives, I found that they fell into two groups. By the death of Maddox, Shelby might profit, as might his sister, Frances. On the other hand were to be considered the motives of jealousy and revenge, such as might actuate Irene Maddox and Paquita. Then, too, there was always the possibility of something deeper lying back of it all, as Burke had hinted—an international complication over the telautomaton, the wonderful war engine which was soon likely to be the most valuable piece of property controlled by the family. Into such calculations even Mito, and perhaps Sanchez, might fit, as indeed might any of the others.

  It was indeed a perplexing case, and I knew that Kennedy himself had not yet begun to get at the bottom of it, for the simple reason that when in doubt Kennedy would never talk. His silence was eloquent of the mystery that shrouded the curious sequence of events. At a loss for a means by which to piece together the real underlying story, I could do nothing but follow Kennedy blindly, trusting in his strange ability to arrive at the truth.

  ‘One thing is certain,’ remarked Kennedy, evidently sensing that I was trying my utmost to arrive at some reasonable explanation of the events, ‘and that is that this hotel is a very jungle of gossip—sharper than a serpent’s tooth. In my opinion, none of us will be safe until the fangs of this creature, whoever it may be, are drawn. However, we’ll never arrive anywhere by trying merely to reason it out. This is a case that needs more facts—facts—facts.’