Adventure, December 1914 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Stolen War Secret “He isn’t here tonight, then?” pursued Kennedy. “No,” she answered. “I suppose he is out on Long Island at his place at Westport. A fine boy, the Colonel. We all like him.” There was no mistaking the tone in which she made the remark. Even if it sounded a little unconventional, it was merely her way of testifying that she had a high regard for the gentleman. . “T have known the Colonel fairly well for a number of years,”’ prevaricated Kennedy, and the conversation drifted on to other topics. Kennedy managed to lead it about again so that in a perfectly inconsequential way, after the mention of Sinclair’s name, he could say— ‘“T have heard him mention the name of a Madame Val—” he hesitated, as if the name were not familiar, “a Madame Valcour, I think itis. Is she here? Does she come around to the cabaret?”’ “Oh yes,” replied Hattie Hawley. ‘She comes around here quite often. I haven’t seen her tonight though. She has been away for a few days—down on Long Island, I believe. Perhaps she is there yet.”’ I caught her looking significantly at Ken- nedy, and wondered what was coming next. She leaned over and whispered— “Between you and me, I think the Colonel is stuck on her, only I wouldn’t say that aloud here.”’ She flashed a glance at one of the men who had been sitting in the shadow, talking with Sefiora Ruiz. “He could tell you more about her than I could,” she remarked under her breath. ‘IT never saw any one so crazy over a woman as he is over Valcour.”’ ‘‘And does she care for him?’’ asked Ken- nedy. Hattie Hawley considered for a moment. “I don’t believe she cares for anybody,” she answered. At least there was no hint that the trag- edy was known yet here. { glanced more closely at the man who was talking to Ruiz. He was dark-faced, tall, military in bearing, straight as an ar- row, with a little black imperial and a dis- tinguished shock of bushy dark hair. “It’s evident that she is an ardent ad- mirer of him,”’ remarked Kennedy following my eye, “whatever he may think of her.” Then, louder, he asked of Mrs. Hawley, 9 ‘What is hisname? I don’t believe I caught it when we were introduced—that is, if we were, in this very informal meeting.” She laughed. Evidently she liked it. ‘His name is Sanchez,” she replied. A snatch of conversation from a side table floated over to us. ‘“Whoever can learn how to get at the key and decipher those hieroglyphics will not only add a chapter to archeology, but he’ll be rich—in my opinion—enormously rich. Why, my dear sir, there is more treasure in Mexico today that has never ss The voice was drowned in the din of the orchestra starting up a new dance. Kennedy turned. At another table were two men talking earnestly. One was the very type of the German savant, including the whiskers and the near-sighted glasses. The other looked very much as if he were an American college professor. The savant, at least, seemed to be at home in the Bohemian atmosphere, but the other man looked for all the world as if he momentarily expected to be discovered by some of his students and have his reputation ruined forever. ‘“‘Who is that?” asked Kennedy of Mrs. Hawley. ‘Do you know them?” “At the next table?”’ she answered looking around. ‘“‘Why, that is Professor Neu- meyer, Freidrich Neumeyer, the German archeologist. He has been all over Mexico— Yucatan, Mitla, the pyramids, wherever there are ruins. I never cared much about ruins—guess I’m too modern. But Colonel Sinclair does. He goes in for all that sort of thing—has collections of his own, and all that. “TI believe he and Neumeyer are great friends. I don’t know the other man, but he looks like one of the professors from the University.” Kennedy continued to divide his atten- tion between the party at our table and the archeologist. His companion, as I myself had observed, seemed entirely out of place outside a classroom or archeological mu- seum, and I soon dismissed him from my thoughts. But Neumeyer was different. There was a fascination about him, and in fact I felt that I would really like to know the old fellow well enough to have him tell me the tales of adventure combined with scholar- ship, with which I felt intuitively he must be bursting. DOOK C@