Adventure, December 1914 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

14 “None—if you can tell me what it is,” agreed Burke. ‘“You are positive that the safe had been opened?” asked Kennedy a moment later. “‘We have Sinclair’s word,’ asserted Burke. ‘That is all I know, and I assume that he is telling the truth. There couldn’t be any object in giving the invention to the Government and then robbing himself. No, if you knew Sinclair you’d know that about a thing like this he is as straight as a string. I feel that I can say positively that the papers were in the safe when it was locked by him for the night. He told me he put them there himself. And when he opened the safe in the morning they were gone. “‘And, mind you, Kennedy, there wasn’t a mark of any kind on the safe—not a mark. I went over it with a glass and couldn’t find a thing, not a scratch—not even a finger-print—nothing except this queer arrangement which Sinclair himself found.” “Why,” I exclaimed, “it sounds incredi- ble—supernatural.”’ “It does indeed,” asserted Burke. beyond me.” Kennedy closed the cover of the little case and slipped the thing into his pocket, still pondering. “Tt grows more incredible, too,’”’ pursued Burke, looking at us frankly. ‘And then, to top it all off, when I do get back to the city I happen to run across you fellows hot on the trail of the death of Valcour herself ~——whatever she may be or have to do with the case. There’s only one thing Sinclair will not talk about freely and that is women —and this precious crew of Mexican friends of his. I’m afraid we shall have to go it alone on that end of it, without any assist- ance from him. All I was able to get, be- sides a word or two from him, was the gossip out there.’”’ He paused, then went on, “I wonder if we can’t pool our interests, Ken- nedy, and work together on these cases?” “‘Burke,”’ exclaimed Craig, for the mo- ment showing a glimpse of the excitement that was surging through his mind, “I had no idea when I took up this case of Valcour for McBride of the Vanderveer that I should be doing my country a service also. When are you going up to Westport again?” Burke looked at his watch. He was evi- dently considering what Kennedy had told him about the Mexican cabaret. It was growing late and there was little chance of his getting anything there now, or in fact “1t'¢ Adventure tomorrow, until night-time came again. “Tf can go tomorrow,” he answered, evi- dently only too glad to have Kennedy’s co- operation. “T’ll go up there with you my- self at any time you say.” “T shall be ready and meet you at the - earliest train,” replied Craig. Burke extended a hand to each of us as we parted. Kennedy shook it cordially. “We must succeed in unraveling this affair now at any cost,” he said simply. CHAPTER IV THE GYROSCOPE AEROPLANE WAkly the following morning we met Burke in the Long Island corner of the Pennsylvania Station. It had been late enough when we parted the night before, and as far as we knew nothing further had occurred in either the Sinclair robbery or the Valcour murder cases. It was an early train and we had it mostly to ourselves, for we were starting even be- fore the flood of the stream of commuters began, going the other way, toward the city. As our train whisked us along Craig leaned back in his chair and surveyed the glimpses of water and countryside through the window. Now and then, as we got far- ther out from the city, through a break in the trees one could catch glimpses of the deep blue salt water of bay and sound and the dazzling whiteness of the sand in the clear morning air. It was a pleasant ride, but we made it in silence and, without wasting any time, at a livery stable across from the quaint little Westport station we secured a rig and has- tened out to Colonel Sinclair’s. The house was situated on a neck of land, with the restless waters of the Sound on one side and the calmer waters of the bay on the other. Westport Bay itself lay in a beautifully wooded, hilly country, and Sinclair’s house stood on an elevation, with a huge sweep of terraced lawn before it, running down to the water’s edge. As we pulled up under the wide stone ivy- covered porte-cochére, Sinclair, who had been awaiting us anxiously after the receipt of a telegram from Burke, greeted us and led the way into his library, a large room crowded with curios and objects of art MICLOOOK ©