Adventure, December 1914 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

6 Adventure hotel against such things. Now, if you’ll take the case, I’ll see that you don’t lose anything by it.” ““Gladly,” replied Kennedy, to whom a mystery was as the breath of life. Then he added with a smile, “‘I had tacitly assumed as much after you spoke to me.”’ “TI meant that you should,”’ agreed Mc- Bride, “and I thank you. Only it is just as well that we understand each other clearly at the outset.” “Exactly. Has anything in Madame Valcour’s actions about the hotel offered a clue—ever so slight?” asked Craig, plunging into the case eagerly. “Perhaps,” hesitated McBride as if try- ing to separate something that might be trivial from that which might be really im- portant. ‘‘When she came here about a week ago, she left word at the telephone-desk that if a Sefior Morelos should call, she was at home.” “Morelos?” repeated Kennedy. ‘“That is the name of the man who called up to- night. Did he call?” ‘“‘Not as far as I can find out.” “But she must have had other callers,” pursued Craig, evidently thinking of the attractiveness of the woman. ‘Yes indeed,’ answered McBride, “plenty of them. In fact, she seemed never to be able to stir about downstairs with- out having some one looking at her and ogling.”’ : ‘Which is no crime,” put in Craig. “No,” agreed McBride, ‘‘and to be per- fectly fair to her, she never gave any of them any encouragement, as far as I could see.”’ ‘‘You mentioned that she was a friend of Colonel Sinclair’s,’’ prompted Kennedy. “Oh yes,” recollected McBride. ‘He called on her—once, I think. Then for a couple of days she was away—out on Long Island, I believe she left word. It seems that there is a sort of Summer settlement of Mexicans and Latin-Americans gener- ally out there, at a place called Seaville. It was only today that she returned from her visit.” ‘‘Seaville,” repeated Kennedy. ‘That is out somewhere near Westport, the home of Sinclair, isn’t it?” ‘*I believe it is,’ remarked McBride. He was chewing his unlighted cigar thoughtfully, as we tried to piece together the fragmentary bits of the story. Suddenly he removed the cigar contem- platively. ““T have been wondering,”’ he said slowly, ‘just what she was here for anyway. I can’t say that there is anything that throws much light on the subject. But she was so secretive, she threw such an air of mystery about herself, never told any one much about her goings-out or comings-in, and in fact seemed to be so careful—well, I’ve just been wondering whether she wasn’t - mixed up in some plot or other, wasn’t play- ing a deeper game than we suspect with these precious friends of hers.” I looked at McBride attentively. Was he merely mystified by having had to deal with a foreigner who naturally was not as easy to understand as a native, or was the general impression he sought to convey really found- ed on that instinct which no true detective can afford to be without? “In other words,’”’ McBride pursued, un- interrupted by Kennedy who was only too glad to glean any impression the house-man might have received, “‘I was never quite able to fathom her. You see, yourself, that she could not even have made much of a confidant of her maid. She was just the type I should pick out as—as the agent of somebody.” “You mean that she was playing a game?’ I interjected. “Yes,” he acquiesced. ‘You know as well as I do that if any one wants to accom- plish anything, get information that it is hard to get, the first thing necessary is to employ a woman of the world. Why men will tell their inmost secrets to a clever wom- an, if she knows how to play the game right. I can’t persuade myself that—that it was all perfectly straight. She must have had a purpose in being here. I don’t know what it could be. But—well—this tragedy shows that there must be something hidden under the surface. She—she might have been a spy.” Kennedy was watching McBride’s face encouragingly, but without a word so far. He was evidently thinking of Colonel Sin- clair. Sinclair, I knew, was a very wealthy mine-owner down in the southern state of Oaxaca in Mexico. I recalled having seen him once or twice—a tall, wiry, muscular man on whose face the deep tan showed that he had lived for years in the neighbor- hood of the tropical sun. Could Colonel MICLOOOK ©