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Non sibi sed omnibus
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Cosmopolitan, January 1917, with "The Gun-Runner"
In these days, when there is so much talk about the embargo on arms, it is interesting to note what schemes the human mind is capable of developing in order that great profit may be made out of forbidden trade. Craig Kennedy's unexpected trip to the West Indies brought some surprising results, and unearthed the foundation of a real mystery, but, although he does not know it yet, there are other adventures in store for him and his friend Jameson in that part of the world.
"WITH the treaty ratified, if the deal goes through we'll all be rich."
Something about the remark which rose over the babel of voices arrested Kennedy's attention. For one thing, it was a woman's voice.
Craig had been working pretty hard and had begun to show the strain. We had taken an evening off, and now had dropped in after the theater at the Burridge, one of the most frequented midnight resorts on Broadway.
At the table next to us sat a party of four, two ladies in evening gowns and two men in immaculate black and white.
"I hope you are right, Leontine," returned one of the men, speaking with an English accent. "The natural place for the islands is under the American flag, anyway."
It was at the time that the American and the Danish governments were negotiating about the transfer of the Danish West Indies, and quite evidently these people were discussing the islands.
The last speaker seemed to be a Dane, but the woman with him, evidently his wife, was not. It was a curious group, worth more than a passing glance. For a moment, Craig watched them closely.
It was a curious group, worth than a passing
glance. For a moment, Craig watched them closely.
"That woman in blue," he whispered, "is a typical promoter."
I recognized the type, which is becoming increasingly frequent in Wall Street as the competition in financial affairs grows keener and women enter business and professional life. A few minutes later, Kennedy left me and went to another table. I saw that he had stopped before some one whom I recognized. It was Captain Marlowe of the American shipping trust, to whom Kennedy had been of great assistance at the time of the launching of his great ship, the Usona. He was accompanied by a man whose face was unfamiliar to me.
Presently I arose and made my way over to the table. As I approached, the captain turned from Kennedy and greeted me cordially. "Mr. Whitson," he introduced the man with him. "Mr. Whitson is sailing tomorrow for St. Thomas on the Arroyo. We're preparing to extend our steamship-lines to the islands as soon as the formalities of the purchase are completed." Marlowe turned again to Kennedy and went on with the remark he had been making.
"Of course," I heard him say, "you know we have Mexico practically blockaded so far as arms and munitions go. Yet, Kennedy, through a secret channel, I know that thousands of stands of arms and millions of rounds of ammunition are filtering in there. Whoever is at the bottom of this ought to swing. It isn't over the border that they are going. We know that. How is it, then?"
Marlowe looked at us as if he expected Kennedy to catch some one by pure reason. Kennedy said nothing.
"Think it over," pursued Marlowe. "Perhaps it will occur to you how you can be of the greatest service to the country. The thing is damnable—damnable!"
A few moments later, we shook hands and returned to our own table. It was getting late, so we paid our check and prepared to leave.
For an instant, we stopped at the coat-room to watch the late arrivals and the departing throng.
"Hello!" greeted a familiar voice beside us. "I've been looking all over town for you."
We turned. It was our old friend Burke, of the secret service, accompanied by a stranger.
"I'd like you to meet Mr. Sydney, the new special consular agent whom the government is sending to the Danish West Indies to investigate and report on trade conditions," he introduced. "We're off for St. Thomas to-morrow."
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Kennedy. "Is everybody daffy over those little islands? What takes you down there?"
Burke drew us aside into a recess in the lobby.
"I don't suppose you know," he explained, lowering his voice, "but since these negotiations began, the consular service has been keenly interested in the present state and the possibilities of the islands. The government sent one special agent there named Dwight. Well, he died a few days ago. It was very suspicious. Yet the doctors in the island have found no evidence of anything wrong—no poison. Still, it is very mysterious—and, you know," he hinted, "there are those who don't want us down there."
The secret-service man paused, as though he had put the case as briefly and pointedly as he could, then went on: "I've been assigned to accompany Sydney and investigate. I've no particular orders, and the chief will honor any reasonable expense-account, but——" He hesitated and stopped, looking keenly at Kennedy's face. I saw what he was driving at. "Well—to come to the point—what I wanted to see you about, Kennedy is to find out whether you would go with me. I think," he added persuasively, "it would be quite worth your while. Besides, you look tired. You're working too hard. The change will do you good."
Burke had been quick to note the haggard expression on Kennedy's face and turn it into an argument to carry his point. Kennedy smiled as he read the other's enthusiasm.
"I'd like to think the proposal over," he conceded, much to my surprise. "I'll let you know in the morning."
"Mind," wheedled Burke; "I won't take 'No' for an answer. We need you."
The secret-service man was evidently delighted by the reception Kennedy had given his scheme.
Just then, I caught sight of the party of four getting their hats and wraps, preparatory to leaving, and Kennedy eyed them sharply. Marlowe and Whitson passed. As they did so, I could not help seeing Whitson pause and shoot a quick glance at the four. It was a glance of suspicion, and it was not lost on Craig.
Burke accompanied us almost all the way home, with Sydney adding his urging. I could tell that the whole combination of circumstances at the Burridge had had an effect on Kennedy.
I WENT to bed tired, but through the night I knew Craig was engaged on some work about which he seemed to be somewhat secretive. When saw him again in the laboratory in the morning, he had before him a large packing-case of stout wood bound with steel bands.
"What's that?" I asked, mystified.
He opened the lid, and I looked inside.
"My traveling laboratory," he remarked, with pride.
I peered in more closely. It was a well-stocked armamentarium, as the physicians would have called it. I shall not make any attempt to describe its contents. They were too varied and too numerous—a little bit of everything, it seemed. In fact, Craig seemed to have epitomized the sciences and arts. It was a truly amazing collection, representing in miniature his study of crime for years.
"Then you are going with Burke to St. Thomas?" I queried, realizing the significance of it. Kennedy nodded.
"I've been thinking of what I would do if an important case ever called me away. Burke's proposal hurried me—that's all. And you are going, also," he added. "You have until noon to break the news to the Star."
Accordingly, my own arrangements with the Star were easily made. I had a sort of roving commission, anyhow, since my close association with Kennedy. Moreover, the possibility of turning up something good in the islands, which were much in the news at the time, rather appealed to the managing editor.
Thus it came about that Craig and I found ourselves in the forenoon in a taxi-cab, on the front of which was loaded the precious box as well as our other hastily-packed luggage, and we were on our way over to Brooklyn, to the dock from which the Arroyo was to sail. We had scarcely boarded the ship when Kennedy was as gay as a schoolboy on an unexpected holiday. I realized at once what was the cause. The change of scene, the mere fact of cutting-loose were, having their effect.
As we steamed slowly down the bay, I ran my eye over the other passengers at the rail, straining their eyes to catch the last glimpse of New York's wonderful sky-line. Whitson was among them; also Burke and Sydney, but they were not together and to all appearances did not know each other. Sydney, of course, could not conceal his identity, nor did he wish to, no matter how beset with unseen perils might be his mission. But Burke was down on the passenger-list, and he had assumed the role of a traveling salesman for a mythical novelty house in Chicago. That, evidently, was part of the plan they had agreed on between themselves, and Kennedy took the cue.
As I studied the various groups, I paused suddenly, surprised. There was the party which had sat at the table next to us at the Burridge the night before. Kennedy had already seen them and had been watching them furtively.
On deck and in the lounging-and smoking-rooms, it did not take long for Craig to contrive ways of meeting and getting acquainted with those he wished to know without exciting suspicion. Thus, by the time we sat down to dinner in the saloon, we were all getting fairly chummy. We met Burke quite as though we were total strangers.
Nor was it difficult to secure an introduction to the other party of four. The girl whom we had heard addressed as "Leontine" seemed to be the leader of the group. Leontine Cowell was a striking personality. Her clear blue eyes directed a gaze at one which it tested one's mettle to meet. I was never quite sure whether she remembered seeing us at the Burridge, whether she penetrated the parts we were playing. She was none the less feminine because she had aspirations in a commercial way.
Her companion, Barrett Burleigh, was a polished, deferential Englishman, one of those who seem to be rather a citizen of the world than a subject of a particular country. I wondered what were the real relations of the two.
Jorgen Ericson was, as I had surmised, a Dane. He proved to be one of the largest planters in the island, already wealthy and destined to be wealthier if real estate advanced. The other woman, Nanette, was his wife. She was also a peculiarly interesting type, a French woman from Guadeloupe. Younger and more vivacious than her husband, her snappy black eyes betokened an attractive personality.
Leontine Cowell, it seemed, had been in the islands not long before, had secured options on some score of plantations at a low figure, and made no secret of her business. When the American flag at last flew over the islands, she stood to win, out of the increase of land-values, a considerable fortune. Ericson, also, in addition to his own holdings, had been an agent for some other planters, and thus had met Leontine, who had been the means of interesting some American capital. As for Burleigh, it seemed that he had made the acquaintance of Leontine in Wall Street. He had been in the Caribbean, and the impending changes in the Danish West Indies had attracted his notice. Whether he had some money to invest in the speculation or hoped to profit by commissions derived from sales did not appear. But, at any rate, some common bond had thrown the quartet together.
I NEED not dwell on the little incidents of shipboard life. It
must have been the second day out that I observed Leontine and
Sydney together on the promenade deck. They seemed to be quite
interested in each other, and I felt sure that Leontine was
making a play for him. At any rate, Burleigh was jealous. It was
apparent that the young Englishman was heels over head in love
with her.
What did it mean? Was she playing with Sydney, seeking to secure his influence to further her schemes? Or did it mask some deeper, more sinister motive?
Busy with my speculations, I was astonished, soon after, to realize that the triangle had become a hexagon, so to speak. Whitson and Nanette Ericson seemed to be much in each others company. But, unlike Burleigh, Ericson seemed to be either oblivious or complacent.
Whatever it might all portend, I found that it did not worry Kennedy, although he observed them all closely. Burke, however, was considerably excited, and even went so far as to speak to Sydney, over whom he assumed a sort of guardianship. Sydney turned the matter off lightly.
Kennedy spent much time not only in watching the passengers but in going about the ship, talking to the captain and crew and everyone who knew anything about the islands. In fact, he collected enough information in a few days to have satisfied any ordinary tourist for weeks.
Even the cargo did not escape his attention, and I found that he was especially interested in the rather heavy shipments of agricultural implements which were consigned to various planters in the islands. So great was his interest that I began to suspect that it had some bearing on the gun-running plot that had been hinted at by Marlowe.
IT was the evening after one of Kennedy's busy days, scouting
about, that he quietly summoned both Burke and Sydney to our
cabin.
"There's something queer going on," announced Craig, when he was sure that we were all together without having been observed. "Frankly, I must confess that I don't understand it—yet."
"You needn't worry about me," interrupted Sydney hastily. "I can take care of myself."
Kennedy smiled quietly. We knew what Sydney meant. He seemed to resent Burke's solicitude over his acquaintance with Leontine, and was evidently warning us off. Kennedy, however, avoided the subject.
"I may as well tell you," he resumed, "that I was quite as much influenced by a rumor that arms were somehow getting into Mexican ports as I was by your appeal, Burke, in coming down here. So far, I've found nothing that proves my case. But, as I said, there is something under the surface which I don't understand. We have all got to stick together and keep our eyes open."
It was all that was said, but I was relieved to note that Sydney seemed greatly impressed. Still, half an hour later, when I saw him sitting in a steamer-chair beside Leontine again, I felt that it was rather dangerous; but, at least, he had had his warning.
Seeking Kennedy, I found him at last in the smoking-room, to my surprise talking with Ericson. I joined them, wondering how I was to convey to Craig what I had just seen without exciting suspicion. They were discussing the commercial and agricultural future of the islands under the American flag, especially the sugar industry, which had fallen into a low estate.
"I suppose," remarked Kennedy casually, "that you are already modernizing your plant and that others are doing the same—getting ready for a revival."
Ericson received the remark stolidly.
"No," he replied slowly; "some of us may be doing so, but I shall be quite content to sell if I can get my price."
"The planters are not putting in modern machinery, then?" queried Kennedy innocently, while there flashed over me what he had discovered about shipments of agricultural implements. Ericson shook his head.
"Some of them may be. But for one that is, I know twenty whose only thought is to sell out and take a profit."
The conversation trailed off on other subjects, and I knew that Kennedy had acquired the information which he sought. As neatly as I could, I drew him away.
"Strange he should tell me that," ruminated Kennedy, as we gained a quiet corner of the deck. "I know that there is a lot of stuff consigned to planters in the islands—some, even, to himself."
"He must be lying, then," I hastened. "Perhaps these promoters are really plotters. By the way, what I wanted to tell you was that I have seen Sydney and Leontine together again."
He was about to reply when the sound of some one approaching caused us to draw back further into the shadow. It proved to be Whitson and Nanette.
"Then you do not like St. Thomas?" we heard Whitson remark, as if he were repeating something she had just said.
"There is nothing there," she replied. "Why, there aren't a hundred miles of good roads and not a dozen automobiles!"
Evidently the swiftness of life in New York, of which she had tasted, was having its effect. "St. Croix, where we have the plantation, is just as bad. Part of the time we live there, part of the time in Charlotte Amalie, in St. Thomas. But there is little difference. I hope Jorgen is able to sell. I should like to live at least a part of the year in the States."
"Would he like that, too?"
"Many of us would," she replied quickly. "For many years, things have been getting worse with us. Just now, it seems a bit better because of the high price of sugar. But who knows how long that will last? Oh, I wish something would happen soon, so that we might make enough money to live as I want to live! Here the best years of life are slipping away. Unless we do something soon, it will be too late. We must make our money soon."
There was an air of impatience in her tone, of restless dissatisfaction. I felt, also, that there was an element of danger, too, in a woman just passing from youth making a confidant of another man.
It was a mixed situation with the quartet whom we were watching. One thing was sufficiently evident: they were all desperately engaged in the pursuit of wealth. That was a common bond. Within half an hour, I had seen Leontine with Sydney and Nanette with Whitson. Both Sydney, as consular agent, and Whitson, through his connection with the shipping trust, possessed great influence. Had the party thought it out, and were they now playing the game with the main chance in view?
I looked inquiringly at Kennedy as the voices died away while the couple walked slowly down the deck. He said nothing, but he was evidently pondering deeply on some problem.
Our delay had not been long, but it had been sufficient to cause us to miss finding Leontine and Sydney. We did, however, run across Burke.
"I don't like this affair," he confessed, as we paused to compare experiences. "I've been thinking of that Mexican business you hinted at, Kennedy. You know, the islands would be an ideal out-of-the-way spot from which to start gun-running expeditions to Mexico. I don't like Leontine and Burleigh. They want to make money too bad."
Kennedy smiled.
"Burleigh doesn't seem to approve of everything, though," he remarked.
"Perhaps not. That's one reason why I think it may be more dangerous for Sydney than he realizes. I know she's a fascinating girl. All the more reason to watch out for her. But I can't talk to Sydney," he sighed.
IN the smoking-room, after we left Burke, Kennedy and I came
upon Ericson and Burleigh. They had just finished a game of poker
with some of the other passengers, in which Burleigh's usual run
of luck and skill had been with him.
"'Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,'" remarked Burleigh, as we approached.
He said it with an air of banter; yet I could not help feeling that there was a note of seriousness at the bottom of it. Had he known that Leontine had been with Sydney on the deck? His very success at poker had its effect on me. I found myself eying him as if he had been one of the transatlantic card-sharps, perhaps an international crook. Yet, when I considered, I was forced to admit that I had nothing on which to base such a judgment.
Ericson presented a different problem to my mind. There was indeed something queer about him. Either he had not been perfectly frank with us in regard to the improvement of his properties or he was concealing something much more sinister. Again and again, my mind reverted to the hints that had been dropped by Marlowe, and I recalled the close scrutiny Whitson had given the four that night. So far, I had felt no fear that they might lead Whitson on to anything. Rather, I felt that, in any such attempt, we might count on Whitson's playing a lone hand and perhaps finding out something to our advantage.
IT was the morning of the last day of the voyage that most of
the passengers gathered on the deck for the first glimpse of
land. Presently, before us lay the beautiful and picturesque town
of Charlotte Amalie, which has one of the finest harbors in the
West Indies. There was presented a strikingly beautiful picture,
formed by three spurs of mountains covered with the greenest of
tropical foliage. From the edge of the dancing blue waves, the
town itself rose on the hills, presenting an entrancing
panorama.
All was bustle and excitement as the anchor plunged into the water, for not only was this the end of our journey but the arrival of the boat from New York was an event for the town.
There was much to watch, but I let nothing interfere with my observation of how the affair between Sydney and Leontine was progressing. To my surprise, I saw that, this morning, she was bestowing the favor of her smiles rather on Burleigh.
Ericson was standing beside Sydney, while we were not far away. Evidently, he had been saving up a speech for the occasion, and now was prepared to deliver it.
"Mr. Sydney," he began, with a wave of his arm that seemed to include us all, "it is a pleasure to welcome you here to our island. Last night, it occurred to me that we ought to do something to show that we appreciate it. You must come to dinner to-night at my villa here in the town. You are all invited, all of us who have become so enjoyably acquainted on this voyage, which I shall never forget. Believe me when I say that it will be even more a tribute to you personally than because of the position you are to hold among us."
It was a graceful invitation, more so than I had believed Ericson capable of framing. Sydney could do nothing less than thank him cordially and accept, as we all did. Indeed, I could see that Kennedy was delighted at the suggestion. It would give him an opportunity to observe them all under new circumstances.
While we were thanking Ericson, I saw that Whitson had taken the occasion, also, to thank Mrs. Ericson, with whom he had been talking just a bit apart from the group. He made no secret of his attentions, though I thought she was embarrassed by them at such a time. Indeed, she started rather abruptly toward the group, which was now intent on surveying the town, and, as she did so, I noted that she had forgotten her hand-bag, which lay on a deck-chair near where they had been sitting.
I picked it up to restore it. Some uncontrollable curiosity prompted me, and I hesitated. All were still looking at the town. I opened the bag. Inside was a little bottle of grayish liquid. Hastily I pulled off the cap of my fountain pen and poured into it some of the liquid, replacing the cork in the bottle and dropping it back into the bag, while I disposed of the cap as best I could without spilling its contents. I then called a passing steward.
I picked it up to restore it. Some uncontrollable
curiosity prompted me, and I hesitated.
"Mrs. Ericson forgot her bag." I said, pointing hastily to it. "You'll find her over there with Mr. Whitson."
Then I mingled in the crowd to watch her. She did not seem to show any anxiety when she received it.
I lost no time in getting back to Kennedy and telling him what I had found, and he made an excuse to go to our stateroom, as eager as I was to know what had been in the little bottle.
First, he poured out a drop of the liquid from the cap of my fountain pen into some water. It did not dissolve. Successively he tried alcohol, ether, then pepsin. None of them had any effect on it. Finally, however, he managed to dissolve it in ammonia. That seemed to give him a clue.
"Relatively high amount of sulphur," he muttered. "Keratin, I believe."
"A poison?" lacked.
Kennedy shook his head.
"No; harmless."
"Then what is it for?"
He shrugged his shoulders. He may have had some half-formed idea, but if he did, it was still indefinite, and he refused to commit himself. Instead, he placed the sample in his traveling laboratory, closed and locked it, and, with our luggage, the box was ready to be taken ashore.
Nearly everyone had left the ship by the time we returned to the deck. Whitson was there still, talking to the captain. I wondered whether he, too, might be suspicious of those cases consigned to Ericson and others. If so, he said nothing of it.
By this time, several vessels that looked as if they might be lighters, though fairly large, had pulled up alongside. It seemed that they had been engaged to carry shipments of goods to the other islands of St. John and St. Croix.
Kennedy seemed eager now to get ashore, and we went, accompanied by Whitson, and, after some difficulty, established ourselves in a small hotel.
CHARLOTTE AMALIE, I may say, proved to be one of the most
picturesque towns in the Leeward Islands. The walls of the houses
were mostly of a dazzling whiteness, though some were yellow,
others gray, orange, blue. But the roofs were all of a generous,
bright red, which showed up very effectively among the clusters
of green trees. Indeed, the town seemed to be one of gaily tinted
villas and palaces. There were no factories, no slums. Nature had
provided against that, and man had not violated the provision.
The people whom we met on the streets were mostly negroes, though
there was a fair sprinkling of whites. What pleased us most was
that nearly everywhere we went English was spoken.
Burke was waiting for us, and, in spite of his playing the role of traveling salesman, managed to direct us about so that we might as quickly as possible pick up the thread of Dwight's mysterious death. It did not take long to gather such meager information as there was about the autopsy that had followed the strange death of Sydney's predecessor.
We were able to find out little, either from the authorities or the doctor who had investigated the case. Under the stress of suspicion, both the stomach of the unfortunate man and its contents had been examined. No trace of anything out of the way had been found, and there the matter had rested, except for suspicion.
One of our first visits was to the American consulate. There, Sydney, by virtue of his special commission, had, with characteristic energy, established himself with the consul. Naturally, he, too, had been making inquiries. But they had led nowhere. There seemed to be no clue to Dwight's mysterious death.
All that we were able to discover, after some hours of patient inquiry, was that Dwight had suffered from great prostration, marked cyanosis, convulsions, and coma. Whether it was the result of some strange disease or of a poison, no one, not even the doctor, was prepared to say. All that was known was that the blow, if blow it had been, was swift, sudden, sure.
The more I thought of it, the more firmly convinced I was that Dwight had discovered some secret which it was extremely inconvenient for somebody to have known. What was it? Was it connected with the rumors we had heard of gun-running to Mexico?
ERICSON had invited us to come late in the afternoon to the
dinner, and we did not delay in getting there. His house proved
to be a veritable palace on the side of one of the hills rising
abruptly from the shore. Flights of massive stone steps, quaint
walls covered with creepers, balustrades overlooking charming
gardens, arcades from which one looked out on splendid vistas and
shady terraces combined to make it a veritable paradise such as
can be found only in tropical and subtropical lands. Most
wonderful of all was the unfolded picture of the other hills,
especially of the ruins of two pirates' castles belonging to
semi-mythical personages, Bluebeard and Blackbeard.
The Ericsons were proud of their home, as well they might be, in spite of the complaints we had heard Nannette utter and the efforts of Ericson to sell his holdings. Mrs. Ericson proved to be a charming hostess, and the host extended a hospitality such as one rarely meets. It quite made me uncomfortable to accept it at this time, as I knew we must view it all with suspicion.
Burleigh arrived proudly with Leontine, followed closely by Sydney. At once, the game was on again, Leontine pitting one against the other. Whitson came, his attentions to Mrs. Ericson a trifle restrained but still obvious. Burke and ourselves completed the party.
To the repeated urging of Ericson, we made ourselves quite as much at home as we politely could.
Kennedy and I were passing alone along a colonnade that opened off from the large dining-hall when Craig paused and looked in through an open door at the massive table set for the dinner. A servant had just completed setting out cocktails at the various places, pouring them from a huge tankard.
Kennedy stepped lightly into the dining-hall and looked about sharply. Instinctively I went to a window where I could hear anyone approaching. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him narrowly scrutinizing the table.
Finally, he pulled from his pocket a clean linen handkerchief. Into an empty glass he poured the contents of one of the cocktail-glasses, straining the liquid through the handkerchief. Then he poured the filtrate back into the original glass. A second he treated in the same way, and a third. He had nearly completed the round of the table when I heard a light step.
Into an empty glass he poured the contents of one of the
cocktail-glasses, straining the liquid through the handkerchief.
My warning came only just in time. It was Burleigh. He saw us standing in the colonnade, made some hasty remark, then walked on, as if in search of some one.
Kennedy was now looking closely at the handkerchief, and I looked also. In the glasses had been innumerable little seeds as from the fruit-juice used in concocting the appetizer. The fine meshes of the linen had extracted them. What were they? I took one in my fingers and crushed it between my nails. I sniffed. There was an unmistakable odor of bitter almonds. What did this mean?
We had no time now for speculation. Our prolonged absence might be noticed; so we hastened to join the other guests, after Kennedy had finished the round of glasses in which he had been interrupted.
How, in my suppressed excitement, I managed to get through that dinner I do not know. It was a brilliant affair, yet I found that I had completely lost my appetite, as well one might after having observed Kennedy's sleuthing.
However, the dinner progressed, though each course that brought it nearer a conclusion afforded me an air of relief. I was quite ready when, over the coffee, Kennedy contrived to make some excuse for us, promising to call again.
In the secrecy of our room in the little hotel, Craig was soon deeply engaged in making use of his traveling laboratory.
Craig was soon deeply engaged in making use of his traveling laboratory.
As he worked, I could no longer restrain my impatience.
"What about that little bottle of keratin?" I asked eagerly.
"Oh, yes," he replied, not looking up from the tests he was making; "well, keratin, you know, is also called epidermose. It is a selenoprotein, present largely in cuticular structure such as hair, nails, horn. I believe it is usually prepared from pieces of horn steeped in pepsin, hydrochloric acid, and water for a long time. Then the residue is dissolved in ammonia and acetic acid."
"But what's its use?" I demanded. "You said it was harmless."
"Why, the pepsin of the stomach won't digest it," he returned. "For that reason, its chief use is for coating what are known as enteric capsules. Anything coated with keratin is carried on through the stomach into the intestines. It is used much in hot countries in order to introduce drugs into the intestines in the treatment of the tropical diseases that affect them."
He paused and devoted his entire attention to his work, but he had told me enough to assure me that, at least, the bottle of keratin I had found had proved to be a clue.
I waited as long as I could, then interrupted again.
"What are the seeds?" I queried. "Have you found out yet?"
He paused as though he had not quite finished his hasty investigation yet had discovered enough to convince him.
"There seem to be two kinds. I wish I had had time to keep each lot separate. Some of them are certainly quite harmless. But there are others, I find, that have been soaked in nitrobenzol, the artificial oil of bitter almonds. Even a few drops, such as might be soaked up in this way, might be fatal. The new and interesting phase, to me, is that they were all carefully coated with keratin. Really, they are keratin-coated enteric capsules of nitrobenzol, a deadly poison."
I looked at him, aghast at what some of us had been rescued from.
"You see," he went on excitedly, "that is why the autopsy probably showed nothing. These doctors down here sought for a poison in the stomach. But if the poison had been in the stomach, the odor alone would have betrayed it. You smelled it when you crushed a seed. But the poisoning had been devised to avoid just that chance of discovery. There was no poison in the stomach. Death was delayed long enough, also, to divert suspicion from the real poisoner. Some one had been diabolically clever in covering up the crime."
I could only gasp my amazement. "Then," I blurted out, "you think the Ericsons——"
Our door burst open. It was Burke, in wild excitement.
"Has anybody died?" I managed to demand. He seemed not to hear, but dashed to the window and threw it open.
"Look!" he exclaimed.
We did. In the late twilight, through the open sash, we could see the landlocked basin of the harbor. But it was not that at which Burke pointed. On the horizon, an ugly dark cloud rose menacingly. In the strange, unearthly murkiness, I could see people of the town pouring out into the narrow streets, wildly, fearfully, with frantic cries and gesticulations.
For a moment, I gazed at the sight blankly. Then I realized that sweeping upon us was one of those sudden, deadly, West Indian hurricanes.
Hastily closing his armamentarium, Kennedy also hurried out on the street. The gale had become terrific already in the few minutes that had elapsed. From our terrace we could see the water, gray and olive, with huge white breakers, like gnashing teeth, coming on to rend and tear everything in their path. It was as though we stood in an amphitheater provided by nature for a great spectacle, the bold headlands standing out like the curves of a stadium.
I looked about. The Ericsons had just driven up with Burleigh and Leontine, as well as Whitson, who were stopping at our hotel, and were about to take Sydney on to the consulate when the approach of the storm warned them to stay.
Leontine had hurried into the hotel, evidently fearful of the loss of something she treasured, and the rest were standing apart from the trees and buildings, where the formation of the land offered some protection.
Suddenly, without further warning, the storm broke. Trees were torn up by the roots like weeds; the buildings rocked as if they had been houses of cards. It was a wild, catastrophic spectacle.
"Leontine," I heard a voice mutter by my side, as a form catapulted itself past through the murkiness into the crazily swaying hotel.
It was Burleigh. I turned to speak to Kennedy. He was gone. Where to find him, I had no idea. The force of the wind was such that search was impossible. All we could do was to huddle together, back of such protection as the earth afforded against the million needles of rain that drove into our faces.
The wind almost blew me flat to the earth as, no longer able to stand the suspense, I stumbled toward the hotel, thinking perhaps Craig had gone to save his armamentarium, although, if I had stopped to think, I should have realized that that strong box was about the safest piece of property on the island.
I was literally picked up and hurled against an object in the darkness—a man.
"In the room—more keratin—more seeds!"
It was Kennedy. He had taken advantage of the confusion to make a search which otherwise might have been more difficult. Together, we struggled back to our shelter.
Just then came a crash, as the hotel crumpled under the fierce stress of the storm. Out of the doorway struggled a figure just in time to clear the falling walls. It was Burleigh, a huge gash from a beam streaming blood down his forehead, which the rain washed away almost as it oozed. In his arms, clinging about his neck, was Leontine, no longer the sophisticated but, in the face of this primeval danger, just a woman. Burleigh staggered with his burden a little apart from us, and, in spite of everything, I could fancy him blessing the storm that had given him his opportunity.
"My God!" exclaimed a thick voice, as an arm shot out, pointing toward the harbor.
There was the Arroyo tugging at every extra mooring that could be impressed into service. The lighters had broken or been cut away and were scudding, destruction-bent, square at the shore, almost below us. A moment, and they had crashed on the beach, a mass of timbers and spars, while the pounding waves tore open and flung about heavy cases as though they were mere toys. Then, almost as suddenly as it had come, the storm began to abate; the air cleared, and nothing remained but the fury of the waves.
"Look!" exclaimed Kennedy, pointing down at the strange wreckage. "Does that look like agricultural machinery?"
We drained our eyes. Kennedy did not pause.
"The moment I heard that arms were getting into Mexico, I suspected that somewhere here in the Caribbean munitions were being transshipped. Perhaps they have been sent to Atlantic ports ostensibly for the Allies. They have got down here disguised. Even before the storm exposed them, I had reasoned it out. From this port, the key to the vast sweep of mainland, I reasoned that they were being taken over to secret points on the coast where big ships could not safely go. It was here that blockade-runners were refitted in our Civil War. It is here that this new gun-running plot has been laid." He turned quickly to Sydney. "The only obstacle between the transfer of the arms and success was the activity of the American consular service. Dwight must have discovered that those lighters were not to carry goods to other islands. They were really destined for Mexico. It was profitable. And the scheme for removing opposition was evidently safe."
Kennedy was holding up another bottle of keratin and some fruit-seeds.
"I found these in a room in the hotel," he added.
I did not comprehend.
"But," I cut in, "the hand-bag—the dinner—what of them?"
"A plant—a despicable trespass on hospitality—all part of a scheme to throw the guilt on some one else, worthy of a renegade and traitor." Craig wheeled suddenly, then added, with an incisive gesture, "I suppose you know that there is reputed to have been on one of these hills the headquarters of the old pirate, Teach—'the mildest manner'd man that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.'" He paused, then added quickly: "I found the evidence in your room, Whitson. In respect to covering up your gun-running, you are superior even to Teach!"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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