Chapter VI: Part 6

"She got back a thrust at Mrs. Lathrop, anyhow," I commented.

Yet I wondered what Vina's motive might be. Was it merely due to her insane infatuation for Shattuck? As for Honora, was she, I kept wondering, after all, the consciously frigid, unconsciously passionate woman? At least, she was a most perplexing "complex."

Doyle had closed his note-book with the remark that his little mechanical eavesdropper had made an excellent start, and now was looking inquiringly at Kennedy.

"Where is Chase?" asked Kennedy. "Have you any idea?"

"McCabe looked up the name and finds that there is a Chase agency on Forty-second Street. You might try it."

Accordingly, we set out for the address of the detective which McCabe had located and found that it was a small office in a building near Fifth Avenue. Chase himself proved to be a rather frank-faced, energetic young fellow, not at all typical of the private detective. In fact, he had had some experience as an operative for one of the big agencies, and, having some money, had achieved the dream of every such operative--an agency of his own, small, but at least his own.

It did not take much questioning to get the main facts out of Chase, who kept repeating that neither he nor Mrs. Wilford had anything to conceal. Anyhow, the mystery of Chase was solved. Chase was a detective whom Mrs. Wilford had retained for her own protection against the unprincipled operatives of her husband.

He proved to be apparently honest and straightforward. Though he could shed very little light on the deeper problems that confronted us, there were many things we had already unearthed which his reports corroborated.

It was apparent that Honora was perfectly aware of what had been going on between her husband and Vina Lathrop. Chase had kept her informed of that.

Yet, no matter how accurate his reports, I reflected, it did not absolve Honora. In fact, the more she knew, the more likely Doyle was to say that the information constituted a motive that would have caused her to act.

"What do you know about Mrs. Wilford's whereabouts on the night Mr. Wilford was killed?" questioned Kennedy, coming finally to the most important point that had been revealed by McCabe's dictagraph records.

Chase looked him straight in the eye and considered a moment before answering.

"It's true, I don't know much. That is one thing I'd rather not talk about until I do."

"But she's your client. Hasn't she told you?"

"There are some communications that are privileged," was Chase's enigmatical answer.

"But can't you see that it's placing her in a wrong light--supposing everything she did that night was innocent? She ought to tell for her own sake--don't you think?"

Chase shrugged. "Perhaps," he added, non-committally.

Kennedy, I thought, had some respect for the young man who was not to be betrayed into dangerous admissions.

"Then this other woman, Mrs. Lathrop," pursued Kennedy, shifting the subject. "There's a hiatus in the accounts of her doings that night, also."

Chase was more disposed to talk. "Yes," he answered. "I've been trying to trace that out. Haven't succeeded--but have hopes. I tell you what I'll do. If I can reconstruct what _both_--see? _both_--of these women did, well, I was going to say I'd give it to you. But I'd have to ask Mrs. Wilford's permission. She's my client, after all."

I tried to reason out what Chase was doing. Did he know something about his client that he must shield her from, or was he just a bit vexed at her himself for a certain lack of frankness? As far as Vina was concerned, I knew he would have no scruples in telling us everything he discovered.

Evidently, Chase saw that he was losing his first good impression with Kennedy. To re-establish himself, he opened a locked steel compartment in his desk and pulled out a small box.

"Here's something that might interest you," he remarked, handing the box to Kennedy. "Ever see one of those?"

Kennedy opened the box. Inside reposed a single Calabar bean!

Craig looked up quickly. "Yes. Where did you get it?"

"If you'll promise to ask me no more--just yet--I'll tell you."

Kennedy nodded and Chase took it as a gentleman.

"I found it, with some other African souvenirs, in a little cabinet-museum in Mr. Shattuck's apartment. Now don't ask me why I was there or what else I found."

Kennedy smiled, thanked him and handed back the box. It was a perplexing piece of information. If Shattuck was known to have had in his possession some of the fatal Calabar beans, what interpretation could be placed on it? Or was it that Chase was working to protect his client and save her--at any cost and in spite of her own wishes?

We left Chase, and Kennedy hastened back to the laboratory, where at once he set to work with a paper and pencil, writing words that seemed utterly disconnected, while I stood about self-consciously, watching him.

"Please, Walter," he exclaimed at length, a little bit nervously, "you are distracting me. You see," he added, briskly, "that interview with Chase has reminded me of something. Why was he in Shattuck's apartment? For what? When? I don't need his help, of course. But he has made me think that I can't afford to let Mrs. Wilford get out of my sight too long. If I ever get at the bottom of this thing, it must be through study of her, first. I think I shall be ready soon to visit her again. And this time, I'm sure, I shall find out what I want. I've a new plan. Don't disturb me for a few minutes."

I turned my back and pretended to be busy over some work of my own, though out of the corner of my eye I watched him. Craig was at work over a sheet of paper and I saw him writing down one word after another, changing them, adding to them, taking away words and substituting others.

Altogether, it was a strange performance and I had not the faintest idea what it was all about until he was willing to reveal it to me. Meanwhile a thousand ideas whirled through my head. Chase's revelation had put a new face on matters. One by one, we were finding out that each of our suspects knew first of all more about the Freud theory of dreams than we anticipated. Now it would appear that each was more or less familiar with the Calabar bean, or at least with its derivative, physostigmine. Even Vina, being a doctor's wife, might have known. Though we were getting more facts, they were not, so far as I could interpret them, pointing more definitely in any one direction.

When Craig had finished, he copied the words off on my typewriter, in a long column, one word on each line, and, after the long vertical list, he left two columns blank:

1 2 3
foot
gray
dream
struggle
ship
bean
lion
book
false
voyage
money
sad
quarrel
marry
bull
sleep
foolish
despise
finger
friend
serpent
face
chair
bottle
glass

"Now," he remarked, as he finished and saw my questioning look, "let me get my delicate split-second watch from this cabinet, and I'm ready for a new and final test of Honora Wilford. Let's go."

XIV

THE "JUNG" METHOD

On the way to the Wilford apartment, which was not very far away, Craig explained briefly what it was that he wanted me to do for him.

"You saw that list of words?" he asked.

"Yes, and the columns opposite."

"Precisely. I want you to write in them the answers that I get. You will understand as we go on. I'll hold this watch and note the time--and then we can put the two together, the answers and the reaction time."

It seemed simple enough and we chatted about other things connected with the case as we walked along to the apartment.

Honora Wilford showed some surprise at seeing us again, yet I fancied she was in a better mood than previously, since the obnoxious McCabe was no longer so much in evidence.

"What is it that I can do for you now?" she asked, rather abruptly, though her manner showed that her surprise was, after all, very mild.

Evidently Doyle had accustomed her to being quizzed and watched. It was not a pleasant situation, even to be watched and quizzed by Kennedy, yet she seemed to realize that he was making it as easy as possible.

"Just another little psychological experiment," Craig explained, trying to gloss it over. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

Honora looked at him a moment doubtfully.

"Just why are you so interested in studying me, Professor Kennedy?" she asked, pointedly, yet without hostility in her tone.

It was a rather difficult question to answer, and I must admit that I could scarcely have met it adequately myself. However, it took more than that to give Kennedy a poser.

"Oh," he replied, quickly, with an engaging airiness, "as a psychologist I'm interested in all sorts of queer things--things that must often seem strange to other people. Perhaps it's highbrow stuff. But for a long time--and not in connection with you at all, Mrs. Wilford--I've been interested in dreams."

He paused a moment, moving a chair for her, and I could see that he was observing the effect of the statement on her. She did not seem to show any emotion at all over it, and Kennedy went on.

"Often I've studied my own dreams. I find that if, when I wake in the morning, I immediately try to recollect whether I have dreamed anything the night before or not, I invariably find that I have. But if I do something else--even as simple a thing as take a bath or shave--unless the dreams were especially vivid, they are all gone when I try to recollect them. I'm almost convinced that we dream continuously in sleep, that more often we don't recollect the dreams than we do. Your dreams interested me at the very start. I guess that was why Doctor Leslie repeated them to me. He knew that I was a crank, if you may call it that, on dreams. As for detective work of the old kind--that sort of thing Doyle does and--well--I leave that to Doyle." He shrugged.

As Kennedy rattled on, I could see or fancy that Honora was becoming more reassured.

"What is it you want me to do now?" she asked, her reluctance disappearing.

"Nothing very difficult--for you," he flattered. "You see, I have here a list of words, selected at random. I don't suppose it will mean anything. Yet there are lots of things these strange people, the modern experimental psychologists, do that seem perfectly foolish until you understand them. If we can once get at the bottom of your dreams, find out what causes them, I mean, I feel sure that we can make that nervousness of yours vanish as a prestidigitator will cause a card to vanish into thin air."

She nodded. At least on the surface, she seemed satisfied, though I could not be sure but that beneath the surface it was really that she was shrewdly convinced that it was necessary to make the best of a bad situation.

"You see," Craig pursued, seizing whatever advantage he might have, "as I read off from the list of words, I wish that you would repeat the first word, anything," he emphasized, "that comes into your mind, no matter how trivial it may seem to you. Perhaps it is not so trivial, after all, as you think. It may be just the thing that will lead to helping you."

She nodded dutifully, but her attitude did not seem to please Kennedy thoroughly.

"Don't force yourself to think," he hastened. "Let your ideas flow naturally. It depends altogether on your paying attention to the words, undivided attention, and answering as quickly as you can. Remember--the first word that comes into your mind. Don't change it--no matter what it is, even if it seems trivial and of no consequence. It's very easy to do and it won't take long. Call it a game if you will. But take it seriously."

"Suppose I refuse to do it?" she suggested.

Kennedy merely shrugged. "I hardly think you will do that," he smiled quietly. "Besides, it will be over soon."

She leaned back in the easy-chair in which she had been sitting, and Kennedy took it as a tacit consent to the test.

From the paper, as I placed myself at a table, with the list of words and the blank columns before me, he read the first word, quickly and incisively, "Foot."

"Shoe," countered Honora quickly, then gazed at him to see whether she had caught the idea of what it was he wanted her to do.

"Very good," nodded Kennedy, reassuringly. "That's the thing."

I wrote down the word and when I had finished I could see from the corner of my eye that Kennedy also had noted the time, marking down "2-5," which I took to mean two-fifths of a second.

"Gray," he repeated next.

"Black."

Again I noted the answering word in the second column, while again I saw him put down another "2-5."

I began to see dimly what his method was. Evidently Kennedy had chosen colorless words at the start to reassure her. And the fact was that they did reassure. She saw immediately that there was nothing very terrifying about what he wanted her to do.

"Dream," Craig added, from the list.

Flashed through my mind, as I prepared to write, the thought that he was now coming to the words more significant.

"Lathrop," she answered.

I saw that Kennedy had noted a longer reaction time by some fifths of a second than before. Was it because she had checked a first thought suggested by the word and had taken extra time to substitute something for it? And why had she made the substitution that she did? It was a natural thing to mention the doctor's name in that connection. Had she rejected one word to cast about for another equally natural?

I scarcely think it necessary to follow the whole thing through, question and answer, word by word. Instead I have appended a list of the words and the answering words as we got them first, and suggest that they will bear careful study:

1 2 3
foot shoe
gray black
dream Lathrop
struggle escape
ship ocean
bean baked
lion path
book newspaper
false true
voyage Europe
money poor
sad myself
quarrel Vail
marry Vail
bull breath
sleep dream
foolish wise
despise love
finger hand
friend none
serpent hiss
face man
chair sit
bottle stopper
glass empty

Kennedy finished and glanced hastily over the list of words that I had written, as well as the fractions of seconds which he had jotted down on his own sheet of paper. Honora, unable to make out quite what was the reason back of all these enigmatical proceedings, watched his face narrowly.

"Did I do all right?" she asked, with just a trace of anxiety in her tone.

"Very fine, thank you," assured Kennedy. "It wasn't such a terrible thing, after all, was it?"

"N-no," she admitted, reluctantly.

Craig continued to look over the list, talking about all sorts of perfectly unrelated subjects with her, as though to remove from her mind as much is possible the memory of what had been said and done.

"There is just one other thing I want," he added, as he picked up the list again and handed it to me, his finger significantly on the third column that he had laid out. "It won't take long, Mrs. Wilford, now that you understand the game. Walter, take that other column. I am merely going through the list rapidly again. Don't try to recollect the answers you gave--but then, on the other hand, don't try to make them different. Do you get what I mean? Don't force your ideas. Just remain relaxed, easy, natural. Let me have just what comes into your mind, the moment it occurs to you--please don't try to change it."

"I see," she murmured, but I thought in a manner that showed she was just a little bit on her guard, and determined, if she made any slips before, not to repeat them.

In quick staccato Kennedy repeated the words from the list, beginning with "foot," to which again, almost mechanically, she responded with "shoe." I noted the answering words, as before, while he recorded the time.

It did not take me long to see that what Kennedy was after was to discover whether, on the second trial, she would make any very significant changes in the words.

Nor was he giving her a chance to cover up. The words came so fast that even I had no time to dwell on them. I shall not pause to do so here, for later Kennedy analyzed them carefully. Here is our third list, complete:

1 2 3
foot shoe shoe
gray black black
dream Lathrop Lathrop
struggle escape escape
ship ocean ocean
bean baked white
lion path beard
book newspaper newspaper
false true true
voyage Europe Europe
money poor poor
sad myself myself
quarrel Vail words
marry Vail Vail
bull breath field
sleep dream dream
foolish wise wise
despise love like
finger hand hand
friend none none
serpent hiss crowd
face man stranger
chair sit sit
bottle stopper stopper
glass empty empty

Even as I was going along under Kennedy's high pressure, I mentally noted that there were some remarkable similarities in the answers that Honora gave, but, more particularly, that there were also some significant changes, although neither so far conveyed much information to me. I knew that even to Kennedy the process would most likely require analysis in the quiet of the laboratory and I refrained absolutely from comment, though I could see that Honora would have liked to appeal to me, had it not been for the restraining presence of Kennedy.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Wilford," said Kennedy, when he had finished with both his words and reaction times and was putting away the papers in his pocket.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"I think so."

A look of relief passed over her face. Quite naturally, she was growing tired of always being forced to play a part, whether before Doyle and McCabe or before us.

I had rather expected that Kennedy would take the occasion to make some reference to the recent discoveries we had made both in Greenwich Village and over the dictagraph, more especially as they concerned Shattuck and herself. But he did not. Nor did she show any anxiety or make any inquiry herself. It seemed to me that, perhaps, Honora and Kennedy were themselves playing a game, a war of wills, as it were. At any rate, the test over, there was a truce.

Some time later we returned to the laboratory and there Kennedy set to work carefully comparing the lists of words and his own records of time.

"What was that test?" I asked, at length, seeing that a question would not disturb him. "What do you call it and what was it really for?"

"That," he explained, "was the Jung association word test. Doctor Jung, who developed it, was, I think, a Swiss. You'll notice that on the words of little or no significance there was no hesitation, and the second time practically no change, either. But when the significant words came out she took just a fraction of a second longer before she answered. I find that her average reaction time for the innocuous words was somewhere about two-fifths of a second. She answered very quickly.

"But, take her reply when I said the word 'bean.' It was nearly a second--to be exact, four-fifths, or twice her average on the words of no consequence. Don't you think that significant?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Y-yes. I suppose she knows--something."

"The same thing was the case," he continued, "on such words as 'bull,' 'serpent,' and 'face,' all of which, you recollect from her dreams, were significant words. Even on the words which she did not change the second time there was frequently a marked hesitation. Thus, on the word 'dream' the first time she hesitated a fraction of a second before answering 'Lathrop,' whose name evidently was suggested to her by his treatment of her nervous troubles and asking her about her dreams. But the second time there was no hesitation when she answered 'Lathrop' to the word 'dream.' The same thing was true of other words which she did not change. She hesitated the first time, but not the second. They were such groups as 'money-poor-poor,' 'friend-none-none,' 'bottle-stopper-stopper,' and 'glass-empty-empty.'"

"What do you think it indicates?" I asked.

"From some you can draw your own conclusions," he replied. "They are perfectly evident. She feels alone, friendless, and almost penniless. As to the bean sequence, I am inclined to think she knows much about the Calabar bean--both before and after the use in this case. Perhaps even she knows of the drug from it. But whether that knowledge is such that it has given her a first-hand direct acquaintance with the use of it--well, that is another question.

"So, also, she was guarded in her reply to the words 'bottle' and 'glass.' She remembered the belladonna bottle and eagerly seized on the innocuous word, 'stopper,' referring to the ground-glass stopper, no doubt. As to the glass, or glasses, found on Wilford's desk, which must have been in her mind, because by the words I was planting and leading up to that, she was equally guarded. To reply 'empty,' could certainly not be construed as anything but innocuous, she probably thought."

"How about the changes?" I questioned. "Do they show anything that is evidential?"

Craig considered a moment. "They are, of course, the most important of all, those changes," he replied, taking the list and checking off the words at the third column. "She actually changed her answers seven times, and there was hesitation each time, both on the original answer and the change in this third column."

Kennedy studied the list before him for some minutes.

"Let's run down this list," he said, finally. "Take the first--'foot-shoe-shoe.' Nothing there, of course. Wasn't intended to be. Here--'dream-Lathrop-Lathrop.' We have already discussed that. Consciously, she refuses to tell me anything in 'struggle-escape-escape' with reference to that dream of hers of her husband. 'Ship-ocean-ocean'--I put that word in for camouflage and she seizes it eagerly, falling over herself to answer in her best reaction time, thus helping me to locate her hesitations.

"Now we come to the crucial word, 'bean.' She hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation she probably reasoned something like this: 'I must just get as far from the Calabar bean which they tell me he has discovered as I can.' So she answered 'baked.' Yet that did not satisfy her. It wasn't definite enough. Any bean could be baked. So to make it absolutely explicit she corrected that to 'white bean.' She knows, all right."

I said nothing, and Kennedy resumed. "'Book' was also to disarm her and she quickly replied in both cases, 'newspaper.' But 'lion' was different. I'll wager she thought first of Doctor Lathrop, for she went right back to the dream and answered 'path'--then, the second time, perhaps before she knew it, she answered 'beard'--which Lathrop has--when in fact I'll bet that if we tried it over again the answer she would give to cover it up would be 'mane.'

"'False-true-true' and 'voyage-Europe-Europe' need not be discussed. 'Money-poor-poor' we've already touched on and 'sad-myself-myself' falls into the same class--showing her despondency. With 'quarrel-Vail-words' her mind shows all is still fresh in her recollection. We know pretty well now what her inner feelings were toward him. However, quite naturally and stereotyped comes the next--'marry-Vail-Vail.' Of course. Consciously she would never think of herself marrying any one else--until there is a new deal, so to speak.

"But now we come to the most significant parts of all--the 'bull' sequence. The moment she heard that she hesitated, realized that she must not hesitate, and in a sort of mental panic answered the thing that came crowding into her mind, the pursuit by the bull and its hot 'breath,' which, you remember, we have already discussed. She must have regretted allowing herself to say it. That was one reason why I wanted to try the test over. Sure enough, the second time she corrected it to something quite innocent connected with the dream--'field.' Whether she realized it or not, it confirms what the Freud analysis showed us.

"Then," he went on, quite enthusiastic over the progress of his association test, "I reassured her by the next words and did not expect to obtain anything--'sleep-dream-dream' and 'foolish-wise-wise.' The next brings us squarely back to the subject that interests me most in my study of her, her real feelings toward Shattuck. I said 'despise.' At once, instead of associating, she sought the opposite--'love.' Yet that seemed, perhaps unconsciously, a bit strong. So she softened it next to 'like.' She did that for her own benefit. She herself would never betray to the world her own emotions. Therefore 'like' was a better word to use than 'love.' She has been trying to make them synonymous--with poor success."

I nodded. Somehow I felt that in her heart of hearts Honora had found love, whether she admitted it to herself or not. But I realized that even if she had, she would be the last to betray it to the outside world if she could help it.

"'Finger-hand-hand'--another of the off-guard words," continued Kennedy, quickly. "'Friend-none-none'--we have touched on this idea already. But now we come again to something very important--'serpent.' At once she answered 'hiss.' Then she changed it and the thought uppermost was the recollection of the 'crowd' in her dream. Remember Freud?--a crowd, something secret?

"The most important change of all, though, is the next--'face.' She knew that already I had questioned her on that point in the dream--the attributing of human faces to the animals that appeared to her in her dreams. Perhaps she recollected that she had told Doctor Lathrop once that the face in the dream resembled that of Shattuck. But she never would admit that to me. I fenced about with her on that point, both in the spoken and written dream, without getting a bit of satisfaction from her. She simply would not admit a thing. Yet I'm convinced that she told the truth first, that the face was that of Shattuck. However, with that still in her mind, she hesitates in recalling the dream. I'm sure her first thought was 'Shattuck.' But she put that out of her mind in the fifths of a second that elapsed. Instead, she answered just as quickly as she could, in the hope she had betrayed nothing, the colorless, 'man.'"

I said nothing. I was always fearful of whither Kennedy's psychanalysis was tending.

"Even the general 'man' was not explicit enough for her," he proceeded. "She meant that there should be no mistake as far as I was concerned. 'Man' might include Shattuck. So, on the second questioning she became more particular in her identification of the 'face.' This time it was 'stranger.' Doubtless she felt that it would eliminate both herself and Shattuck from consideration. But she was mistaken," he concluded, triumphantly. "Instead, it really points to Shattuck--and to herself, too. Unconsciously now, she is really trying to eliminate both herself and her lover--and she knows that he is that."

Kennedy flipped the list, as he added: "'Bottle-stopper-stopper' and 'glass-empty-empty.' An effort to get away from anything incriminating. Clever, too."

I said nothing. What did it mean? Was she, after all, guilty--or at least a party to the crime? The very idea was repugnant to me. I knew it was of no use to quiz Craig. He was still non-committal and impartial. At least I hoped he was still impartial to her.

XV

THE CONFLICTING CLUES

It was early the following morning that Doyle burst in on us, very excited and waving a morning paper.

"Have you read the news?" he demanded, slapping the paper down in front of Kennedy.

We read at the point where Doyle's forefinger indicated. It was a personal inserted among the advertisements by Doctor Lathrop himself. No longer, it announced, would he be responsible for the debts of Vina Lathrop, his wife. Lathrop had at last definitely broken with her.

Kennedy and I exchanged glances. I recalled the quarrel we had interrupted on our last visit to them. Evidently that had been the climax. Nor was I surprised. It had seemed inconceivable to me, since my conversation with Belle Balcom, that ever Lathrop could be the kind of man to sit complacently under the growing gossip about Vina. How he had even waited so long was a mystery, unless to assure himself that what he heard was the truth. For men of Lathrop's stamp are the last to condone anything in a wife, no matter what may be their own standards for themselves.

"Well, at any rate," conjectured Doyle, rather heartlessly, I thought, "I don't think people will waste a great deal of sympathy on her. It leaves Vina Lathrop no more than she deserves. The man she tried to use is dead. The man she sought to capture has turned her down cold. Now the husband she had no use for, except as a meal ticket, has left her. I can't see but what that dame had it all coming to her."

Kennedy refrained from comment. "Where has she gone?" he asked merely. "Do you know?"

Doyle shook his head. "This is the first that I knew that they were separated," he responded. "No, I haven't any idea where she is."

"What of Doctor Lathrop?"

"He seemed to have taken it very calmly. From what I hear, he hasn't even interrupted his practice. He stays there at the Drive address where he has his office. I suppose she has gone to a hotel, or perhaps out of town. I'll find out for you and have her watched, if you want."

Kennedy nodded, but did not say anything, and I know Doyle's attitude had not raised that gentleman any higher in Craig's estimation. It all seemed very strange, and, I felt sure, however, well worth following up.

"Of course, you know we haven't neglected the Wilford telephone wire," put in Doyle, sensing that all was not just as it should be, yet not knowing just why.

"What did you do?"

"Put in a tap. Then I had McCabe and others listening in in relays in another room."

"Yes?"

"Here's a report of what they got this morning."

Doyle pulled out a sheet of thin paper on which had been typed some notes.

"There was a call early this morning for her," he said, as he ran his eye down the sheet. "It was from Shattuck--without a doubt. He's suspicious. The first part of the conversation shows that, you see."

"Let me read it, if you don't mind?" asked Kennedy.

"Not at all," agreed, Doyle, handing the copy to Craig.

Together we read it.

"Good morning," it began. "Is this you, Honora?"

"Oh, good morning," she replied.

(It was apparent that Mrs. Wilford recognized the voice, but
she was cautious about repeating the name.)

"I've something very important to tell you--but--well, not
over the telephone. Is anybody listening?"

"I don't know. I suppose there is. Everything I do is spied
on and watched. I can't write a letter. I can't go out--"

"I suppose that's right. If you went out you'd be followed.
There's no place that's safe. Probably somebody's getting
an earful of this," came back the other voice. "Still, I've
something very important to say to you. Hang it! I'm going to
drop in and see you, Honora. This isn't an autocracy--yet.
They can't prevent me talking to you in your own home.
Though, I suppose, even that is an offense. However, I'll
call. Keep a stiff upper lip. Don't let them put anything
over on you."

Mrs. Wilford must have tried to laugh it off, for the operative had drawn a line indicating a laugh and had added merely the repetition of the words, "Good-by."

Doyle looked at our faces as we read. "I have a scheme," he announced, craftily. "See what you think of it. There's that dictagraph I put in, you know."

Kennedy nodded. Although our opinion of Doyle was not of the highest, it was not impossible that here was a situation that called for no great amount of cleverness to surmount.

"Want to use it?" he asked.

Kennedy considered.

"I put the thing in right. There's a receiver in every room, and I've got a sort of central office there. You can listen in on any room you please by just throwing a switch."

Kennedy assumed a flattering manner. "Just the thing, Doyle," he acquiesced. "Now look here. This is the way to work it. You go there first--not to the room, but to the apartment. Stay around there a bit as though you were looking for something, then leave and take care to make it certain that they know you are going away some distance and will be gone some time."

"I get you," agreed Doyle. "Then McCabe--"

"Confound McCabe!" interrupted Kennedy. "He must clear out, too. He's buzzing around that maid, Celeste. Well, for once it may lead to something. Give McCabe something to do that will take him away, too. Then tell him to let Celeste know. Get it? Make it as plain as day to her that for once you are all off the job. Then she'll think it's safe--unless she's clever," added Kennedy. "Meanwhile Jameson and I will slip into that little listening post of yours. Maybe we'll get something. You can't tell."

"It sounds all right," commented Doyle, loosening a key from a ring. "There's the key--it's Apartment K where the dictagraph is."

"All right," remarked Kennedy, taking it. "Now go along and get your end of the plant working. Do everything you can to let her believe that you've relaxed. I'll get there in half an hour. We can't put this off too long."

Doyle left with alacrity. For once he could understand Kennedy's method and approve it.

Half an hour later we entered the Wilford apartment-house, taking care to do so at a time when the elevator was not down at the ground floor. As far as we knew, no one interested had seen us come in. That was the one chance we were forced to take. Its only disadvantage was that it made it necessary for us to walk up eight flights of stairs, and even then to go carefully, lest we meet some one in the hall.

However, we found Apartment K at last without any difficulty, opened the door, and admitted ourselves quietly. Doyle had located the dictagraph in this room, two floors below the apartment of the Wilfords', in this vacant suite.

As we entered, I saw that in the room were merely a deal table and a couple of chairs. On the table lay the box containing the receiving end of the dictagraph, to which already were fitted the head and ear pieces for listening. The switch on the table was marked, showing the various rooms in which the transmitters had been placed and arranged so that one might follow from one room to another, if necessary. There was paper for notes on the table, too, but otherwise the room was bare.

Kennedy adjusted the ear-pieces over his head, much as a wireless operator might have done, and, noting how he did it, I followed suit.

Then we waited. I could hear the clicks as he moved the switch past one connection after another, trying out the various rooms to see whether there was any one in them or not.

There was no one in the living-room, but as we listened we could hear the striking of a small clock on the mantel. From room to room we went, in imagination, almost as if we had been there, but able to go about unobserved. Had Honora been clever enough to penetrate our ruse? Or had Doyle and McCabe executed their end of the scheme clumsily?

We waited impatiently, wondering whether, after all, it was a fools' errand for us.

Suddenly I could hear a dull, rhythmical noise above the mild buzzing of the dictagraph.

"What's that?" I asked, almost in a whisper, which was involuntary.

"Footsteps of some one coming down the hall into the library," replied Kennedy. "I fancied from slight noises which I heard that Honora was in there, alone, reading perhaps. I thought I caught the rustle of paper."

I could now make out the vibrations more clearly, then the low, almost inaudible buzz of a voice.

"Now it's plainer," I whispered.

Kennedy frowned. "They can't hear you," he reminded. "Still--don't forget _I_ can."

I took the broad hint and was silent. Kennedy adjusted the machine for loudness and gradually I could hear the lowered voices being caught and played up.

It was Honora speaking to her maid, Celeste, who had just entered.

"You've been down in Mrs. Smith's apartment?" we heard Honora ask.

"Yes, madame."

Kennedy shot a glance at me. Two, then, could play at the same game of watching. Evidently the maid had evolved the scheme of visiting some friendly maid in the building, and from that vantage-point watching the watchers. I trusted that she had seen nothing of us. It could hardly be that she had--or at least that they suspected the presence of the dictagraph, or they would not have talked even in whispers, when they might have written and thus have been safe from being overheard. I was beginning to be relieved.

"Why did that McCabe tell you he had a day off?" asked Honora, thoughtfully. "Did he really go?"

"Yes, madame. And the other man hasn't come in. Mr. Doyle was here, but he didn't stay long. I heard him telephone for a taxicab to take him to the Grand Central. He seemed to be catching a train and looked as if prepared to stay away overnight."

"A train?" caught up Honora, eagerly. "Very well, Celeste. When Mr. Shattuck comes, let him in. Watch. Let me know if you see any one watching. It--it seems--I can't understand it."

The maid murmured something soothing in French to Honora and departed.

For some time--it seemed an hour--we waited in silence. Finally Kennedy reached over and touched my elbow. Again I could hear that low vibration, as of some one walking.

"It's Shattuck--I'll bet," Craig cried, excitedly.

Sure enough, it was, as we soon found out both by his voice and the conversation.

"You've heard about Vina and the doctor?" he asked, almost as soon as he entered.

"No," replied Honora. "What about them?"

"They've separated. Lathrop has put a notice in the papers that he will no longer be responsible for his wife's debts."

Honora uttered a quick exclamation of surprise.

"Rather a nasty thing for the doctor to do, though," commented Shattuck, then added, hastily, "I mean the way he did it--publicly, in the papers, and all that sort of thing."

"I suppose so," came reluctantly from Honora's lips.

Kennedy smiled. It was very human, after all. Nor could one blame Honora for having scant sympathy with the woman who had caused her so much pain and anguish.

There was silence for several moments, in which I trusted that Shattuck was duly chastened for having expressed any sympathy for Vina, even in a casual way.

"Tell me, Vance," she asked, finally, with just a trace of eagerness showing in her voice in spite of herself. "You never really cared for her--did you?"

Shattuck answered quickly. "Why, you poor foolish little girl--don't you understand yet? It was she--set out to capture me--not I who sought her. Ask anybody. They'll tell you. I begin to believe everybody knows it--knew it long before even I saw it. How Lathrop could have missed it so long is beyond me. Don't you see? It placed me in rather an awkward position. I wanted to warn him--yet how could I? Of course I never cared for her. The fact is that I have had to avoid her, even when she tried to make some business deals through me. Why, only yesterday Lathrop came to see me. It must have been just before he put that advertisement in the papers. I had the very deuce of a time to make him see the case. As luck would have it, though, Kennedy was there. I hope he got an eyeful. Once before he saw me with her. It was when she was trying to sell some stock."

Honora said nothing, though apparently the explanation was just what she wanted to hear and it satisfied her.

I looked over at Craig. If it was true, I felt that it was greatly to the credit of Shattuck, knowing his reputation. But was it true? Was it not what he would have said to Honora, anyway? Might it not be that he was laying the foundations for an alibi in case Kennedy or some one else retailed stories to her?

"Are they still just as insolent up here to you?" he asked, solicitously, after another silence, changing the subject to one more intimate.

"Oh, Vance, it's awful!" she confessed.

"The deuce!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Sometimes I feel as though I could fight the whole crowd of them, Kennedy included. It's an outrage, this constant suspicion of you."

"But, Vance," she murmured, "you know you must be careful for yourself, too."

"And you, Honora?" he replied. "Have you no need of help, no need of a friend?"

It was evident that each feared for the other, recognizing the suspicion under which both labored. More than that, there was genuine regard between them, it was evident, tempered with restraint.

"I suppose you've heard that they've found a Calabar bean down in Vail's office, on the floor?" asked Shattuck, hesitating, but finally coming to a remark which evidently had been on his mind and cost him something to make.

I was all ears, in hope that he would betray something about having some of the beans in his own possession, or that Honora would betray something about having Chase search Shattuck's apartment, if, indeed, she had ordered the young detective to do it. But neither of them said a word. Was it because they knew nothing, or was there a tacit understanding between them never to mention some mutual secret?

"So I've been told," was the simple reply Honora made to Shattuck's inquiry.

"Who told you?"

"Mr. Doyle, himself," she replied.

"Has Kennedy done anything?" he asked, quickly.

"I had another visit from him yesterday."

"What did he want this time?"

"He had a list of words--more of his science. I can't refuse to do what he asks--and yet--I'm afraid. You know these scientists know so many things that aren't so about women."

Kennedy nodded over at me. I knew what was passing in his mind. It was surely strange to hear oneself discussed and I recalled the old adage about eavesdroppers hearing nothing good of themselves. Besides, I knew that his Freud theory had struck home. Honora's very anger at the theory was proof enough that it struck home in one of her own "complexes."

"Confound him!" muttered Shattuck. "I suppose you are right, though. You know this ordeal bean from the Calabar? Of course you remember the derivative from your father's place--the physostigmine. Well, the beans are used in a queer, primitive sort of dueling by the natives. They cut the beans in half. Each eats a half. It is a sort of a duel by ordeal."

"Yes," she answered, quickly. "So I've been told."

Kennedy nodded to me.

Neither of them said more about it. Was it because they recognized it as a dangerous subject? Or had Honora really discovered the dictagraph in her own home? In that case, this very conversation was being held for our benefit, out of sheer bravado.

Nothing more of importance was said and we figuratively followed them out into the hall and over a good-by that was considerably lengthened by Shattuck and threatened to become sentimental. Only Honora restrained it.

"What next?" I asked, as we could hear the slam of the door in the Wilford apartment.

"I don't think I shall stay and listen here," concluded Kennedy. "I can't see that we've found out a great deal, as it is. There are several things that must be done immediately. First of all, I want to see Lathrop. It may be that we'll find out something from him."

We made our way out of the apartment, as we had entered, trusting that with our care we would not be observed.

A few minutes later we were at the door of the waiting-room of Lathrop's office.

"Evidently he doesn't take the affair any too deeply," commented Craig.

I looked about. The office was as full of patients as ever, and he was going about his professional work much as though nothing at all had occurred to disturb his peace of mind.

We waited until the last patient had gone and finally were able to see him alone.

"I can guess what you are here for," he greeted, without a trace of embarrassment. "I suppose the afternoon papers will be full of it. Already I've had a string of reporters--one from your own paper, Mr. Jameson," he added, significantly--"a Miss Balcom. Do you know her?"

"Yes," I answered, as offhand as possible, "she is a very clever writer. Did you--er--tell her any--"

"Not a word to say," he interrupted, bruskly, "not a word to say. I refused to make any statement. What's the use? The fact stands for itself."

In spite of what he said, it was evident that he would talk, at least a bit.

"Then you knew all about--what was going on, all along?" inquired Kennedy.

"I had my suspicions," the doctor replied, airily. "I cannot afford to be held up to ridicule. It was a matter of saving my very career. As for the Wilford story--pouf! I don't care a rap about it--that is, I didn't until the gossips added the Shattuck scandal to it."

Whatever he might say, it was evident that his lips belied his real feelings. He was really bitter both toward the memory of Wilford and toward Shattuck as well, conceal it as much as he might try.

"Then you credit the Shattuck rumors?" demanded Kennedy.

"I won't say," snapped the doctor, testily.

"Where has Mrs. Lathrop gone?" asked Kennedy, point-blank.

"How do I know?" bridled Lathrop. "I've heard her talk about friends at the Sainte-Germaine--perhaps you might find her there. You're a detective," he added, coolly, then suddenly: "That's right. Get her side of the story. Play it up, if you like. You might as well. Yes, by all means. Then perhaps I can set you right on some points. Don't mind _me_. Good morning, gentlemen," he bustled, taking up his black doctor's bag. "I have a very serious case waiting for me."

Kennedy did not comment as we left, but beckoned quickly to a vacant taxicab and we were whisked to the Sainte-Germaine.

I knew it was of no use to try to see Mrs. Lathrop in the ordinary manner, and, therefore, adopted one of my many newspaper ruses to find out where her room was and then to get to it.

As she opened the door to what seemed to be an innocent knock from a chambermaid or bell-hop, she exclaimed in surprise at seeing Kennedy and myself.

Almost, I exclaimed also. Vina Lathrop seemed to be a changed woman.

"Why have you followed me here?" she demanded. "Did _he_ send you--or was it that woman?"

"Neither," returned Kennedy. "It's not so easy to hide away in New York."

She did not move from the door, nor did she invite us in. Still, I could see that she was there alone, that the "friends" whom Lathrop had hinted at were either mythical or that she had not gone to them.

"I thought that perhaps you might like to tell us what the real reason for the break was," hinted Kennedy. "Of course, Mrs. Lathrop, there's no use for me to beat about the bush. You know and we know just what the world is saying. If I might be of any assistance to you--putting things straight, you know--"

He paused, endeavoring to see whether she showed any disposition to talk.

For a moment she was silent, biting her lips.

"I never want to speak to him again," she burst out, passionately, at length. "You will have to see Doctor Lathrop about that--at present," she added, sullenly.

"Does Mr. Shattuck know where you are?"

"I suppose every one will know--now," she cried, a look almost of alarm crossing her now pale face. "Really--I have nothing to say. You must see my--my lawyer."

"And he is--?"

"I shall let that be known--when I get ready," she blazed, turning. "Now, might I ask you to leave me? I don't see how you got past the floor clerk, anyhow. Good-by. I--I don't want to have a scene."

She closed the door and we heard the bolt shoot.

Somehow I could not help having my suspicions aroused by her very manner, as we turned away. Did she know something--and was she really afraid of us?

XVI

THE FINESSE

"What's the next move?" I inquired of Kennedy as we entered the elevator.

He did not answer, and I thought it was because he did not care to do so.

"Didn't like to talk, even though we were alone with the elevator boy," he explained, with his usual caution, when we had arrived at the ground floor. "You never can tell who is listening in public places."

"No," I answered, dryly. "That was how I found out where she was in the first place."

Kennedy smiled. "Very good, Walter. Still, it just goes to prove what I said. Mrs. Lathrop might do the same thing to find out about us."

We sauntered along a few steps through the lobby in silence.

"I don't suppose Shattuck will be in his own apartment after that talk with Honora," Kennedy considered, glancing at his watch. "Guess we'd better try to see him at his office, if we want to see him anywhere."

I saw what he was thinking about--the relations of Vina and Shattuck and the construction that Doctor Lathrop had put on them.

"The finding of that Calabar bean in Shattuck's apartment has puzzled me," I confessed. "I've often wondered whether he ever missed it, whether he knows."

"Just what I was thinking about," admitted Kennedy. "On the way down-town I'm going to drop in and see Mrs. Wilford's detective, Chase."

"Why, Mr. Jameson, you've beaten me to it--and have you got the story?"

I turned in surprise at hearing my name spoken by a woman whom I hadn't noticed. It was Belle Balcom, always enterprising and on the alert for a good story for her column of society gossip.

"I thought I had a scoop," she pouted. "And I get here only to see you coming out."

"Where did you find out?" I asked, in surprise, careful, however, not to admit that I knew what she meant, although I was certain that it must be to see Mrs. Lathrop that she had come.

"Never mind," Belle tantalized. "Where did you find out?"

"That would be telling," I begged the question, turning and introducing Craig.

"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you," she smiled. "Of course I've heard a great deal about you from Mr. Jameson and I've always admired your wonderful work."

"Indeed you've helped us a great deal in this case, yourself," returned Craig, ignoring the flattery, as he always did.

"I'm so glad," thanked Belle, sincerely. "If there's anything I can do, ever, I hope you'll ask me. It isn't often that I feel that the stuff I do has any real importance. More often people think I'm a prying pest, I imagine. But then without that eternal curiosity, who could write? Isn't that so?" she appealed to me.

"Quite," I agreed.

"Especially in a woman," thrust Belle.

"I'm sure that can't be so," remarked Craig. "Reporters and detectives have much in common. Women make good in both fields--very good."

Belle smiled. Sophisticated she might be. Yet no woman can be said exactly to hate flattery of the right sort.

"How does Mrs. Lathrop take the affair--with bravado?" inquired Belle. "You see, that expedition down to Greenwich Village with Mr. Jameson has made me look on this case with a sort of proprietary interest."

Kennedy smiled seriously. "There, now," he nodded, "you're interviewing _me_."

Belle smiled back in turn, taking the hint. "I'm sure you'd be hard to interview, if you didn't want to be interviewed, Professor Kennedy," she said.

"How did you find out where she had gone--really?" I asked. "Tell us. It might help--and you remember what you said just a moment ago."

Belle considered an instant.

"Well," she thought, "I don't know as it would be violating any confidence, after all."

Kennedy, always thoughtful, had gradually edged our way into a sort of alcove.