Detective Kennedy's Cases. Arthur B. Reeve
a good part of the afternoon passed, apparently fruitless.
My patience was thoroughly exhausted when, suddenly, a motion from Craig revived my flagging interest. I waited impatiently for him to tell me what it was that he heard.
"What was it?" I asked finally as he pulled the receivers off his head and stood for a moment, considering.
"At first I heard the sound of voices," he answered quickly. "One was the voice of a woman, which I recognized. It was the Countess. The other was the Count.
"'Giulia,' I heard him say, as they entered the room, 'I don't see why you should want to go. It's dangerous. And besides, it's none of our business if your father lets his yacht be used for such a purpose.'
"'But I want to go, Alex,' she said. 'I will go. I'm a good sailor. It's father's yacht. He won't care.'
"'But what's the use?' he expostulated. 'Besides—think of the danger. If it was our business, it might be different.'
"'I should think you'd want to go.'
"'Not I. I can get all the excitement I want in a motor-boat race without risking my precious neck pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for someone else.'
"'Well, I want the adventure,' she persisted, petulantly.
"'But, Giulia, if you go tonight, think of the risk—'
"That was the last I heard as they left the room, still arguing. Evidently, someone is going to pull off something tonight."
It did not take Kennedy long to make up his mind what to do next. He left the cellar hurriedly and in the laboratory hastily fixed up a second heavy and bulky package similar to that which he had taken down to the revenue cutter earlier in the day, making it into two parcels so as to distribute the burden between us.
That night we journeyed out to Oceanhurst again. Avoiding the regular road, we made our way from the station to the Gaskell place by a roundabout path and it was quite dark by the time we got there.
As we approached the basin we saw that there were several men about. They appeared to be on guard, but since Oceanhurst at that season of the year was pretty deserted and the Gaskell estate was out of the town, they were not especially vigilant.
Dark and grim, with only one light showing weakly, lay the yacht, having been run into the basin, now. A hawser had been stretched across the mouth of the basin. Outside was a little tender, while a searchlight was playing over the water all the time. Evidently whatever interference was feared was expected from the water rather than from the land.
We slunk into the shadow of a row of bath-houses, in order to get our bearings. On the opposite side from the road that led down from the house, it was not so likely that anyone would suspect that interlopers were hiding there.
Still, they were not neglecting that side of the basin, at least in a perfunctory sort of way.
Kennedy drew me back into the shadow, deeper, at the sound of footsteps on the boardwalk leading in front of the bath-houses.
From our hiding place we could now hear two voices, apparently of sailors.
"Do you know the new wireless operator who goes with us tonight?" asked one.
"No. They've been very careful of him. I guess they were afraid that someone might get wise. But there couldn't very well be any leak, there. One of those Englishmen has been with him every minute since he was engaged."
"They say he's pretty good. Who is he?"
"A Servian, he says, and his name sounds as if it might be so."
The voices trailed off. It was only a scrap of conversation, but Kennedy had not missed a word of it.
"That means Petzka," he nodded to me.
"What is he—a Hungarian or a Servian?" I asked quickly.
Kennedy had craned his neck out beyond the corner of the bath-houses and was looking at the Furious in the basin.
"Come on, Walter," he whispered, not taking time to answer my question. "Those fellows have gone. There's no one at all on this side of the basin and I just saw the men on deck go up the gangplank to the boat-house. They can't do any more than put us off, anyhow."
He had watched his chance well. As quickly as we could, burdened down by our two heavy packages, we managed to slip across the boardwalk to the piling that formed that side of the basin. The Furious had swung over with the tide nearer our side than the other. It was a daring leap, but he made it as lightly as a cat, landing on the deck. I passed over the packages to him and followed.
Kennedy scarcely paused to glance about. He had chosen a moment when no one was looking, and, bending down under the weight of the packages we dodged back of a cabin. A dim light shining into the hold told us that no one was there and we dived down. It was the work of a moment to secrete ourselves in the blank darkness behind a pile of boxes, aft.
A noise startled us. Someone was coming down the steep, ladder-like stairs. A moment later we heard another noise. There were two of them, moving about among the boxes. From our hiding place we could overhear them talking in hoarse whispers, but could not see them.
"Where did you put them?" asked a voice.
"In every package of explosives and in as many of the boxes of canned goods as I had time. There wasn't much opportunity except while the stuff was in the boat-house."
I looked at Kennedy, wild-eyed. Was there treachery in the crew? He was leaning forward as much as our cramped quarters would permit, so as not to miss a word.
"All right," said the other voice. "No one suspects?"
"No. But the Secret Service has been pretty busy. They suspect something—but not this."
"Good. You are sure that you can detonate them when the time comes?"
"Positive. Everything is working fine. I've done my part of it. Changing wireless operators gave me just the chance I wanted."
"All right. I guess I'll go now."
"Remember the signal. As soon as the things are detonated I will get off, some way, by wireless the S O S—as if it came from the fleet, you understand?"
"Yes—that will be the signal for the dash. Good luck—I'm going ashore now."
As they passed up the ladder, I could no longer restrain myself.
"Craig," I cried, "this is devilish!"
I thought I saw it all now. In the cases of goods on the Furious were some terrible infernal machines which had been hidden, to be detonated by these deadly rays of wireless.
Kennedy was busy, working quickly putting together the parts he had taken from the two packages we had carried.
As I watched him, I realized that the burning of the Rovigno house was not the action of an incendiary, after all. It had been done by these deadly rays, probably by mere accident.
As nearly as I could make it out, there was a counterplot against the Furious. Somewhere was an infernal workshop, possibly hedged about by doors of steel which ordinary force would find hard to penetrate, but from which, any moment, this super-criminal might send out his deadly power.
The more I considered it, while Kennedy worked, the more uncanny it seemed. This man had rendered the mere possession of explosives more dangerous to the possessor than to the enemy.
Archimedes had been outdone!
The problem before us now was not only the preservation of American neutrality, but the actual safety of life.
Through the open hatch I could now hear voices on the deck. One was that of a woman, which I recognized quickly. It was Julia Rovigno.
"I'll be just as quiet as a mouse," she was saying. "I'll stay in the cabin—I won't be in the way."
I could not hear the man's voice in reply, but it did not sound like Rovigno's. It was