The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective MEGAPACK ®. Brander Matthews
Even Kennedy himself was perplexed at the sudden succession of events. I had nothing to say.
Evidently, however, his rule was when in doubt play a trump, for, twenty minutes later found us in the office of Lynn Moulton, the famous corporation lawyer, in Wall Street.
Moulton was a handsome man of past fifty with a youthful face against his iron gray hair and mustache, well dressed, genial, a man who seemed keenly in love with the good things of life.
“It is rumored,” began Kennedy, “that an attempt was made on your safe here at the office last night.”
“Yes,” he admitted, taking off his glasses and polishing them carefully. “I suppose there is no need of concealment, especially as I hear that a somewhat similar attempt was made on the safe of my friend Herman Schloss in Maiden Lane.”
“You lost nothing?”
Moulton put his glasses on and looked Kennedy in the face frankly.
“Nothing, fortunately,” he said, then went on slowly. “You see, in my later years, I have been something of a collector of precious stones myself. I don’t wear them, but I have always taken the keenest pleasure in owning them and when I was married it gave me a great deal more pleasure to have them set in rings, pendants, tiaras, necklaces, and other forms for my wife.”
He had risen, with the air of a busy man who had given the subject all the consideration he could afford and whose work proceeded almost by schedule. “This morning I found my safe tampered with, but, as I said, fortunately something must have scared off the burglars.”
He bowed us out politely. What was the explanation, I wondered. It seemed, on the face of things, that Antoinette Moulton feared her husband. Did he know something else already, and did she know he knew? To all appearances he took it very calmly, if he did know. Perhaps that was what she feared, his very calmness.
“I must see Mrs. Moulton again,” remarked Kennedy, as we left.
The Moultons lived, we found, in one of the largest suites of a new apartment hotel, the Deluxe, and in spite of the fact that our arrival had been announced some minutes before we saw Mrs. Moulton, it was evident that she had been crying hysterically over the loss of the paste jewels and what it implied.
“I missed it this morning, after my return from seeing you,” she replied in answer to Craig’s inquiry, then added, wide-eyed with alarm, “What shall I do? He must have opened the wall safe and found the replica. I don’t dare ask him point-blank.”
“Are you sure he did it?” asked Kennedy, more, I felt, for its moral effect on her than through any doubt in his own mind.
“Not sure. But then the wall safe shows no marks, and the replica is gone.”
“Might I see your jewel case?” he asked.
“Surely. I’ll get it. The wall safe is in Lynn’s room. I shall probably have to fuss a long time with the combination.”
In fact she could not have been very familiar with it for it took several minutes before she returned. Meanwhile, Kennedy, who had been drumming absently on the arms of his chair, suddenly rose and walked quietly over to a scrap basket that stood beside an escritoire. It had evidently just been emptied, for the rooms must have been cleaned several hours before. He bent down over it and picked up two scraps of paper adhering to the wicker work. The rest had evidently been thrown away.
I bent over to read them. One was:
—rest Nettie— —dying to see—
The other read:
—cherche to—d —love and ma —rman.
What did it mean? Hastily, I could fill in “Dearest Nettie,” and “I am dying to see you.” Kennedy added, “The Recherche today,” that being the name of a new apartment uptown, as well as “love and many kisses.” But “—rman”—what did that mean? Could it be Herman—Herman Schloss?
She was returning and we resumed our seats quickly.
Kennedy took the jewel case from her and examined it carefully. There was not a mark on it.
“Mrs. Moulton,” he said slowly, rising and handing it back to her, “have you told me all?”
“Why—yes,” she answered.
Kennedy shook his head gravely.
“I’m afraid not. You must tell me everything.”
“No—no,” she cried vehemently, “there is nothing more.”
We left and outside the Deluxe he paused, looked about, caught sight of a taxicab and hailed it.
“Where?” asked the driver.
“Across the street,” he said, “and wait. Put the window in back of you down so I can talk. I’ll tell you where to go presently. Now, Walter, sit back as far as you can. This may seem like an underhand thing to do, but we’ve got to get what that woman won’t tell us or give up the case.”
Perhaps half an hour we waited, still puzzling over the scraps of paper. Suddenly I felt a nudge from Kennedy. Antoinette Moulton was standing in the doorway across the street. Evidently she preferred not to ride in her own car, for a moment later she entered a taxicab.
“Follow that black cab,” said Kennedy to our driver.
Sure enough, it stopped in front of the Recherche Apartments and Mrs. Moulton stepped out and almost ran in.
We waited a moment, then Kennedy followed. The elevator that had taken her up had just returned to the ground floor.
“The same floor again,” remarked Kennedy, jauntily stepping in and nodding familiarly to the elevator boy.
Then he paused suddenly, looked at his watch, fixed his gaze thoughtfully on me an instant, and exclaimed. “By George—no. I can’t go up yet. I clean forgot that engagement at the hotel. One moment, son. Let us out. We’ll be back again.”
Considerably mystified, I followed him to the sidewalk.
“You’re entitled to an explanation,” he laughed catching my bewildered look as he opened the cab door. “I didn’t want to go up now while she is there, but I wanted to get on good terms with that boy. We’ll wait until she comes down, then go up.”
“Where?” I asked.
“That’s what I am going through all this elaborate preparation to find out. I have no more idea than you have.”
It could not have been more than twenty minutes later when Mrs. Moulton emerged rather hurriedly, and drove away.
While we had been waiting I had observed a man on the other side of the street who seemed unduly interested in the Recherche, too, for he had walked up and down the block no less than six times. Kennedy saw him, and as he made no effort to follow Mrs. Moulton, Kennedy did not do so either. In fact a little quick glance which she had given at our cab had raised a fear that she might have discovered that she was being followed.
Kennedy and I paid off our cabman and sauntered into the Recherche in the most debonair manner we could assume.
“Now, son, we’ll go up,” he said to the boy who, remembering us, and now not at all clear in his mind that he might not have seen us before that, whisked us to the tenth floor.
“Let me see,” said Kennedy, “it’s number one hundred and—er—”
“Three,” prompted the boy.
He pressed the buzzer and a neatly dressed colored maid responded.
“I had an appointment here with Mrs. Moulton this morning,” remarked Kennedy.
“She has just gone,” replied the maid, off her guard.
“And was to meet Mr. Schloss here in half an hour,” he added quickly.
It