Gold of the Gods Part 14

"Other warnings?" she repeated tremulously.

Quickly Kennedy explained what had already happened to us, watching the effect on her as he read of the curse of Mansiche and the Gold of the G.o.ds.

"Oh," she cried, mastering her emotion with a heroic effort, "I wish my father had never become mixed up in the business. Ever since I was a little girl I have heard these vague stories of the big fish and the little fish, the treasure, and the curse. But I never thought they were anything but fairy tales. You remember, when I first saw you, I did not even tell them to you."

"Yes," returned Kennedy. "I remember. But had you no other reason? Did you, down in your heart, think them really fairy tales?"

She shuddered. "Perhaps not," she murmured. "But I have heard enough of you detectives to know that you do not think a woman's fears exactly evidence."

"Still they might lead to evidence," suggested Kennedy.

She looked at him, more startled than ever, for already he had given her a slight exhibition of his powers.

"Mr. Kennedy," she exclaimed, "I am positively afraid of you, afraid that every little thing I do may lead to something I don't intend."

There was a frankness about the remark that would have been flattering from a man, but from her excited sympathy.

"No," she went on, "I have nothing tangible--only my feelings. I fear I must admit that my father had enemies, though who they are I cannot tell you. No, it is all in my heart--not in my head. There are those whom I dislike--and there are those whom I like and trust. You may call me foolish, but I cannot help trusting--Mr. Lockwood."

She had not meant to say his name, and Kennedy and I looked at her in surprise.

"You see?" she continued. "Every time I talk I say something, convey some impression that is the opposite of what I wish. Oh--what shall I do? Have I no one to trust?"

She was crying.

"You may trust me, Senorita," said Kennedy, in a low tone, pausing before her. "At least I have no other interest than finding the truth and helping you. There--there. We have had enough to-day. I cannot ask you to try to forget what has happened. That would be impossible. But I can ask you, Senorita, to have faith--faith that it will all turn out better, if you will only trust me. When you feel stronger--then come to me. Tell me your fears--or not--whichever does you the most good. Only keep your mind from brooding. Face it all as you know your father would have you do."

Kennedy's words were soothing. He seemed to know that tears were the safety-valve she needed.

"Mr. Jameson will see that you get home safely in a taxicab," he continued. "You can trust him as you would myself."

I can imagine circ.u.mstances under which I would have enjoyed escorting Inez to her home, but today was not one of the times. Yet she seemed so helpless, so grateful for everything we did for her that I did not need even the pressure of her little hand as she hurried into the apartment from the car with a hasty word of thanks.

"You will tell Mr. Kennedy--you will both be--so careful?" she hesitated before leaving me.

I a.s.sured her that we would, wondering what she might fear for us, as I drove away again. There did not happen to be any of the newspaper men about at the time, and I did not stop.

Back in the laboratory, I found Kennedy arranging something under the rug at the door as I came up the hall.

"Don't step there, Walter," he cautioned. "Step over the rug. I'm expecting visitors. How was she when she arrived home?"

I told him of her parting injunction.

"Not bad advice," he remarked. "I think there's a surprise back of those warnings. They weren't sent just for effect."

He had closed the door, and we were standing by the table, looking at the letters, when we heard a noise at the door.

It was Norton again.

"I've been thinking of what you told me last night," he explained, before Kennedy had a chance to tell him to step over the rug. "Has anything else happened?"

Kennedy tossed over the anonymous letter, and Norton read it eagerly.

"Whom does it mean?" he asked, quickly glancing up, then adding, "It might mean any of us who are trying to help her."

"Exactly," returned Kennedy. "Or it might be Lockwood, or even de Moche. By the way, you know the young man pretty well, don't you? I wonder if you could find him anywhere about the University this morning and persuade him to visit me?"

"I will try," agreed Norton. "But these people are so very suspicious just now that I can't promise."

Norton went out a few minutes later to see what he could do to locate Alfonso, and Kennedy replaced another blank sheet of paper for that under the rug on which Norton had stepped before we could warn him.

No sooner had he gone than Kennedy reached for the telephone and called Whitney's office. Lockwood was there, as he had hoped, and, after a short talk, promised to drop in on us later in the morning.

It was fully half an hour before Norton returned, having finally found Alfonso. De Moche entered the laboratory with a suspicious glance about, as though he thought something might have been planted there for him.

"I had a most interesting talk with your mother yesterday," began Kennedy, endeavouring by frankness to put the young man at ease. "And this morning, already, Senorita Mendoza has called on me."

De Moche was all attention at the words. But before he could say anything Kennedy handed him the anonymous letter. He read it, and his face clouded as he handed it back.

"You have no idea who could have sent such a note?" queried Craig, "or to whom it might refer?"

He glanced at Norton, then at us. It was clear that some sort of suspicion had flashed over him. "No," he said quickly, "I know no one who could have sent it."

"But whom does it mean?" asked Kennedy, holding him to the part that he avoided.

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "She has many friends," he answered simply.

"Yes," persisted Kennedy, "but few against whom she might be warned in this way. You do not think it is Professor Norton, for instance--or myself?"

"Oh, no, no--hardly," he replied, then stopped, realizing that he had eliminated all but Lockwood, Whitney, and himself.

"It could not be Mr. Lockwood?" demanded Craig.

"Who sent it?" he asked, looking up.

"No--whom it warns against."

De Moche had known what Kennedy meant, but had preferred to postpone the answer. It was native never to come to the point unless he was forced to do so. He met our eyes squarely. He had not the penetrating power that his mother possessed, yet his was a sharp faculty of observation.

"Mr. Lockwood is very friendly with her," he admitted, then seemed to think something else necessary to round out the idea. "Mr. Kennedy, I might have told her the same myself. Senorita Mendoza has been a very dear friend--for a long time."

I had been so used to having him evasive that now I did not exactly know what to make of such a burst of confidence. It was susceptible of at least two interpretations. Was he implying that it was sent to cast suspicion on him, because he felt that way himself or because he himself was her friend?

"There have been other warnings," pursued Kennedy, "both to myself and Mr. Jameson, as well as Professor Norton and Dr. Leslie. Surely you must have some idea of the source."

De Moche shook his head. "None that I can think of," he replied. "Have you asked my mother?"

"Not yet," admitted Kennedy.