Arthur B. Reeve Crime & Mystery Boxed Set - Arthur B. Reeve

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can't find anything wrong with it."

      There was a noise at the door, outside in the hall, and Dr. Leslie opened it.

      "Dr. Haynes," he introduced, a moment later.

      Haynes was a large man, good-looking, even striking, with a self-assertive manner. We shook hands, and taking our cue from Craig, waited for him to speak.

      "It's very strange what could have carried Delaney off so suddenly," ventured Haynes a moment later. "I've been trying to figure it out myself. But I must admit that so far it has completely stumped me."

      He was pacing up and down the room and I watched him more or less suspiciously. Somehow I could not get the idea out of my head that he had been listening to us outside. Now and then, I fancied, he shot a glance at us, as if he were watching us.

      "They tell me at the burial company that you were there today," put in Dr. Leslie, his eyes fixed on Haynes' face.

      Haynes met his gaze squarely, without flinching. "Yes. I got thinking over what the papers said about the 'purple death,' and I thought perhaps I might have overlooked something. But there wasn't—"

      The telephone rang. Haynes seized the receiver before any of the rest of us could get to it. "That must be for me," he said with a brusque apology. "Why—yes, I am here. Dr. Leslie and Professor Kennedy are up here. No—we haven't discovered anything new. Yes—I shall keep the appointment. Good-by."

      The conversation had been short, but, to me at least, it seemed that he had contrived to convey a warning without seeming to do so.

      Chapter XIV

      The Secret Agents

       Table of Contents

      Dr. Leslie looked at Haynes searchingly. "Who was it?" he asked. "Madame Dupres?"

      Haynes did not hesitate. "Yes," he nodded. "I had an appointment with her and told her that if I was late it would probably be that I had stopped here."

      The answer came so readily that I must confess that I was suspicious of it.

      "Did Madame Dupres know the Baroness Von Dorf?" asked Craig quickly.

      "Yes, indeed," returned Haynes, then stopped suddenly.

      "But they didn't travel in the same circle, did they?" asked Dr. Leslie, with the air of the cross-examiner who wished to place on record a fact that might later prove damaging.

      "Not exactly," answered Haynes, with some hesitation.

      "You knew her, of course?" added Craig.

      Haynes nodded.

      "I wonder if you could locate the Baroness," pursued Kennedy.

      Haynes seemed to express no surprise at the obvious implication that she was missing. "I have no objection to trying," he answered simply; then, with a glance at his watch, he reached for his hat and stick and excused himself. "I'm afraid I must go. If I can be of any assistance," he added, "don't hesitate to call on me. Delaney and I were pretty closely associated in this deal and I feel that nothing is too much to ask of me if it is possible to clear up the mystery of his death, if there is any."

      He departed as quickly as he had come.

      "I wonder what he dropped in for?" I remarked.

      "Whatever it was, he didn't get it," returned Leslie.

      "I'm not so sure of that," I said, remembering the brief telephone conversation with Madame Dupres.

      Kennedy did not appear to be bothering much about the question one way or the other. He had let his cigar go out during Haynes' visit, but now that we were alone again he continued his minute search of the premises.

      He opened a closet which evidently contained nothing but household utensils and was about to shut the door when an idea occurred to him. A moment later he pulled from the mystic depths an electric vacuum cleaner and dragged it over to the sun-parlor.

      Without a word we watched him as he ran it over the floor and walls, even over the wicker stands on which the plants stood, and then over the floor coverings and furniture of the other rooms that opened into the conservatory. What he was after I could not imagine, but I knew it was useless to ask him until he had found it or had some reason for telling it.

      Carefully he removed the dust and dirt from the machine and wrapped it up tightly in a package.

      We parted from Dr. Leslie at the door of the apartment, promising to keep in touch with him and let him know the moment anything happened.

      At the first telegraph office Kennedy entered and sent off a long message to our friend Burke of the Secret Service in Washington, asking him to locate the Baroness, if possible, in that city, and to give any information he might have about either Haynes or Madame Dupres.

      "It's still early in the evening," remarked Kennedy as we left the telegraph office. "Suppose we drop around to the St. Quentin. Perhaps we may run into our friends there."

      The St. Quentin was a favorite resort of foreigners in New York, and I, at least, entered prepared to suspect everyone.

      "Not all these mysterious-looking men and women," laughed Kennedy, noticing me as we walked through the lobby, "are secret agents of foreign governments."

      "Still they look as if they might give you the 'high sign,'" I replied, "particularly if you flashed a bankroll."

      "I don't doubt it," he agreed, his eye roving over the throng. "I suspect that Scotland Yard and the Palais de Justice might be quite pleased to see some faces here rather than on the other side of the Atlantic."

      He drew me into an angle and for some moments we studied the passing crowd of diplomats and near-diplomats.

      A moment later I saw Kennedy bow and, following the direction of his eyes, looked up to a sort of mezzanine gallery. There were Haynes and a most attractive woman, talking earnestly.

      "Madame Dupres," Craig whispered to me, aside.

      She was tall, slender, gowned in the most modish manner, and had a foreign way about her that would have fascinated one even more cosmopolitan than a Texas veterinary.

      Now and then someone would stop and chat with them and it seemed that they were on very good terms, at least with a certain group at the St. Quentin.

      Kennedy moved out further into the lobby where he was more noticeable; then, with a sudden resolution, mounted the steps to the mezzanine floor and approached Haynes.

      "Let me introduce Professor Kennedy, Madame Dupres," presented Haynes.

      Kennedy bowed.

      Whatever one's opinion of madame, he was forced to admit that she was clever. It was evident, also, that she and Haynes were on very intimate terms, also.

      "I hope that you will be able to clear up the mystery that the newspapers have found in Mr. Delaney's death," she remarked. "Mr. Haynes has told me that he met you tonight with Dr. Leslie. By the way, has he told you his own theory?" she asked.

      "We shall do our best," replied Kennedy, meeting her eye in as impersonal a manner as it was possible, for it is always difficult to dissociate a beautiful woman from a case like this and judge her not as a beautiful woman but on the merits of the case. "No, Mr. Haynes has not told me his theory—yet."

      "I'm very glad to have met you," she added, extending her daintily gloved hand to Kennedy, "and you may be sure that if there is any way in which I can be of service I shall expect you to call on me. Just now I hope you will excuse me. I have some letters to get off—and I will leave you men to discuss Mr. Haynes' theory without being hampered by a mere woman. Never mind, Harris," she added as Haynes made as if to escort her to the ladies' writing room.

      As Madame Dupres passed down the steps there was no denying that she made a splendid impression. Haynes watched her with a glance that

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