The Adventuress. Arthur B. Reeve

on watch, we were unable to find out from them that anything unusual had been observed, either as far as any other boat was concerned or on the Sybarite itself. In spite of them, the affair was as completely shrouded in mystery as ever.

      Having looked the yacht over, Kennedy seemed now to be eager to get ashore again.

      ‘I hope you are satisfied, gentlemen?’ asked Shelby at last as our tour brought us to the mahogany steps that led from the outside of the white hull to the tender which had brought us out.

      ‘Very well—so far,’ returned Kennedy.

      Maddox looked up quickly, but did not ask what he meant. ‘If there is any way in which I can be of service to you,’ he continued, ‘you have only to command me. I have as much reason as anyone to clear up the mystery in this unfortunate affair. I believe I will go ashore with you.’

      He did not need to say that he was eager to get back to see Winifred Walcott, any more than Kennedy needed to tell me that he would like to see our sallow-faced friend again.

      The tender skimmed over the waves, throwing the spray gaily as we sped back to the Harbour House dock.

      We landed and Maddox excused himself, repeating his desire to aid us. Down the beach toward the bathhouses I could make out the frilly Paquita, surrounded now by several of the bathers, all men. Maddox saw her, but paid no attention. He was headed for the veranda of the Lodge.

      The day was growing older and the Casino was beginning to liven up. In the exquisitely appointed ballroom, which was used also for morning and afternoon dances, strains of the one-step attracted some dozen couples. Kennedy sauntered along, searching the faces we passed in the hope of seeing someone who might be of value to know on the case, now and then reminding Hastings not to neglect to point out anyone who might lend aid. Hastings saw no one, however, and as we mounted the steps to the Lodge excused himself for a minute to send some telegrams to those of the family whom he had forgotten.

      We had promised to meet him in the lobby by the desk, and thither Kennedy bent his steps.

      ‘I think I’ll look over the register,’ he remarked, as we approached the busiest part of the hotel. ‘Perhaps, too, some of the clerks may know something.’

      There was nothing on the register, apparently, for after turning it around and running through it he merely laid his finger on the name ‘Señorita Paquita Gonzales, Maid and Chauffeur, New York,’ written under the date of the day before the arrival of the Maddoxes for the conference, and among the last of the day, showing that she had arrived late.

      As we were looking over the names we were startled by a voice softly speaking behind us.

      ‘Well, I should have known you fellows would be out here before long. It’s a big case. Don’t notice me here. I’ll see you in the writing-room. It’s empty now.’

      We turned in surprise. It was our old friend Burke, of the Secret Service.

      He had already lounged off, and we followed without seeming to do so, stopping only for a moment at the news-stand.

      ‘Why are you here?’ demanded Craig, pointedly, as we three settled ourselves in an angle of the deserted writing-room.

      ‘For the same reason that you are,’ Burke returned, with a smile; then added gravely, ‘I can trust you, Kennedy.’

      Craig was evidently much impressed by the low tone and the manner of the detective, but said nothing.

      ‘They tell me Hastings was in town this morning, at your laboratory,’ went on Burke. ‘Too bad he didn’t take the time to call up his office. But he knows something now—that is, if he has that note I left for him.’

      ‘Why, what is that?’ chorused both Craig and I.

      Just then Hastings himself almost ran into the room as if his life depended on finding us.

      As he saw us he darted over to our corner.

      ‘You are Mr Burke, of the Secret Service?’ he queried as Burke nodded. ‘Kennedy, the safe in the office of Maddox Munitions in New York was robbed late last night or early this morning and the model of the telautomaton is stolen!’

       CHAPTER III

       THE CABARET DANCER

      WE could only stare from Burke to Hastings, startled at the magnitude of the affair as it developed so rapidly.

      For a moment Hastings was at a loss, then darted quickly into a telephone-booth to call up his office on long distance for confirmation of the news.

      As we waited I happened to glance out into the lobby. At the far end, in an angle, to my surprise I saw Shelby and Paquita. Evidently she had hovered about, waiting for a chance to find him alone, and had at last succeeded.

      Already Kennedy and Burke had seen them.

      Paquita was talking earnestly. Of course, we could not overhear what was said, and they were so placed that even if we moved closer to them they would be likely to see us. Still, from our corner we could observe without being observed.

      It seemed as if Paquita were making a desperate effort to attract Shelby, while, on his part, it was quite evident that he was endeavouring to get away.

      Paquita was indeed a fascinating figure. From what I had already observed, a score of the young fellows about the Harbour House would have given their eyes to have been in Shelby’s place. Why was he seeking so to avoid her? Was it that he did not dare to trust himself with the little dancer? Or was there some hold that she had over him which he feared?

      The interview had not proceeded long when Shelby deliberately seemed to excuse himself and walked away. Paquita looked after him as he hurried off, and I would have given much to have been close enough to observe her expression. Was it one of fury, of a woman scorned? At any rate, I would have wagered that it boded no good for Shelby.

      I turned to say something to Kennedy and found that he was looking in another direction. We were not the only observers. From a window outside on the porch the sallow-faced man was also watching. As Shelby walked away the man seemed to be very angry. Was it the anger of jealousy because Paquita was with Shelby or was it anger because Shelby had repulsed her advances? Who was the fellow and why was he so interested in the little dancer and the young millionaire?

      Hastings rejoined us from the telephone-booth, his face almost pale.

      ‘It’s a fact,’ he groaned. ‘They have been trying to reach me all day, but could not. The secret of the telautomaton stolen—the secret that is too terrible to be in the hands of anyone except the Government. How did you hear of it?’ he asked Burke.

      Burke answered slowly, watching the expression on Hastings’s face. ‘When the cashier of the company arrived at the office this morning he found the safe had been rifled. It seems an almost incomprehensible thing—as you will understand when you see it for yourself. The cashier telephoned at once to the Secret Service in the Custom-House, and I jumped out on the case. You did not go to your own office. I did a little hasty deduction—guessed that you might have gone to see Kennedy. At any rate I wanted to see him myself.’

      Kennedy interrupted long enough to tell about the revolver-shot and the attack on Hastings at our very door.

      ‘Whew!’ exclaimed Burke, ‘just missed you. Well,’ he added, with a dry sort of humour, ‘I missed you, too, and decided to come out here on the train. Kennedy, you must go back to town with me and look at that safe. How anybody could get into it is a mystery beyond me. But the telautomaton is gone. My orders are simple—get it back!’

      For a moment neither Kennedy nor Hastings spoke. It was most peculiar—the plans gone in Westport, the model gone in New York.

      ‘Who could have stolen