The Silent Bullet [107]
his inquiry, I did not for the moment care where we went but allowed him to take the lead.
We entered one of the fine apartments on the drive and rode up in the elevator. A door opened and, with a start, I found myself in the presence of Miss Guerrero again. The questioning look on her face recalled the object of our search, and its ill success so far. Why had Kennedy come back with so little to report?
"Have you heard anything" she asked eagerly.
"Not directly," replied Kennedy. "But I have a clue, at least. I believe that Torreon knows where your father is and will let you know any moment now. It is to his interest to clear himself before this scandal about the money becomes generally known. Would you allow me to search through your father's desk?"
For some moments Kennedy rummaged through the drawers and pigeonholes, silently.
"Where does the junta keep its arms stored--not in the meeting - place on South Street does it?" asked Kennedy at length.
"Not exactly; that would be a little too risky," she replied. "I believe they have a loft above the office, hired in someone else's name and not connected with the place down-stairs at all. My father and Senor Torreon are the only ones who have the keys. Why do you ask?"
"I ask," replied Craig, "because. I was wondering whether there might not be something that would take him down to South Street last night. It is the only place I can think of his going to at such a late hour, unless he has gone out of town. If we do not hear from Torreon soon I think I will try what. I can find down there. Ah, what is this?"
Kennedy drew forth a little silver box and opened it. Inside reposed a dozen mescal buttons.
We both looked quickly at Miss Guerrero, but it was quite evident that she was unacquainted with them.
She was about to ask what Kennedy had found when the telephone rang and the maid announced that Miss Guerrero was wanted by Senor Torreon.
A smile of gratification flitted over Kennedy's face as he leaned over to me and whispered: "It is evident that Torreon is anxious to clear himself. I'll wager he has done some rapid hustling since we left him."
"Perhaps this is some word about my father at last," murmured Miss Guerrero as she nervously hurried to the telephone, and answered, "Yes, this is Senorita Guerrero, Senor Torreon. You are at the office of the junta? Yes, yes, you have word from my father you went down there to-night expecting some guns to be delivered?--and you found him there--up-stairs in the loft--ill, did you say? --unconscious?"
In an instant her face was drawn and pale, and the receiver fell clattering to the hard-wood floor from her nerveless fingers.
"He is dead!" she gasped as she swayed backward and I caught her. With Kennedy's help I carried her, limp and unconscious, across the room, and placed her in a deep armchair. I stood at her side, but for the moment could only look on helplessly, blankly at the now stony beauty of her face.
"Some water, Juanita, quick!" I cried as soon as I had recovered from the shock. "Have you any smelling-salts or anything of that sort? Perhaps you can find a little brandy. Hurry."
While we were making her comfortable the telephone continued to tinkle.
"This is Kennedy," I heard Craig say, as Juanita came hurrying in with water, smelling-salts, and brandy. "You fool. She fainted. Why couldn't you break it to her gently? What's that address on South Street? You found him over the junta meeting-place in a loft? Yes, I understand. What were you doing down there? You went down expecting a shipment of arms and saw a light overhead I see--and suspecting something you entered with a policeman. You heard him move across the floor above and fall heavily? All right. Someone will be down directly. Ambulance surgeon has tried everything, you say? No heart action, no breathing? Sure. Very well. Let the body remain just where it is until I get down. Oh, wait. How long ago did it happen? Fifteen minutes? All right. Good-bye."
Such restoratives as we had found we applied faithfully. At last
We entered one of the fine apartments on the drive and rode up in the elevator. A door opened and, with a start, I found myself in the presence of Miss Guerrero again. The questioning look on her face recalled the object of our search, and its ill success so far. Why had Kennedy come back with so little to report?
"Have you heard anything" she asked eagerly.
"Not directly," replied Kennedy. "But I have a clue, at least. I believe that Torreon knows where your father is and will let you know any moment now. It is to his interest to clear himself before this scandal about the money becomes generally known. Would you allow me to search through your father's desk?"
For some moments Kennedy rummaged through the drawers and pigeonholes, silently.
"Where does the junta keep its arms stored--not in the meeting - place on South Street does it?" asked Kennedy at length.
"Not exactly; that would be a little too risky," she replied. "I believe they have a loft above the office, hired in someone else's name and not connected with the place down-stairs at all. My father and Senor Torreon are the only ones who have the keys. Why do you ask?"
"I ask," replied Craig, "because. I was wondering whether there might not be something that would take him down to South Street last night. It is the only place I can think of his going to at such a late hour, unless he has gone out of town. If we do not hear from Torreon soon I think I will try what. I can find down there. Ah, what is this?"
Kennedy drew forth a little silver box and opened it. Inside reposed a dozen mescal buttons.
We both looked quickly at Miss Guerrero, but it was quite evident that she was unacquainted with them.
She was about to ask what Kennedy had found when the telephone rang and the maid announced that Miss Guerrero was wanted by Senor Torreon.
A smile of gratification flitted over Kennedy's face as he leaned over to me and whispered: "It is evident that Torreon is anxious to clear himself. I'll wager he has done some rapid hustling since we left him."
"Perhaps this is some word about my father at last," murmured Miss Guerrero as she nervously hurried to the telephone, and answered, "Yes, this is Senorita Guerrero, Senor Torreon. You are at the office of the junta? Yes, yes, you have word from my father you went down there to-night expecting some guns to be delivered?--and you found him there--up-stairs in the loft--ill, did you say? --unconscious?"
In an instant her face was drawn and pale, and the receiver fell clattering to the hard-wood floor from her nerveless fingers.
"He is dead!" she gasped as she swayed backward and I caught her. With Kennedy's help I carried her, limp and unconscious, across the room, and placed her in a deep armchair. I stood at her side, but for the moment could only look on helplessly, blankly at the now stony beauty of her face.
"Some water, Juanita, quick!" I cried as soon as I had recovered from the shock. "Have you any smelling-salts or anything of that sort? Perhaps you can find a little brandy. Hurry."
While we were making her comfortable the telephone continued to tinkle.
"This is Kennedy," I heard Craig say, as Juanita came hurrying in with water, smelling-salts, and brandy. "You fool. She fainted. Why couldn't you break it to her gently? What's that address on South Street? You found him over the junta meeting-place in a loft? Yes, I understand. What were you doing down there? You went down expecting a shipment of arms and saw a light overhead I see--and suspecting something you entered with a policeman. You heard him move across the floor above and fall heavily? All right. Someone will be down directly. Ambulance surgeon has tried everything, you say? No heart action, no breathing? Sure. Very well. Let the body remain just where it is until I get down. Oh, wait. How long ago did it happen? Fifteen minutes? All right. Good-bye."
Such restoratives as we had found we applied faithfully. At last