The Treasure-Train Part 43

Most of the tourists were sightseeing, and, while we had no time for that, still we could not help doing so, in going about the town.

Charlotte Amalie, I may say, proved to be one of the most picturesque towns in the Windward Islands. The walls of the houses were mostly of a dazzling whiteness, though some were yellow, others gray, orange, blue.

But the roofs were all of a generous bright red which showed up very effectively among the clumps of green trees. Indeed, the town seemed to be one of gaily tinted villas and palaces. There were no factories, no slums. Nature had provided against that and man had not violated the provision.

The people whom we met on the streets were mostly negroes, though there was a fair sprinkling of whites. What pleased us most was that nearly everywhere we went English was spoken. I had half expected Danish. But there was even very little Spanish spoken.

Burke was waiting for us, and in spite of his playing the role of traveling salesman managed to direct us about so that we might as quickly as possible pick up the thread of the mysterious death of Dwight. It did not take long to gather such meager information as there was about the autopsy that had followed the strange death of Sydney's predecessor.

We were able to find out little from either the authorities or the doctor who had investigated the case. Under the stress of suspicion, both the stomach and the contents of the stomach of the unfortunate man had been examined. No trace of anything out of the way had been found, and there the matter had rested, except for suspicion.

One of our first visits was to the American consulate. There Sydney, by virtue of his special commission, had, with characteristic energy, established himself with the consul. Naturally, he, too, had been making inquiries. But they had led nowhere. There seemed to be no clue to the mysterious death of Dwight, not even a hint as to the cause.

All that we were able to discover, after some hours of patient inquiry, was that Dwight had suffered from great prostration, marked cyanosis, convulsions, and coma. Whether it was the result of some strange disease or of a poison no one, not even the doctor, was prepared to say. All that was known was that the blow, if blow it had been, was swift, sudden, sure.

We ran across Whitson once or twice during the day, busily engaged renewing acquaintance with merchants and planters whom he had known before, but I do not recall having seen either Burleigh or Leontine, which, at the time, I thought rather strange, for the town was small and strangers were few. The more I thought of it the more firmly convinced I was that Dwight had discovered some secret which it was extremely inconvenient for somebody to have known. What was it? Was it connected with the rumors we had heard of gun-running to Mexico?

Erickson had invited us to come late in the afternoon to the dinner and we did not delay in getting there. His house proved to be a veritable palace on the side of one of the hills rising abruptly back of the sh.o.r.e. Flights of ma.s.sive stone steps, quaint walls covered with creepers, bal.u.s.trades overlooking charming gardens, arcades from which one looked out on splendid vistas and shady terraces combined to make it a veritable paradise such as can be found only in tropical and subtropical lands. Most wonderful of all was the picture of the other hills unfolded, especially of the two ruined pirates' castles belonging to semi-mythical personages, Bluebeard and Blackbeard.

The Ericksons were proud of their home, as well they might be, in spite of the complaints we had heard Nanette utter and the efforts of Erickson to sell his holdings. Mrs. Erickson proved to be a charming hostess and the host extended a hospitality such as one rarely meets.

It quite made me uncomfortable to accept it at the same time that I knew we must view it all with suspicion. Nor did it make matters any better, but rather worse, to feel that there was some color of excuse for the suspicion.

Burleigh arrived proudly with Leontine, followed closely by Sydney. At once the game was on again, Leontine pitting one against the other.

Whitson came, his attentions to Mrs. Erickson a trifle restrained, but still obvious. Burke and ourselves completed the party.

To the repeated urging of Erickson we made ourselves quite as much at home as we politely could. Kennedy and Burke, acting under his instructions, seemed to be ubiquitous. Yet, beyond a continuation of the drama that had been unfolded on the s.h.i.+p it did not seem to me at first that we were getting anywhere.

Kennedy and I were pa.s.sing alone along a colonnade that opened off from the large dining-hall, when Craig paused and looked in through an open door at the ma.s.sive table set for the dinner.

A servant had just completed setting out c.o.c.ktails at the various places, pouring them from a huge tankard, for the purpose, which had been standing on a sideboard. Guests had been walking past through the colonnade ever since we arrived, but at the moment there was no one about, and even the servant had disappeared.

Kennedy stepped lightly into the dining-hall and looked about sharply.

Instinctively I stepped to a window where I could hear any one approaching. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him narrowly scrutinizing the table. Finally he pulled from his pocket a clean linen handkerchief. Into an empty gla.s.s he poured the contents of one of the c.o.c.ktail-gla.s.ses, straining the liquid through the handkerchief. Then he poured the filtrate, if I may call it such, back into the original gla.s.s. A second he treated in the same way, and a third. He had nearly completed the round of the table when I heard a light step.

My warning came only just in time. It was Burleigh. He saw us standing now in the colonnade, made some hasty remark, then walked on, as if in search for some one. Had it been interest in Leontine or in the dining-room that had drawn him thither?

Kennedy was now looking closely at the handkerchief, and I looked also.

In the gla.s.ses had been innumerable little seeds as if from the fruit juice used in concocting the appetizer. The fine meshes of the linen had extracted them. What were they?

I took one in my fingers and crushed it between my nails. There was an unmistakable odor of bitter almonds. What did it mean?

We had no time now for speculation. Our prolonged absence might be noticed and we hastened to join the other guests after finis.h.i.+ng the round of gla.s.ses in which he had been interrupted.

How, in my suppressed excitement, I managed to get through that dinner I do not know. It was a brilliant affair, yet I found that I had completely lost my appet.i.te, as well one might after having observed Kennedy's sleuthing.

However, the dinner progressed, though each course that brought it nearer a conclusion afforded me an air of relief. I was quite ready when, over the coffee, Kennedy contrived to make some excuse for us, promising to call again and perhaps to visit the Erickson plantation.

In the secrecy of our room in the little hotel, Craig was soon deeply buried in making use of his traveling laboratory. As he worked I could no longer restrain my impatience. "What about that little bottle of keratin?" I asked, eagerly.

"Oh yes," he replied, not looking up from the tests he was making.

"Well, keratin, you know, is also called epidermose. It is a scleroprotein present largely in cuticular structures such as hair, nails, horn. I believe it is usually prepared from pieces of horn steeped in pepsin, hydrochloric acid, and water for a long time. Then the residue is dissolved in ammonia and acetic acid."

"But what's its use?" I demanded. "You said it was harmless."

"Why, the pepsin of the stomach won't digest it," he returned. "For that reason its chief use is for coating what are known as 'enteric capsules.' Anything coated with keratin is carried on through the stomach into the intestines. It is used much in hot countries in order to introduce drugs into the intestines in the treatment of the tropical diseases that affect the intestines." He paused and devoted his entire attention to his work, but he had told me enough to a.s.sure me that at least the bottle of keratin I had found had proved to be a clue.

I waited as long as I could, then interrupted again. "What are the seeds?" I queried. "Have you found out yet?"

He paused as though he had not quite finished his hasty investigation, yet had found out enough to convince him. "There seem to be two kinds.

I wish I had had time to keep each lot separate. Some of them are certainly quite harmless. But there are others, I find, that have been soaked in nitro-benzol, artificial oil of bitter almonds. Even a few drops, such as might be soaked up in this way, might be fatal. The new and interesting phase, to me, is that they were all carefully coated with keratin. Really, they are keratin-coated enteric capsules of nitro-benzol, a deadly poison."

I looked at him, aghast at what some of us had been rescued from by his prompt action.

"You see," he went on, excitedly, "that is why the autopsies probably showed nothing. These doctors down here sought for a poison in the stomach. But if the poison had been in the stomach the odor alone would have betrayed it. You smelt it when you crushed a seed. But the poisoning had been devised to avoid just that chance of discovery.

There was no poison in the stomach. Death was delayed long enough, also, to divert suspicion from the real poisoner. Some one has been diabolically clever in covering up the crimes."

I could only gasp my amazement. "Then," I blurted out, "you think the Ericksons--"

Our door burst open. It was Burke, in wild excitement.

"Has anybody--died?" I managed to demand.

He seemed not to hear, but dashed to the window and threw it open.

"Look!" he exclaimed.

We did. In the late twilight, through the open sash we could see the landlocked basin of the harbor. But it was not that at which Burke pointed. On the horizon an ugly dark cloud rose menacingly. In the strange, unearthly murkiness, I could see people of the town pouring out into the narrow streets, wildly, fearfully, with frantic cries and gesticulations.

For a moment I gazed at the sight blankly. Then I realized that sweeping on us was one of those sudden, deadly West-Indian hurricanes.

Our harbor was sheltered from the north and east winds. But this wind was southern born, rare, oncoming in a fury against which we had no protection.

Hastily closing his armamentarium, Kennedy also hurried out on the street. The gale had become terrific already in the few minutes that had elapsed. From our terrace we could see the water, gray and olive, with huge white breakers, like gnas.h.i.+ng teeth, coming on to rend and tear everything in their path. It was as though we stood in an amphitheater provided by nature for a great spectacle, the bold headlands standing out like the curves of a stadium.

I looked about. The Ericksons had just driven up with Burleigh and Leontine, as well as Whitson, all of whom were stopping at our hotel, and were about to take Sydney on to the consulate when the approach of the storm warned them to stay.

Leontine had hurried into the hotel, evidently fearful of the loss of something she treasured, and the rest were standing apart from the trees and buildings, where the formation of the land offered some protection. As we joined them I peered at the pale faces in the ghastly, unnatural light. Was it, in a sense, retribution?

Suddenly, without further warning, the storm broke. Trees were turned up by roots, like weeds, the buildings rocked as if they had been houses of cards. It was a wild, catastrophic spectacle.

"Leontine," I heard a voice mutter by my side, as a form catapulted itself past through the murkiness into the crazily swaying hotel. It was Burleigh. I turned to speak to Kennedy. He was gone. Where to find him I had no idea. The force of the wind was such that search was impossible. All we could do was to huddle back of such protection as the earth afforded against the million needles of rain that cut into our faces.

The wind almost blew me flat to the earth as, no longer able to stand the suspense, I stumbled toward the hotel, thinking perhaps he had gone to save his armamentarium, although if I had stopped to think I should have realized that that strong box was about the safest piece of property on the island.

I was literally picked up and hurled against an object in the darkness--a man. "In the room--more keratin--more seeds."

It was Kennedy. He had taken advantage of the confusion to make a search which otherwise might have been more difficult. Together we struggled back to our shelter.

Just then came a crash, as the hotel crumpled under the fierce stress of the storm. Out of the doorway struggled a figure just in time to clear the falling walls. It was Burleigh, a huge gash from a beam streaming blood down his forehead which the rain washed away almost as it oozed. In his arms, clinging about his neck, was Leontine, no longer the sophisticated, but in the face of this primeval danger just a woman. Burleigh staggered with his burden a little apart from us, and in spite of everything I could fancy him blessing the storm that had given him his opportunity.

Far from abating, the storm seemed increasing in fury, as though all the devils of the underworld were vexed at anything remaining undestroyed. It seemed as if even the hills on which the old pirates had once had their castles must be rocking.