FullReads

“Petzka?” I repeated involuntarily.

“Yes,” said Burke, in surprise, “do you know anything about him?”

I turned to Kennedy.

“Not much,” replied Craig. “But you can find out about him, I think, through his wife. He used to be one of my students. Here’s her address. She’s very anxious to hear from him. I’m sure that if you have any news she will be only too glad to receive it.”

Burke took the address and a little while later we went ashore.

I was not surprised when Kennedy proposed, as the next move, to revisit the cellar in the apartment next to Gaskell’s house. But I was surprised at what he said, after we had reached the place.

All along I had supposed that he was planning to wait there in hope of catching the person who had installed the detectaphone. That, of course, was a possibility, still. But in reality he had another purpose, also.

We had scarcely secreted ourselves in the cellar storeroom, which was in a dark corner where one might remain unobserved even if the janitor entered the cellar, provided he did not search that part, when Kennedy took the receiving headpiece of the detectaphone and placed it over his head, quite as if nothing had happened.

“What’s the use of that?” I queried. “You ripped the transmitter out up above.”

He smiled quietly. “While my back was turned toward you, so that you couldn’t see,” he said, “I slipped the thing back again, only down further where Gaskell wouldn’t be likely to find it, even if he looked. I don’t know whether he was frank with us, so I thought I’d try the eavesdropping game myself, in place of the man who put this thing in in the first place, whoever he was.”

We took turns listening, but could hear not a sound. Nor did anyone come into the cellar.

So a good part of the afternoon passed, apparently fruitless.

My patience was thoroughly exhausted when, suddenly, a motion from Craig revived my flagging interest. I waited impatiently for him to tell me what it was that he heard.

“What was it?” I asked finally as he pulled the receivers off his head and stood for a moment, considering.

“At first I heard the sound of voices,” he answered quickly. “One was the voice of a woman, which I recognized. It was the Countess. The other was the Count.

“‘Giulia,’ I heard him say, as they entered the room, ‘I don’t see why you should want to go. It’s dangerous. And besides, it’s none of our business if your father lets his yacht be used for such a purpose.’

“‘But I want to go, Alex,’ she said. ‘I will go. I’m a good sailor. It’s father’s yacht. He won’t care.’

“‘But what’s the use?’ he expostulated. ‘Besides–think of the danger. If it was our business, it might be different.’

“‘I should think you’d want to go.’

“‘Not I. I can get all the excitement I want in a motor-boat race without risking my precious neck pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for someone else.’

“‘Well, I want the adventure,’ she persisted, petulantly.

“‘But, Giulia, if you go tonight, think of the risk–‘

“That was the last I heard as they left the room, still arguing. Evidently, someone is going to pull off something tonight.”

It did not take Kennedy long to make up his mind what to do next. He left the cellar hurriedly and in the laboratory hastily fixed up a second heavy and bulky package similar to that which he had taken down to the revenue cutter earlier in the day, making it into two parcels so as to distribute the burden between us.

That night we journeyed out to Oceanhurst again. Avoiding the regular road, we made our way from the station to the Gaskell place by a roundabout path and it was quite dark by the time we got there.

As we approached the basin we saw that there were several men about. They appeared to be on guard, but since Oceanhurst at that season of the year was pretty deserted and the Gaskell estate was out of the town, they were not especially vigilant.