Kennedy was especially thoughtful as he told over the facts of the case in his mind."Of course," he remarked, " Mademoiselle Gabrielle wasn't an actress.But we can't deny that she had very little that would justify Herndon in holding her, unless he simply wants a newspaper row.""But I thought Pierre was quite intimate with her at first," Iventured."That was a dirty trick of his."Craig laughed."You mean an old one.That was simply a blind, to divert attention from himself.I suspect they talked that over between themselves for days before."It was plainly more perplexing than ever.What had happened? Had Pierre been a prestidigitator and had he merely said presto when our backs were turned and whisked the goods invisibly into the country? I could find no explanation for the little drama on the pier.If Herndon's men had any genius in detecting smuggling, their professional opponent certainly had greater genius in perpetrating it.
We did not see Herndon again until after a hasty luncheon.He was in his office and inclined to take a pessimistic view of the whole affair.He brightened up when a telephone message came in from one of his shadows.The men trailing Pierre and Mademoiselle Gabrielle had crossed trails and run together at a little French restaurant on the lower West Side, where Pierre, Lang, and Mademoiselle Gabrielle had met and were dining in a most friendly spirit.
Kennedy was right.She had been merely a cog in the machinery of the plot.
The man reported that even when a newsboy had been sent in by him with the afternoon papers displaying in big headlines the mystery of the death of Mademoiselle Violette, they had paid no attention.
It seemed evident that whatever the fate of the little modiste, Mademoiselle Gabrielle had quite replaced her in the affections of Pierre.There was nothing for us to do but to separate and await developments.
It was late in the afternoon when Craig and I received a hurried message from Herndon.One of his men had just called him up over long distance from Riverledge.The party had left the restaurant hurriedly, and though they had taken the only taxicab in sight he had been able to follow them in time to find out that they were going up to Riverledge.They were now preparing to go out for a sail in one of Lang's motor-boats and he would be unable, of course, to follow them further.
For the remainder of the afternoon Kennedy remained pondering the case.At last an idea seemed to dawn on him.He found Herndon still at his office and made an appointment to meet on the waterfront near La Montaigne's pier, after dinner.The change in Kennedy's spirits was obvious, though it did not in the least enlighten my curiosity.Even after a dinner which was lengthened out considerably, I thought, I did not get appreciably nearer a solution, for we strolled over to the laboratory, where Craig loaded me down with a huge package which was wrapped up in heavy paper.
We arrived on the corner opposite the wharf just as it was growing dusk.The neighbourhood did not appeal to me at night, and even though there were two of us I was rather glad when we met Herndon, who was waiting in the shadow of a fruit stall.
But instead of proceeding across to the pier by the side of which La Montaigne was moored, we cut across the wide street and turned down the next pier, where a couple of freighters were lying.The odour of salt water, sewage, rotting wood, and the night air was not inspiring.Nevertheless I was now carried away with the strangeness of our adventure.
Halfway down the pier Kennedy paused before one of the gangways that was shrouded in darkness.The door was opened and we followed gingerly across the dirty deck of the freight ship.Below we could hear the water lapping the piles of the pier.Across a dark abyss lay the grim monster La Montaigne with here and there a light gleaming on one of her decks.The sounds of the city seemed miles away.
"What a fine place for a murder," laughed Kennedy coolly.He was unwrapping the package which he had taken from me.It proved to be a huge reflector in front of which was placed a little arrangement which, under the light of a shaded lantern carried by Herndon, looked like a coil of wire of some kind.
To the back of the reflector Craig attached two other flexible wires which led to a couple of dry cells and a cylinder with a broadened end, made of vulcanised rubber.It might have been a telephone receiver, for all I could tell in the darkness.
While I was still speculating on the possible use of the enormous parabolic reflector, a slight commotion on the opposite side of the pier distracted my attention.A ship was coming in and was being carefully and quietly berthed alongside the other big iron freighter on that side.Herndon had left us.
"The Mohican is here," he remarked as he rejoined us.To my look of inquiry he added, "The revenue cutter."Kennedy had now finished and had pointed the reflector full at La Montaigne.With a whispered hasty word of caution and advice to Herndon, he drew me along with him down the wharf again.
At the little door which was cut in the barrier guarding the shore end of La Montaigne's wharf Kennedy stopped.The customs service night watchman - there is always a watchman of some kind aboard every ship, passenger or freighter, all the time she is in port -seemed to understand, for he admitted us after a word with Kennedy.
Threading our way carefully among the boxes, and bales, and crates which were piled high, we proceeded down the wharf.Under the electric lights the longshoremen were working feverishly, for the unloading and loading of a giant transAtlantic vessel in the rush season is a long and tedious process at best, requiring night work and overtime, for every moment, like every cubic foot of space, counts.
Once within the door, however, no one paid much attention to us.
They seemed to take it for granted that we had some right there.
