Part 5

"Are not only the same under the skin, to you psychologists," I supplied, "but in the inner consciousness, too."

"I suppose so," he laughed.

I considered a moment. Was this all confirmation of the rumored relations between Vina Lathrop and Vail Wilford, as Doyle had dug the story up? I recalled the notations that Doctor Leslie had discovered on the desk calendar of Wilford about appointments with Vina and the contemplated divorce.

Had a new scandal been brewing and had the sensational press of the city been deprived of it by some untoward circumstance? At least they had no complaint. A greater piece of news had been created to take its place--a murder case which, now, bade fair to become the celebrated case of the season when it "broke," as they say.

"The reason I've spent so much time analyzing this new dream," Craig continued, "is that there's another very important thing in it--revealed in the hesitation and the changes, the gaps, and the additions. It helps us to reconstruct her inner life, as we could never have got it from herself, as she could never, even at this moment, construct it for herself.

"Into her life--into her dream life, too--there has come 'another woman.' I believe that it is really Vina Lathrop. She betrays it. I hate to admit that either Doyle or Leslie may be right--about anything. But, really, once in a while Doyle does stumble on something--without knowing even remotely how important the thing may be."

"I suppose also that that would account for Mrs. Lathrop's interest in us--and the case," I ventured. "When we were in the doctor's office I thought she was keenly alive to what we were doing and saying."

Kennedy nodded. "It remains to be proved, however. I knew I was on the right track when we visited Lathrop, as you say, and his wife made that remark about Honora. You see, intuitively she knows Honora. She knows her cold nature. Before we get through we shall have some interesting passages at arms between these two, if I am not mistaken. Already their intuitions have given each an estimate of the other. They are opposing lines--between the two, it is No Man's Land."

"Opposites--positive and negative," I tried to express it metaphorically. "And the wires are crossed. Oh, I know this will be a good case--it always is when there is conflict, like this, between two women."

"Speaking of crossed wires reminds me of the telephone," exclaimed Kennedy, energetically. "We need not be inactive just because our good friends, Leslie and Doyle, don't feed grist to our mill. I'm going to see that woman again."

Kennedy hunted up Doctor Lathrop's number in the book and called it.

"The doctor is out just now," answered a woman's voice. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Is this Mrs. Lathrop?" Craig asked.

I saw that she replied in the affirmative.

Kennedy deftly explained who we were and recalled our brief meeting of the morning.

"I'm greatly interested in the Wilford case," he hurried on. "I would like to talk to you about it. May I?"

There was a bit more of conversation, then he hung up with satisfaction.

"She did not welcome it," he reported. "Yet she could scarcely refuse to see us under the circumstances. I have made an appointment to meet her."

There was a noise at the door and I opened it upon Doyle, who entered, his face showing great perplexity.

"What seems to be on your mind. Doyle?" greeted Craig.

"Enough. We've been questioning the night watchman down at the building where Wilford's office is," he informed. "You remember the two glasses on the desk when they found him?"

Kennedy nodded.

"From them," continued Doyle, "I went on the assumption that somebody else had been there at the time. There _was_ a visitor.... We are convinced of it now. The fact is that the building is an old one, built before elevator days, not tall. One can walk up to the office of Wilford easily. People do. And the confounded watchman, a man they call Pete, confesses that he was off the job, at least part of the time, last night. There was plenty of chance for a visitor to have got in and got away."

"Who?" I asked.

Doyle shrugged.

"We can't find out--at least, we haven't found out."

"Was it a man or a woman?" asked Craig.

"We don't even know that," confessed Doyle, in despair. "That fellow Pete is a dub."

"How about your suspects?" prompted Kennedy. "You must have traces of their movements last night."

"I have. I have been questioning Celeste, the maid, for instance. She swears that Mrs. Wilford was at home in the apartment all the evening of the murder. The worst of it is, I can't prove yet that she wasn't. But just give me time--give me time. I'll get something on that maid yet."

I glanced significantly at Kennedy. He nodded back. His "Aussage test" had effectually disposed of any reliance that might be placed on what Celeste might say. However, Kennedy said nothing of that to Doyle. To have done so would have been to invite a tirade of laughter. The only way with Doyle was to let him go along his sweet way of being wrong--then let him in when we were right. Yet, I must say that I liked Doyle in his way, even if he was only a plugger.

"Another thing," brightened Doyle. "I'm getting a line on that business of Wilford's having his wife watched. You know, he did that. He hired a private detective to watch her. If I can get that fellow I may learn something. But that Celeste is clever. She sticks to it that her mistress wasn't out. We'll see if the detective knows when we find him."

"Where were Shattuck and Lathrop last night?" asked Craig, quickly.

"Shattuck has given a detailed account of his doings last night. I'll tell you better about him when it's verified. Doctor Lathrop had two cases that night, which kept him out late. I believe they are bona fide. So far there's been no flaw in either story. That's what perplexes me. I thought I was on the trail of something."

"And when you find yourself up against it, you come to me?"

"Don't get peeved, Kennedy," mollified Doyle, though he himself had winced at the telling thrust of Kennedy.

"What about Lathrop's wife, Vina?" asked Craig. "Is she clear for that night?"

"I hadn't thought much about her," confessed Doyle. "Want me to find out?"

"Never mind. I am going to see her soon. I'll attend to that."

VI

THE "OTHER WOMAN"

Vina Lathrop received us a few moments later with a question in her eyes. Yet she discreetly did not hint at it in anything she said.

I have said that she was a woman of quite opposite type from Honora. Like her, however, she was a woman of rare physical attraction. Yet it needed only a glance to see that men interested Vina, and in that respect she gave one a different impression from Honora. And I am quite sure, also, that few men could have withstood the spell of her interest if she chose to bestow it. There was, no doubt, much in her life that that accounted for.

"I've been thinking of what you said about Mrs. Wilford this morning," began Kennedy, after a few remarks that explained our interest in the case, without telling her anything that would put her too much on guard.

"My remark about Mrs. Wilford?" she repeated, naïvely.

"Yes. You remember when you were talking to Doctor Lathrop about the case, you said, 'I don't think that Honora is capable of either deep love or even deep hate'? I've been wondering just what you meant by it."

Vina seemed to be careful lest an unwary word might escape.

"Why, really," she murmured, as though feeling that the question called for an answer she did not wish to give. "I don't think that Honora--well--understood Vail Wilford, if you get what I mean. He was not difficult to understand. He would have been devoted to her--if only--"

She paused and stopped.

"If only what?"

"You wouldn't understand," she answered, quickly, shaking her head.

To me it seemed as though the implication she wished to convey was the usual specious refuge of the "other woman," when cornered, that it was she, not the wife, who really understood the man in the case.

"You see, I don't know Honora Wilford well," encouraged Kennedy. "I can't say that I do understand. I guess that's just it. I thought perhaps you might enlighten me."

Vina gave a pretty little shrug to her attractive shoulders, then leaned forward, as if suddenly deciding to become confidential with Craig.

"It's a long story," she replied. "I don't know how to tell it. Honora was like her father--in fact, her family are all the same--always seeking the main chance. You remember old Honore Chappelle? No? Out of even the business of an oculist he managed to make a tidy fortune. She was ambitious--ambitious in marriage, ambitious to get into 'society,' you know. Don't you see now what I mean? Besides, you know, daughters, they say, inherit from their fathers--and she seems to have been no exception. I think Mr. Wilford came to realize why it was she married him, only, of course, in such cases, it comes too late."

I set the remark down as that of a "catty" woman. Yet there was something to think about in it. For, at the time of Wilford's marriage, the young lawyer was already wealthy and in the smart set, while Vance Shattuck had not inherited the fortune of his uncle, who had often threatened to cut him off without a penny as a reward for his numerous escapades. There could be no doubt that, at the time, Wilford was the greater "catch" of the two.

As we talked with Vina about the death of Wilford, she spoke with ill-concealed emotion. I could not escape the impression that she seemed to be more deeply affected by it than even Honora herself had been. Was it due to her more emotional nature?

I would have thought it strange, even though Kennedy had not already surmised from his psychanalysis of Honora that Vina was the "other woman" in the case.

It was apparent that, whatever might be Vina's own story, she reacted sharply against the very type of woman that Honora was. There was plainly some rivalry between them, some point of contact at which there had been friction. It was most assuredly Kennedy's job to find out what that was.

"I don't know whether you are aware," he suggested, taking a slightly different angle, "but in Mr. Wilford's office they found evidence that you yourself were preparing a divorce suit."

The transition from Honora to herself was sudden. Yet Vina did not seem confused by it. She did not deny it, or even attempt to deny it. Perhaps she realized that it was of no use, that her best defense was, as the lawyers would say, confession and avoidance.

"Oh," she replied, airily, "the suit was never started, you know--just talked about."

I could not but wonder at her callousness. Evidently this woman was of a type all too common in a certain stratum of society, to whom marriage is a career to be entered into either for the sake of bettering oneself or for the sake of variety.

"What, may I ask, were the grounds?" probed Kennedy, growing bolder as he saw how frankly she elected to discuss the subject when cornered.

She colored a bit, as she strove to decide whether to get angry or to answer, then chose the latter course.

"Incompatibility, I suppose you would call it--at least that's what I call it. I believe every woman should live her own life as she sees fit. I hadn't even decided what state I would acquire residence in, in order to bring the suit, if I decided to go on with it. Nothing was settled, you know."

"And now you are going to--?" inquired Kennedy, stopping to let her fill out the answer.

"Drop it, of course," she supplied. "I suppose the doctor and I shall continue to agree to disagree."

"Had Mrs. Wilford contemplated similar action on her part, do you think?"

Vina avoided answering, but Kennedy pressed for a reply, asserting that Vail Wilford must have given some hint of it, either by his words or actions.

"I don't know," she repeated, firmly.

"Did she know of your--er--acquaintance with Mr. Wilford?"

If looks had been poisonous, Kennedy must have been inoculated with venom right there. He paid no attention to her scornful glances as, again, there was no avoidance of an answer, no matter how much she tried.

"Why do you think you know so much?" Vina veiled her sarcastic reply.

"Mrs. Wilford had been having her husband watched, I learn," prodded Kennedy, with brutal directness.

I glanced covertly over at him. Doyle had told us Wilford was watching his wife. But no one, as I recalled, had given us an inkling of a reverse state of affairs. I realized that Kennedy had made it up out of whole cloth. He was trying it out to see its effect. At any rate, there was nothing unreasonable about it. It might have been true, whether it actually was or not.

For a moment Vina was sorely tried to hold back a quick reply. Then she shrugged again.

"Most women of the sort have to do that," she snapped.

It was a mean remark, besides being glaringly untrue, except in the limited ken of certain New-Yorkese women. Moreover, I saw that Kennedy had slipped past her guard. Each sentence she replied betrayed the keen feeling between the two.

Kennedy seemed to be observing Vina as he might a strange element in a chemical reaction. On her part she seemed intuitively to recognize that there was a challenge to her in Craig's very personality.

Arts which she might have tried with success on another seemed not to impress this man. He seemed to penetrate the defenses which she had against most men. And I could not help seeing that she was piqued by it.

While they were fencing in their verbal duel, Craig had casually drawn a pencil from his pocket. A moment later I saw that he had begun scribbling some figures, apparently aimlessly, on a piece of paper.

From where I was sitting beside him I could see that he had written something like this:

5183 47395 654726 2964375 47293825 924783651 2146063859

For some time he regarded the figures that he had written as the conversation went on.

"Here's a little puzzle," he remarked, offhand, breaking into the chat. "Did you ever try it?"

Vina looked at him in surprise at this unexpected turn of the conversation. I am sure that she was in doubt as to the man's sanity. However, there was a certain relief in the new turn of the conversation. At least he was not treading on the dangerous ground which he had trod upon.

"Er--no," she answered, doubtfully. "That is--I don't know what you mean. What are the numbers?"

"Oh, it's nothing much," he disarmed. "It's simply a matter of seeing whether a person can repeat numbers. I've found it rather interesting at times."

Without waiting for either comment or excuse from her he said, quickly: "For instance, take the first one--five, one, eight, three. See if you can repeat that."

"Of course--five, one, eight, three," she replied, mechanically.

"Fine--four, seven, three, nine, five," came in rapid succession.

To it she replied, perhaps a little slower than before, "Why, four, seven, three, nine, five."

"Good! Now, six, five, four, seven, two, six."

"Er--six, five, four, seven, two, six," she repeated, I thought, with some hesitation.

"Again--two, nine, six, four, three, seven, five," he shot out.

"Two, nine, six"--she hesitated--"four, three, seven, five."

"Try again--four, seven, two, nine, three, eight, two, five," he read.

"Four--two--seven," she returned, slowly, then stopped, "three--nine--what was the next one?--er--two--two--"

It was evident that she was hopelessly muddled. It was not because she had not tried, for the diversion had come as a welcome relief from the quizzing on delicate subjects and she had seized upon it. She had reached the limit.

Kennedy had smiled and was about to go on, although it was evident that it was useless, when there was a noise in the hall, as though some one had been admitted by the maid and had entered. It seemed to be a man's voice that I heard and I wondered whether it was Doctor Lathrop himself.

A moment later the door opened and disclosed, to my astonishment, not Lathrop, but Shattuck.

If he was embarrassed at finding us there he did not betray it in the least. Quite the contrary. He greeted Vina Lathrop cordially, then turned to us.

"Oh, by the way," he began, "you're just the man I wanted to see, Kennedy."

I thought that there was a note of indignant protest in his voice as he said it, then, before Kennedy could make reply, went on, rapidly: "About Mrs. Wilford--it's an outrage. Doyle and McCabe and the rest of that precious crew are thugs--thugs. I called there to express my sympathy. Of course she couldn't say much--but I have eyes. I could see much, without being told. There she is, harassed and hounded and practically a prisoner in that place--no one to go to--her husband foully murdered--at least that's what _they_ say. I don't know. She's spied on, listened to--I tell you, it's a shame. They're driving that poor woman insane--nothing short of it."

Shattuck was evidently genuinely angry and, indeed, I felt that he was making a good case of it. I looked toward Vina. She merely tossed her head. Evidently she was piqued that Shattuck should think so much of "that woman," as she doubtlessly would have liked to refer to her.

I wondered what might have been the connection between Vina and Shattuck, and determined to watch. More than that, I wondered what could be his purpose in bringing up the name of Honora before Vina. Had he a reason?

"Did you finally sell the stock?" inquired Vina of him, abruptly, as though wishing to change the subject.

"Of course," he returned. "Only to complete the thing you will have to indorse this paper," he added, drawing a document from his pocket for her to sign.

I wondered whether this reference to a business transaction was a blind to make us believe their relations were merely those of a broker and client.

Shattuck excused himself to us while Vina signed with his fountain-pen and as they talked in a low tone I saw that she was appealing to him with all her feminine arts.

Was Shattuck proof? Or was he dissembling so as not to betray anything to us? I remembered the old gossip about Shattuck. Was he still woman-crazy? Had Vail Wilford stood in his way with both women? It was a queer tangle at best. Anything, I felt, might prove to be the case.

At any rate, I was sure that the transaction covered their embarrassment at meeting us. More than that, it convinced me that there was some connection between Shattuck and Vina all along. I had wondered whether it had been she who had telephoned to him while we were at his place that morning. I had not thought of the possibility at the time. But now I was sure of it.

Kennedy rose to go, and at the same moment Shattuck also excused himself. We departed, leaving Vina, I am positive, still all at sea as to the purpose of our visit.

We departed, and at the street corner stood talking for a moment with Shattuck. Again, as though taking the thing up just where he had left it off, he complained about the shame of the persecution of Honora.

Kennedy was non-committal, as indeed he was forced to be over Doyle's work, and after promising nothing, we parted.

In fact, Craig said very little even to me as we started around the corner for the laboratory.

"What was all that rigmarole of the numbers?" I inquired, finally, my curiosity getting the better of me, as we entered the Chemistry Building and Craig turned the key in the lock of his private laboratory, admitting us.

"Part of the Binet test," he answered. "It is seeing how many digits one can remember. You're not acquainted with the test? It's used commonly in schools and in many ways. Well, an adult ought to remember eight to ten digits, in any order. A child cannot, ordinarily. Between these, there are all grades. In this case, I do not think we have to deal with a mentality quite up to the intellectual standard."

"It's well Vina Lathrop isn't here to hear you say it," I commented.

Kennedy smiled. "True, nevertheless, whatever outward looks may show. To tell you the truth, Walter, here we have to deal with two quite opposite types of women. One, intellectual, as we know, does not yet know what love really is. In the other I fancy I see a wild, demi-mondaine instinct that slumbers at the back of her mind, all unknown to herself. She knows well what love is--too well. She has had many experiences and is always seeking others--perhaps the supreme experience."

He paused a moment, then added, estimating: "Vina is beautiful, yet without the brain that Honora has. She is all woman--physical woman. That was what probably attracted Wilford, what she meant by saying that I wouldn't understand, although I did. In Wilford's case it may have been the reaction from the intellectual woman. She knows that power which her physical charms give her over men; Honora does not--yet."

"But, Craig," I remonstrated, "you do not mean to tell me that you believe that you could sit here in a laboratory and analyze love as if it were a chemical in a test-tube."

"Why not?" he replied. "Love is nothing but a scientific fact--after all."

"Then explain it."

He shrugged. "True, you ask me to explain love and I must tell you that I cannot. For the moment it looks as though you had me beaten. But think a moment. I cannot tell you why a stone falls or a Morse signal flashes over a wire. Still, they do. We know there is a law of gravitation, that electricity exists. We see the effects gravity and electricity produce. We study them. We name them--though we do not understand them. You would not say they were not scientific facts just because I cannot explain them."

I nodded, catching his idea.

"So with love," he went on. "We know that there is an attraction--that is a scientific fact, isn't it?--which two people feel for each other. Society may have set up certain external standards. But love knows nothing of them. Our education has taught us to respect them. But above this veneer every now and then crop out impulses, the repulsions and attractions which nature, millions of years back, implanted in human hearts as humanity developed. They have been handed down. Yes, Walter, I know nothing more interesting than to put this thing we call love under the microscope, as it were, and dissect it."

I regarded Craig with amazement. Was he inhuman? Had he suddenly taken leave of his senses?

"You mean it?" I queried. "Really?"

"Certainly."

"Why, Craig," I exclaimed, "some day you, too, will meet your fate--you, the cold, calm, calculating man of science who sits here so detached, analyzing other people's emotions!"

"Perhaps," he nodded, absently.

"Like as not she will be some fluffy little creature from the Midnight Frolic," I added, sarcastically. "It would be poetic justice if she were. And what a life she would lead you--with your confounded microscope and your test-tubes!"

Kennedy smiled indulgently. "If it should be the case," he replied, coolly, "it would only prove my theory. It's very simple. Two atoms are attracted like the electrically charged pith-balls--or repulsed. In love very often like repels like and attracts unlike--the old law, you know, as you saw it in the physics laboratory. We see it in this case, with these very people. All your fine-spun theories and traditions of society and law do not count for the weight of a spider thread against nature. That is precisely what I mean by my theory. We are concerned with deep fundamental human forces."

"You talk as though you had been reading some of the continental writers," I remarked.