“Yesterday I found that anaerobe cultures were being received by some one in the Belleclaire, and—­”

“They were stolen from me.  Some one must have got into my office, where I was studying them.”  Doctor Gavira had pressed forward earnestly, but Craig did not pause again.

“Who were these agents sent over to wage this secret war at any cost?” he repeated.  “One of them, I know now, fell in love with the daughter of the man against whom he was to plot.”  Marjorie cast a furtive glance at Fitzhugh.

“Love has saved him.  But the other?  To whom do these deadly germs point?  Who dum-dummed and poisoned the bullet?  Whose own fingers, in spite of antiseptics and manicures, point inexorably to a guilty self?”

Rae Melzer could restrain herself no longer.  She was looking at the file and brush, as if with a hideous fascination.  “They are mine—­you took them,” she cried, impulsively.  “It was she—­always having her nails manicured—­she who had been there just before—­ she—­Alma Hillman!”

XI

THE GUN-RUNNER

“With the treaty ratified, if the deal goes through we’ll all be rich.”

Something about the remark which rose over the babel of voices arrested Kennedy’s attention.  For one thing, it was a woman’s voice, and it was not the sort of remark to be expected from a woman, at least not in such a place.

Craig had been working pretty hard and began to show the strain.  We had taken an evening off and now had dropped in after the theater at the Burridge, one of the most frequented midnight resorts on Broadway.

At the table next to us—­and the tables at the Burridge were so close that one almost rubbed elbows with those at the next—­sat a party of four, two ladies in evening gowns and two men in immaculate black and white.

“I hope you are right, Leontine,” returned one of the men, with an English accent.  “The natural place for the islands is under the American flag, anyway.”

“Yes,” put in the other; “the people have voted for it before.  They want it.”

It was at the time that the American and Danish governments were negotiating about the transfer of the Danish West Indies, and quite evidently they were discussing the islands.  The last speaker seemed to be a Dane, but the woman with him, evidently his wife, was not.  It was a curious group, worth more than a passing glance.  For a moment Craig watched them closely.

“That woman in blue,” he whispered, “is a typical promoter.”

I recognized the type which is becoming increasingly frequent in Wall Street as the competition in financial affairs grows keener and women enter business and professional life.

There were plenty of other types in the brilliantly lighted dining-room, and we did not dwell long on the study of our neighbors.  A few moments later Kennedy left me and was visiting another table.  It was a habit of his, for he had hundreds of friends and acquaintances, and the Burridge was the place to which every one came.