The plan seemed admirable to me. In fact, I had been longing for some action of the sort all the afternoon, while Kennedy had been engaged in the studies which he evidently deemed more important.
Accordingly, after dinner, we separated, Kennedy going back to the Forum Apartments to wait until Kato left for the night, while I walked farther up the Drive to the address given in the directory as that of Doctor Aitken.
It happened to be the time when the doctor had his office hours for patients, so that I was sure at least that he was at home when I took my station just down the street, carefully scrutinizing every one who entered and left his house.
Nothing happened, however, until the end of the hour during which he received office calls. As I glanced down the street I was glad that I had taken an inconspicuous post, for I could see Miss Langdale approaching. She was not in her nurse’s uniform, but seemed to be off duty for an hour or two, and I must confess she was a striking figure, even in that neighborhood which was noted for its pretty and daintily gowned girls. Almost before I knew it she had entered the English-basement entrance of Doctor Aitken’s.
I thought rapidly. What could be the purpose of her visit? Above all, how was I, on the outside, to find out? I walked down past the house. But that did no good. In a quandary, I stopped. Hesitation would get me nothing. Suddenly an idea flashed through my mind. I turned in and rang the bell.
“It’s past the doctor’s office hours,” informed a servant who opened the door. “He sees no one after hours.”
“But,” I lied, “I have an appointment. Don’t disturb him. I can wait.”
The waiting-room was empty, I had seen, and I was determined to get in at any cost. Reluctantly the servant admitted me.
For several moments I sat quietly alone, fearful that the doctor might open the double doors of his office and discover me. But nothing happened and I grew bolder. Carefully I tiptoed to the door. It was of solid oak and practically impervious to sound. The doors fitted closely, too. Still, by applying my ear, I could make out the sound of voices on the other side. I strained my ears both to catch a word now and then and to be sure that I might hear the approach of anybody outside.
Was Aitken suspiciously interested in the pretty nurse—or was she suspiciously interested in him?
Suddenly their voices became a trifle more distinct. “Then you think Doctor Wardlaw has it, too?” I heard her ask. I did not catch the exact reply, but it was in the affirmative.
They were approaching the door. In a moment it would be opened. I waited to hear no more, but seized my hat and dashed for the entrance from the street just in time to escape observation. Miss Langdale came out shortly, the doctor accompanying her to the door, and I followed her back to the Forum.
What I had heard only added to the puzzle. Why her anxiety to know whether Wardlaw himself was affected? Why Aitken’s solicitude in asserting that he was? Were they working together, or were they really opposed? Which might be using the other?
My queries still unanswered, I returned to Aitken’s and waited about some time, but nothing happened, and finally I went on to our own apartment.
It was very late when Craig came in, but I was still awake and waiting for him. Before I could ask him a question he was drawing from me what I had observed, listening attentively. Evidently he considered it of great importance, though no remark of his betrayed what interpretation he put on the episode.
“Have you found anything?” I managed to ask, finally.
“Yes, indeed,” he nodded, thoughtfully. “I shadowed Kato from the Forum. It must have been before Miss Langdale came out that he left. He lives down-town in a tenement-house. There’s something queer about that Jap.”
“I think there is,” I agreed. “I don’t like his looks.”
“But it wasn’t he who interested me so much tonight,” Craig went on, ignoring my remark, “as a woman.”
“A woman?” I queried, in surprise. “A Jap, too?”
“No, a white woman, rather good-looking, too, with dark hair and eyes. She seemed to be waiting for him. Afterward I made inquiries. She has been seen about there before.”
“Who was she?” I asked, fancying perhaps Miss Langdale had made another visit while she was out, although from the time it did not seem possible.
“I followed her to her house. Her name is Hackstaff—”
“The first trained nurse!” I exclaimed.
“Miss Hackstaff is an enigma,” confessed Kennedy. “At first I thought that perhaps she might be one of those women whom the Oriental type fascinated, that she and Kato might be plotting. Then I have considered that perhaps her visits to Kato may be merely to get information—that she may have an ax to grind. Both Kato and she will bear watching, and I have made arrangements to have it done. I’ve called on that young detective, Chase, whom I’ve often used for the routine work of shadowing. There’s nothing more that we can do now until tomorrow, so we might as well turn in.”
Early the next day Kennedy was again at work, both in his own laboratory and in that of the Health Department, making further studies of the food and the effect it had on the pigeons, as well as observing what changes were produced by the white tablets he had extracted from the yeast.
It was early in the forenoon when the buzzer on the laboratory door sounded and I opened the door to admit Chase in a high state of excitement.
“What has happened?” asked Craig, eagerly.
“Many things,” reported the young detective, breathlessly. “To begin with, I followed Miss Hackstaff from her apartment this morning. She seemed to be worked up over something—perhaps had had a sleepless night. As nearly as I could make out she was going about aimlessly. Finally, however, I found that she was getting into the neighborhood of Doctor Aitken and of the Forum. Well, when we got to the Forum she stopped and waited in front of it—oh, I should say almost half an hour. I couldn’t make out what it was she wanted, but at last I found out.”
He paused a moment, then raced on, without urging. “Miss Langdale came out—and you should have seen the Hackstaff woman go for her.” He drew in his breath sharply at the reminiscence. “I thought there was going to be a murder done—on Riverside Drive. Miss Langdale screamed and ran back into the apartment. There was a good deal of confusion. The hall-boys came to the rescue. In the excitement, I managed to slip into the elevator with her. No one seemed to think it strange then that an outsider should be interested. I went up with her—saw Wardlaw, as she poured out the story. He’s a queer one. Is he RIGHT?” “Why?” asked Craig, indulgently.
“He seems so nervous; things upset him so easily. Yet, after we had taken care of Miss Langdale and matters had quieted down, I thought I might get some idea of the cause of the fracas and asked him if he knew of any reason. Why, he looked at me kind of blankly, and I swear he acted as though he had almost forgotten it already. I tell you, he’s not RIGHT.”
Remembering our own experience, I glanced significantly at Craig. “Korsakoff’s syndrome?” I queried, laconically. “Another example of a mind confused even on recent events?”
Kennedy, however, was more interested in Chase. “What did Miss Hackstaff do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I missed her. When I got out again she was gone.”
“Pick her up again,” directed Craig. “Perhaps you’ll get her at her place. And see, this time, if you can get what I asked you.”
“I’ll try,” returned Chase, much pleased at the words of commendation which Craig added as he left us again.
On