“Sure—right on the comer of the block.”
“Stop there, but not directly outside.”
“It’s one-way, so we turn up here.”
When Smith pushed open a revolving door I followed him into a place tiled and brightly lighted, where a number of men and women in white overalls were moving about busily. I heard the rattle of dishes and in the distance caught sight of a man wearing a chef’s cap. Another man, who wore evening dress, came towards us.
“Perhaps you have made a mistake—,” he began. “No mistake,” rapped Smith. “Police Department. Inspector Hawk should be somewhere in the hotel. Send him a message to stand by near the main entrance, and get me a house detective or anybody who is well acquainted with the building.” The authority in Smith’s voice was unmistakable. “It will save time if you will follow me, gentlemen.” guide led us through a maze of service rooms and kitchens which the normal guest at such a hostelry never sees, presently emerging in an office where a big dark- jowled man sat at a desk, smoking a very short fragment of a very black cigar. As this man stood up: “Oh, Sergeant Doherty,” said our guide, “these Police officers want a word with you.” From under heavy brows suspicious eyes regarded us.
“My name is Nayland Smith,” explained my friend rapidly, indeed, irritably. “Inspector Hawk is here?” A swift change appeared on Doherty’s truculent-looking face.
“Why surely, sir! I was puzzled for a moment, but I was here waiting for you. At your service, sir.”
“Good.” Smith turned to our guide. “Will you take my message to Inspector Hawk at once.”
“At once.”
The man went out.
“Now, Sergeant Doherty, I want to go up to Colonel Kennard Wood’s apartment without entering the public rooms.”
“Easy enough. The waiters” elevator is just outside. This way,”
As we came out of the office: “What is the house detective’s report?” asked Smith.
Sergeant Doherty closed the elevator door and pressed button 15.
“It’s kind of funny,” he replied. “The Prado is a smart place for supper these days, and Pannel—the house officer on duty—says that when the supper mob was coming in he got an idea that somebody had a large dog.”
“Large dog? I don’t follow.”
“Well, he says he hunted around, thinking some crazy deb, maybe, took a thing like that along to parties—and animals aren’t allowed in the Prado. But, except for that one glimpse, he saw nothing of it again, whatever it was.”
As we reached the fifteenth floor and stepped out of the elevator: “Is Pannel a reliable observer?” asked Smith.
“Sure.” We were following Doherty along a carpeted passage. “sed to be with us. Mind you, he doesn’t swear it was a dog and he doesn’t swear he wasn’t mistaken; but what he told me is what I tell you.”
“When did Colonel Kennard Wood arrive?”
“He checked in around that time.” Sergeant Doherty pressed a bell. “Colonel Kennard Wood’s apartment.”
A moment later, as the door was opened: “Stay in sight of this room,” Smith ordered.
Colonel Kennard Wood faced us. He was—a fact for which I had been prepared—superficially like James Longton; but I judged him to be ten years Longton’s senior. In build I could see that the dead man, normally, must closely have resembled his cousin. Kennard Wood was greying, sunburnt, and wore a single eyeglass.
“Smith! You are very welcome.”
We went in and the Colonel closed the door. I saw that he bore all the marks of overstrain and deep anxiety; but he placed chairs and proffered drinks.
“Thank you, but no,” said Smith. “The matter which brings myself and my friend, Bart Kerrigan, here at this hour is one of life and death.”
“I had hoped,” Kennard Wood confessed wearily, “to enjoy a few hours’ rest. I have had little enough during the past few days. So that the moment I got in, I notified you and proposed to go to sleep—”
“You would never have awakened,” said Smith grimly.
Kennard Wood, dropping into a chair, stared haggardly.
“You mean—I have been traced here?”
Smith nodded.
“As James will have told you,” the Colonel went on, “I was recalled at the very moment I was about to leave Havana. Some new and startling facts had come to hand. But knowing of tomorrow’s conference I sent James ahead with all material to date. You have this, no doubt?”
Smith stood up abruptly.
“I speak to a soldier,” he said, “and so I can be blunt. Your cousin James Longton—”
“Not—”
“I am sorry—yes.”
Kennard Wood crossed to a small buffet and steadily poured out a drink.
“As I decline to drink alone. Smith,” he said quietly, “no doubt Mr. Kerrigan and yourself will reconsider your decision?”
“Of course—but time is precious.
“As to that,” said the Colonel, turning, and his features were set in a coldly dangerous mask, “we shall see.”
He served us, drained his own glass and set it down.
“How—was it done?”
“Details must wait; but no doubt you recall the Snapping Fingers deaths in Port au Prince?”
“The Snapping Fingers! You don’t tell me that James—”
“Unfortunately, yes. He went to Mrs. Mendel Hammett’s, undoubtedly believing that he would be safe there —”
“We both had reason to fear for our lives. There had been numerous attempts.”
“So I gather.”
“But this horror—here, in New York!”
Unless I am quite wrong, here in this hotel! First, where is your baggage?”
“n the bedroom. I will show you.”
Aswe followed Kennard Wood, Smith began sniffing suspiciously. I, too, sought traces of the vilely carnal odour which evidently betokened the presence of die thing called the Snapping Fingers. I could detect nothing. In the bedroom, Smith stood quite still for a moment, looking around. It was an ordinary, if luxurious, hotel bedroom. The bed was turned down and folded pyjamas were laid out; a travelling clock and some books were on a side table: a suitcase stood on a rack against one wall. Smith stepped into the bathroom. Toilet articles were disposed on a dressing-table and on glass shelves.
He turned to Kennard Wood: the Colonel had paled under his tan.
‘“Who brought up the baggage?”
“The hotel porter.”
‘‘Were you here when he arrived?”
“As a matter of fact, no: I was at the desk below, asking for messages.”
“And who unpacked and set it out?”
“The valet. I was in my apartment. The man knows my ways; I have stayed at the Prado several times. If I understood what it is that you apprehended. Smith, I might be able to help. But we are on the fifteenth floor of a modem New York hotel, not in Haiti!”
“Harsh to remind you. Wood; but poor Longton was in his own quarters in the home of Mrs. Mendel Hammett. Forgive me if I seem to take liberties, but I must examine your gear closely.” As Kennard Wood moved forward: “Be good enough to touch nothing!”
Whilst the stricken Colonel and I stood by, inert, watching, Nayland Smith made a rapid but efficient examination of every foot of the apartment. Frequently he sniffed. High above the supper crowds, above the
