For a moment Killigrew sat stiffly upright in his chair; then gradually
his body grew limp, his chin sank, his shoulders drooped. "Webb?" he
said dully. "Are you sure, Haggerty?"
"No question about it. Y' see, this Jameson chap writes me a sassy
letter from Liverpool. Spite. Thomas Webb was th' name. What's th'
matter?"
"Haggerty, the very devil is the matter. Thomas Webb, recently a
steward on the Celtic, has been my wife's private secretary for
nearly two months."
"Say that again!" gasped Haggerty, bracing himself against the jamb of
the door.
"But I'll wager my right hand that there's some mistake."
"Of all th' gall I ever heard of! Private secretary, an' Miss
Killigrew's sapphires stowed away in his trunk, if he ain't sold 'em
outside th' pawnshops! Will y' gimme a free hand, Mr. Killigrew?"
"I suppose I'll have to."
"All right. On board you draw me a map o' th' rooms an' where Thomas
Webb holds out. I shan't come t' th' house an' meet anybody. While
you folks 'r at supper I'll sneak up t' his room an' see what's in his
trunk. If I don't find 'em, why, I'll come back t' town an' start a
news stand, Forty-second an' Broadway. I'll be on th' yacht at
half-past two. I'm on m' way."
The door behind him closed with a bang. It startled every clerk on the
huge floor. The door to the boss' office did not bang more than once a
year, and that was immediately after the annual meeting of the
directors of the Combined Brazilian Coffees. Who was this potentate
who dared desecrate the honored quiet of this loft?
Haggerty's news hit Killigrew hard. Thomas. There must be a mistake.
He had not studied men all these years without learning to read young
and old with creditable accuracy. Thomas was as easy to read as an
amateur's scorecard; runs were runs, hits were hits, outs were outs.
Why, Thomas wouldn't have stolen an apple from a farmer's
orchard--without permission. What, enter a carriage in a fog, steal a
necklace, and carry it around with him for months? Never in this
world. And private secretary to the very person he had robbed? Of all
the fool situations, this was the cap! Imbecility was written all over
the face of it. It was simply a coincidence in the matter of names.
Yet, steward on the Celtic; there was no getting away from that.
There could not have been two Thomas Webbs on board. I'm afraid
Killigrew swore; distant thunder, off behind the hills there. He
struck the desk with his balled fist. He knew it; it was that infernal
opal of Kitty's getting in its deadly work. And what would Kitty say?
What would she do?