“It isn’t part of my baggage,” replied Waddell. “It’s something he picked up in Paris. Some bargain, I suppose. He must prize it highly. He invariably inquires about it when he sees me.”
“That is odd,” observed Motkin, in a smooth tone. “What does this precious trunk contain?”
“Tholbin isn’t trying to smuggle it in,” said Waddell with a laugh. “Taking that white elephant past the customs would be like” — he paused and sought an example — “well, like trying to steal the Russian crown jewels.
“No, I suppose it’s just some piece of luggage that he liked and bought. It’s fitted with the greatest lot of locks you ever saw. It looks very nice, I must admit, but not in a stateroom.”
Waddell arose and said good night. Motkin glanced at one of the men who had been in the poker game.
The man nodded slightly. He, too, arose and strolled from the smoking room. Motkin followed shortly afterward.
ON the deck, Motkin encountered the man whom he had signaled. The two spoke in low, guarded tones.
“That may be it,” said Motkin, in Russian. “Do you know the number of his stateroom?”
“Yes,” replied the man. “It’s 7-D.”
“Go there. Enter. I shall send Solinski. You make some excuse to speak with Waddell. Be ready to act.