It was about four in the afternoon, and young Pendleton sat in Ashton-Kirk's big chair, reading the newspapers and waiting. Finally he rang a bell and Stumph gravely appeared.
"Are you sure that he said three?" asked Pendleton.
"Aboutthree, sir," replied the man.
"Oh! I suppose he's been detained then. That will be all, Stumph!"
When the man disappeared, Pendleton lighted a cigar and resumed his reading. The Hume case was still holding its place as the news feature of the day. Nothing had occurred to equal it in sensation; and the huge headings flared across the front pages, undiminished and undismayed.
"Why," screamed theStandard, in a perfect frenzy of letter press, "did Miss Edyth Vale visit Hume on the night of the murder?"
The girl's name had crept into the paper on the day before; with each edition it appeared in larger type; and that afternoon theStandardwas printing it in red ink. Allan Morris was not neglected; on the contrary, he figured a very close second to his betrothed in the types.
"Where is Allan Morris?"
One paper asked this question perhaps fifty times on each page. It peered at one in square, heavy-faced type from the bottoms of columns and between articles. There were interviews with his clerks; the opinions of his stenographer were given in full, together with her portrait; and what his man servant had to say was treated as being of great consequence.
Another sheet, which made a point of appealing to the tastes of the vast foreign element of the city, grew very indignant as to the arrest of Antonio Spatola.
"Why," it inquired, "is this man detained and no attempt made to take those higher up into custody? If the Police Department is so ready to incarcerate a poor musician, why should it hesitate upon the threshold of the rich man's mansion?—or the rich woman's, for the matter of that?"
This item incensed Pendleton beyond measure; he threw the paper aside and stormed up and down the room.
"Of all the blatant wretched twaddle I ever did read," he exclaimed, "this is positively the worst. Why, the rag would have the police arrest Edyth—arrest her for—"
"Well," demanded a sharp, aggressively pitched voice, "what for you make-a da blame, eh? Da cops pinch-a Spatola, and for why, eh? Because he's da wop, da Ginney, da Dago and got-a no friends."
At the first word Pendleton had whirled about in astonishment, and faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway, pointing with one hand in the attitude of melodrama.
"Well," asked the young man, "who the deuce are you?"
By way of an answer the other burst into a laugh that showed his brilliant teeth; then he threw off his battered soft hat and gayly colored handkerchief, after which he sank into the chair which Pendleton had lately vacated.
"Pen," said he, in an altered voice, "if you appreciate my friendship at all, give me one of the blackest cigars in the case over there."
Pendleton stared for a moment; then a grin crept over his face and he said:
"Oh, it's you, is it?" He went to the cabinet and took out a box. "Here's a brand that looks like black Havana," he said. "And now, what the dickens are you doing in that rig?"
"I've been taking a long ride in the country—on a motor cycle," answered Ashton-Kirk, crossing his shabbily clothed legs and striking a match. "Any time you feel disinclined to face your meals, Pen, I recommend you heartily to do the same. It is a greater bracer. At this moment I really believe I could do complete justice to even the very best culinary thoughts of our friend, Dr. Mercer."
Pendleton sat down and regarded his friend with questioning eyes.
"It wasn't to acquire an appetite that you made up this way. You've been working."
Ashton-Kirk comfortably blew one smoke-ring through another before he answered.
"Will you be surprised to hear that I have been following Miss Edyth Vale on a little voyage to the neighborhood of Cordova?"
"Again!"
"But this time she did not pay a visit to Professor Locke. To-day the favored one was Allan Morris."
"Morris! Then she knows where he is?"
"So it would seem."
"But she told you the other day that she did not."
Ashton-Kirk shrugged his shoulders.
"Things happen swiftly and unexpectedly," said he. "Perhaps she didnotknow it then."
"And perhaps she did not know Locke or his whereabouts, either," said Pendleton, with bitter irony.
"Who knows?" replied Ashton-Kirk, composedly. "At any rate, it was just a supposition that led to my labors of to-day."
"I don't think I understand," said Pendleton, after a moment.
"Last night," said the investigator, "you asked me if I had learned anything from Professor Locke. And I replied to the effect that I thought I had. Now," after a pause, devoted to the grateful smoke, "when one sees a girl circumstanced as Miss Vale assuredly is in this case, paying a secret visit to a man who is rather more than suspected of the murder, what does one suppose?"
"That she is leagued with him, somehow," replied Pendleton, reluctantly.
"Exactly. But on the other hand, when the same girl, upon sight of us, rushes off and leaves the man to face us without giving him a hint as to who we are, what does one suppose?"
But Pendleton rose gloomily and strode over to the window.
"I don't know," said he.
"One supposes," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "that she has not much interest in him." Here Pendleton faced about again. "If she had been leagued with him, as you put it, you may be sure that she would have managed to warn him in some way as to our identity. But that she had not done so, the mute's manner told me as plainly as words could have done. Seeing this, I began figuring what it meant. If she was not associated with Locke in the crime, why was she there? Immediately came the answer—through Morris. But, when I saw her last, she denied any knowledge of Morris's whereabouts. Then I reasoned, she had seen him in the interim."
"That's it," cried Pendleton, as he stepped forward and slapped the table with his palm; "that's it, beyond a doubt! He's managed to get word to her; she's seen him; he's told her all or part of the truth; and once more she's trying to help him. Why, Kirk, I'll venture to say," hot with indignation, "that she was led to visit this little scoundrel Locke, last night, much as she was led to visit Hume's place on the night of the murder—completely in the dark, and merely with some sort of a vague notion of protecting Morris."
"Perhaps you are right, but I can't exactly say. But that she has seen Morris I have made quite sure."
"How?"
"Last night when I appeared at Locke's window, I established a reason for calling upon her this morning, also I laid a foundation for what followed. Before the call I made certain preparations for a quick change of front," with a gesture that called attention to his costume; "in our conversation, I managed to tell her that Morris's hiding place was discovered. Then I left. As I expected, she at once called her car and set off to warn him; and I followed close behind upon the motor cycle."
"I see, I see. And did you get sight of him?"
Ashton-Kirk nodded. Then he proceeded to relate the story of the noon-day run to the country house which Morris had selected as a hiding place. When he had finished, Pendleton sat frowning blackly.
"Secret signals," said he. "He fears discovery so much that he has forbidden her approaching the house. A regular code has been arranged, eh? And the gloves were dropped in the road purposely; he slipped his answer into one of them; on her way back she discovers her supposed loss, looks for the gloves, and finds them. It is quite ornate," with a bitter sneer.
Then he took from the investigator's hand the card upon which he had copied the message of Allan Morris.
"Tobin Rangnow," he read. Then looking up he inquired with a wan smile. "More secret writing, eh? Or is it a man's name?"
"There is a decided Irish flavor to Tobin," answered Ashton-Kirk. "But Rangnow is unfamiliar to me; and if it is a name at all, it is of Eastern European origin. In that case," laughing, "it could scarcely be expected to share the honors with Tobin."
He took the card from Pendleton and looked at it thoughtfully. Then he glanced up in a satisfied sort of way:
"As you suggested, Miss Vale no doubt returned, recovered her gloves and read the message," said he. "As she had just warned him that his hiding place was discovered, it is only natural to suppose that his answer would have something to do with his future movements."
"That seems likely enough," said Pendleton.
"Look here; if we put a comma between the two words," went on the investigator, taking out a pencil and doing so, "the thing takes on the appearance of a name and address."
Once more he gave the card to Pendleton; then rising he went to the telephone stand and took up the directory. Skimming rapidly through this he paused at a page and went down its columns carefully. Then with a laugh he slapped it shut.
"We have it," declared he. "When we so desire, we can call at an apartment house known as the 'Rangnow' and inquire for Mr. Tobin. And when we see that gentleman we shall be looking upon one in the confidence of Allan Morris."
There was a long pause on the part of Pendleton. Ashton-Kirk rang for Stumph and directed him to turn the water into his bath, and get him out some fresh linen. It was after the man had gone that Pendleton spoke.
"When you came in, Kirk," he said, "you said something which conveyed the notion that you would not be much astonished if the police took up the Hume matter with Edyth Vale."
"It is only the fact that the newspapers were first in discovering her apparent connection with it, that has kept Osborne and his fellows from visiting her before this. Jealousy, you know, does many strange things."
Pendleton did not reply; he bent his head and covered his face with his hands. Ashton-Kirk went on:
"The reasonable thing for her to do would be to come forward and tell the plain truth."
Pendleton roused himself.
"But don't you see that that is the very thing that her brave nature will not do? She's protecting Morris; and she'll go on protecting him, no matter what the consequence to herself."
"In that event," said the investigator slowly, "we can not be in too great a hurry in removing the cause that keeps Morris in hiding."
"You'll have a task in that," said Pendleton. "As far as I can see, the man is up to his eyes in the crime; and that's why he is lying low."
"I have warned you before now against jumping at conclusions," said the other, quietly. "Allan Morris may be a confederate of Locke's, or he may not. We have yet to establish the fact either way. And now, pardon me while I take a plunge and get into something presentable."
After dinner the two young men settled themselves in the library: Stumph served their coffee and they renewed their acquaintance with the Greek tobacco. After a little time there came a knock upon the door.
"Come," called Ashton-Kirk.
A short man with remarkable breadth of shoulder and depth of chest entered; he was smooth shaven and salient of jaw and wore the air of one who was not easily balked in anything that he undertook.
"How are you, Burgess?" said the investigator.
"Good-evening," returned Burgess. He advanced and laid some neatly folded sheets at the elbow of his employer. "Fuller was busy and I thought I'd bring these in myself. It's my report on Hume."
"Ah, thank you."
Ashton-Kirk took up the sheets and began running his eye through them. "As you get deeper into this record, did Hume keep his promise?"
Burgess smiled.
"As to possibilities, do you mean? Why, yes. Indeed, I rather think he exceeded them." The man lit the cigar which the investigator handed him and drew at it appreciatively. "I went it alone on the first day; but after that I took O'Neill and Purvis on. Between us, we managed to get at something pretty definite."
"Has Fuller finished with Morris?"
"He is typing his report at this moment. It will be ready in a half hour, I should think."
"Please tell him to bring it in as soon as it is finished."
Burgess nodded and went out. Ashton-Kirk continued to dip into the report here and there.
"Among three of them," said Pendleton, "they should have sifted the man's life and adventures pretty well."
As Ashton-Kirk continued to scan the pages, a peculiar expression slowly came into his eyes.
"They seem to have done so, indeed. And rather cleverly, too, I think. Would you care to hear the report?"
"By all means," eagerly.
The sheets were shifted into their proper order once more. Then Ashton-Kirk read:
"'A Further Investigation into the Affairs of David Purtell Hume.
"'No record was to be had of Hume, beyond his settlement in the city in 1899. People in the same line of business were questioned closely; and those who knew anything of him at all clung to the idea that he was an American who had lived for many years abroad.
"'So we had another look at the old passenger lists of the steamships; but this time we went further back. We knew that the simple ruse of a fictitious name would cover Hume completely; but it seemed the only thing to do, and we set at it systematically. In the records of the steamerBalticof the Netherlands Steamship Company for the year 1897, we came upon the name of "D. Purtell." Without much hope of learning anything definite after such a lapse of time, I inquired after this passenger.
"'Luck was with us in the shape of an old clerk with a long memory. He faintly recalled something of the man, and after some talk got out still another book. And there it was! D. Purtell, so it seemed, had been involved in an attempt to smuggle a quantity of diamonds.
"'Our next step was to visit the customs people. Their records were very complete. They even had a portrait of Purtell, which proved him to have been Hume beyond a doubt. Only a trifle of evidence had been secured against him—not enough to convict—and they were forced to release him. This seems to have been Hume's specialty.
"'However, through the customs services of other countries, they had learned quite a lot about him. The authorities of Holland, Spain and France knew him as one of the leading spirits in a system of smuggling that had been going on for years. Once Hume had been located in Antwerp, once at Hamburg, and for a long time at Bayonne. This system of contraband had been broken up just before he had been arrested by the United States service. A number of the criminals had been convicted; but Hume, with his usual luck, had escaped once more, because of lack of evidence against him.
"'Nothing could be learned of the movements of Hume between his arrest on theBalticand his location here as a dealer in the curiosities of art. And after his going into business here, he kept to himself a great deal.
"'But the drink habit caused him to frequent certain resorts, and it was at one of these that he first met Richard Morris, father to Allan Morris!'"
"Ah!" said Pendleton. "So Hume knew Morris's father."
"I asked Fuller, in giving him his instructions, to have this fact established, if he could," said Ashton-Kirk. "That both Hume and the elder Morris were heavy drinkers caused me to think it possible."
"Is that all there is to the report?"
"Almost." The investigator turned to the pages once more, and proceeded: "'Hume and the elder Morris became quite intimate and were often seen together. But what it was that formed the bond between them, no one knows, unless it be a deaf mute named Locke, who was frequently seen in their society and who seemed upon close terms with both. But within a year after their first meeting, Hume broke with Morris. This must have been serious, for it caused a marked enmity to spring up between them. A number of people recall that Richard Morris frequently made threats against the other—threats of personal violence and also of the law. But before anything could come of these, if he really meant them, he died.
"'Thinking that Locke might be able to throw some light on this phase of the case, we have endeavored to locate him. Up to this time we have met with no success; but we hope to learn something of him at an early date.'"
Ashton-Kirk laid the sheets down upon the table.
"There follows a list of the names of the people who have supplied this information and their addresses," said he. "Burgess is very thorough in his work."
"Outside the fact that Hume was a scoundrel—which we knew before—and that he was acquainted with Locke and Allan Morris's father, what does this report tell you?"
There was discontent in Pendleton's voice as he asked this question, and the investigator smiled as he made answer:
"That Hume knew the elder Morris supplies us with a theory as to the possible part which the younger Morris has taken in this drama. Whatever passed between Hume and the father has probably been taken up by the son."
"Why, yes," said Pendleton. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Another thing," added Ashton-Kirk: "The report has swung like the needle of a compass, and indicated a fact that my imagination suggested days ago."
"And that is—"
"That Hume once lived in the French town of Bayonne."
Pendleton frowned impatiently.
"I don't know what ever made you imagine that," he said. "But now that you find that it is so, of what service is it?"
"We will speak of that later," answered Ashton-Kirk.
Pendleton was about to say something more, but just then Fuller knocked and entered.
"The report on Allan Morris," said he.
"Ah, thanks." The investigator took the compactly typed sheets, and then he continued: "Tell Burgess that he need not bother about the man Locke whom he mentions. Say that I have already located him."
"Very well," and Fuller left the room.
For a space there was no sound save that which came from the street and the rustle of the pages as Ashton-Kirk went through them.
"Well," asked Pendleton, finally. "What now?"
"Morris," replied his friend, "does not develop like Hume. Fuller suspected that he'd prove colorless, and so it has turned out. However, I'll read what he says. It's headed:
"'A Second Report on Allan Morris
"'A very careful inquiry failed to uncover anything in connection with this young man's personal affairs that was not mentioned in my first report on the same subject. He has led a very even, uneventful life, attending strictly to business and making every movement count in the direction of distinction as a marine engineer.
"'However, there has been something in his manner for the last few years that has attracted the attention of those who knew him best or came in contact with him. This took the various forms of eagerness of manner, irritability, long fits of reveries, a feverish desire for work. At his place of business I learned that he has for some time had a deep interest in the reports of the patent office. His clerks say that he'd read these for hours at a time; one of them told me of how he (the clerk) once forgot to call Morris's attention to the report until the day after its arrival. Morris has always been very tolerant with his employees, but that day he burst out in a fury and threatened to discharge them all.
"'Richard Morris, father to Allan, was a most erratic genius, as my first report indicated. His propeller, his smoke-consumer, and his automatic brake were valuable commercial properties, but had all slipped from his control. Toward the end of his life he engaged in the perfection of an invention of which he talked a great deal and of which he declared that he alone would reap the benefit.
"'As Burgess will already have told you, Richard Morris knew Hume. The latter was a frequent visitor to a shop which the inventor maintained in the outskirts, as was the mute Locke. I have talked with an old mechanic who worked for Morris at the time; he told me that the inventor had made a stubborn fight against the drink habit and seemed likely to conquer it up to the time that he became acquainted with Hume. After this, however, he became as much a slave to it as ever. The invention, or whatever it was, never got beyond the paper stage; for thereafter Richard Morris spent his days in sleep and his nights at the once famous Coffin Club.'"
Ashton-Kirk arose eagerly.
"There is more," said he, "but it is scarcely of interest." Placing the report upon the table, he added: "You have heard of the Coffin Club, Pen?"
"Of course. It met in an underground place somewhere, didn't it? And if I remember right, it was fitted up like the Café Au Mort in Paris."
"Something of the sort." The investigator went to a huge card system and pulled out a drawer labeled "TO." "But I recall it best by the steward whose philosophy and Irish turns of speech were so frequently quoted by the newspapers during the heydey of the establishment. Can you recall his name?"
"I know whom you mean," answered Pendleton, "but the name has slipped me."
Ashton-Kirk paused in the fingering of the cards.
"It was Tobin," said he. "It came to me that it was, but I wanted to be sure." He pushed the drawer into place, looked at his friend inquiringly, and added: "Suppose we go around to the 'Rangnow' and see him?"
Pendleton looked at his friend in bewilderment.
"You don't mean to say that the philosopher of the Coffin Club and this Tobin of young Morris's are the same," cried he.
"I onlythinkthey are," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we can make sure by paying a short visit to the apartment house."
"Now?"
"There is no time like the present."
And so the end of a half hour found them stepping out of a cab at the extreme west end of the city. It was only a little after nine o'clock, but the streets were almost deserted; the arc-lamps clicked and hissed lonesomely; rows of darkened windows and shadowy doorways ran away on both sides.
"There is the place we want," said the investigator, pointing at an illuminated sign which hung out over the sidewalk some little distance away.
When they reached the place, they found it was rather a large building of the modern type; pushing open the swinging doors and making their way through a brilliantly lighted passage, they found themselves in an equally brilliant office.
Here they saw a dozen or more men seated in tilted chairs; all wore their hats and for the most part smoked cigars. Behind a polished counter on which rested a nickeled cash register and a huge book, stood a white-haired man with a smooth Irish face and a pair of gold eyeglasses hanging by a black cord. The air was heavy with disputation; long-tailed words boomed sonorously; red-faced and earnest, one of the occupants of the chairs assailed the man behind the counter; with soft, sweeping, eloquent gestures the latter defended himself.
"And what," demanded he, placing his hands upon the shining top of the counter and shoving his head forward inquiringly, "is all this that we do be hearing about your suffragette? Who is she? What is she? The newspapers are filled to the top with her, but sorra the sight of her did I ever see. If she has any existence outside of the comic supplement, gentlemen, I'd like to have ye show me where. Did ye ever hear a whisper of her till she began to send herself by registered mail and chain herself to lamp posts? Niver the one of ye! Is your wife a suffragette? She's not. Is your mother? No. Your sister? Again it's no. Then who is it that composes the great army of female ballot seekers? Is it the cook? The chambermaid? The woman that does the plain sewing? I'll wager 'tis not. They have too much to do already; it's not looking for additional burdens they are. Then where does this advanced woman flourish and have her being?" Here one hand went up and descended with a slap. "In the mansions of the rich," he declaimed positively; "in the lap of luxury. Among the feminine descendants of successful gum shoe men!"
Here the man with the flushed face attempted to speak; but an eloquent sweep of both hands silenced him.
"They have nothing to do," stated the orator, "but to invent ways of pleasing themselves. Monkey dinner parties, diamonds, automobiles and boxes on the grand tier have no more attraction; private yachts and other women's husbands have grownpassé. They want a new toy, and faith, nothing will please them but the destinies of the nation. Their reasoning is simple and direct. If a man who wheels scrap iron at a blast furnace is competent to handle the—"
At this point the speaker was interrupted by Ashton-Kirk advancing to the counter.
"Pardon me," said the investigator, "but can you tell me where I can find Mr. Tobin? Is he in?"
A look of great dignity came upon the face of the other; and he drew himself up stiffly.
"You are speaking to him, sir," replied he.
"I thought so," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "My old friend Dan O'Connor has mentioned you so often that I felt sure that I recognized the manner."
The dignity vanished from Mr. Tobin's face, and the stiffness of demeanor fell from him instantly.
"Do you know Dan?" asked he, eagerly. "Ah, there is the lad for you. A credit to his country and to his name. Faith, he is the best judge of whiskey in the city, and has a heart as large and as mellow as a barrel of it."
"If it would not be putting you about in any way, we'd like a few moments in private with you."
At once Mr. Tobin touched a button. A young man presented himself, and to him the conducting of the house was transferred for the time being. Then the two friends were led into a small sitting-room, where chairs were placed for them, and Mr. Tobin seated himself opposite them with some expectation.
"Since I became manager here," explained he, "I seldom hear of any of the old lads. Ye see, it's so far from the center of the city," regretfully, "they seldom get along this way, so they do."
"Yes, I suppose they cling to their old haunts," said Ashton-Kirk. "Dan sticks to his school of boxing these days, pretty closely. I often drop in for a round or two with him. He's as clever as ever, but he's slowing up."
Tobin shook his white head sadly.
"Tut, tut, tut," said he. "And do you tell me that! Faith, he's a young man yet—not much over sixty—and what call have he to be takin' on the ways and manners of age? Even as late as the last year of the Coffin Club he was as swift as the light."
"He frequently spoke of that club to me," observed the other. "A queer place, I understand."
Tobin nodded.
"Queer enough," he answered, "and the members was as queer in some ways. Nothing would do them, but they must spend their time underground, sitting at tables shaped like coffins, and drinking their liquor out of mugs shaped like skulls. I was steward there a long time, and got good pay; but I never approved of the notion. It always seemed like divilment to me, did that."
"Some very well known people frequented it, did they not?"
"Many's the time I've seen the governor of the state himself, sitting there with a mug in his fist. The liquors was of the best, do you see," with a pleased light in his eyes. "I know that, for it were meself that selected them. And a good sup of drink is a great attraction, so it is."
"I don't think that can be successfully denied," admitted the investigator. "Some very brilliant men have proved it to their sorrow."
"True for ye," said Tobin. "Don't I know it? We had actors and writers and editors—the cream of their professions—and every one of them a devotee, so to speak, of Bacchus. Sure, the finer the intellect, the greater the sup of drink appeals to them, if it does at all. One of the greatest frequenters of the club was a man whose inventions," with a grandiloquent gesture, "revolutionized the industries of the world. And when he was mellow with it, boys o' boys, but he could discourse! His name was Morris," added the speaker, "and he was the father of the young man whose name has been mixed up with this Hume affair which is so occupying the public mind just now."
"Indeed."
There was a pause: Tobin's mobile face looked back upon the past; his eyes had an introspective light in them.
"To think," said he, "how the natures of men differ. Some are like the gods of old, and others again are like—well, like anything you choose to call them. And yet," with philosophic speculation, "these two widely diversified types are sometimes friends. To the surprise of everyone they occasionally take up with one another. It's hard to say why, but it is so."
"I've noticed it myself," said Ashton-Kirk.
Tobin nodded.
"Never," said he, "did I see it so exemplified as in the case of Richard Morris and this felly who has just been killed. Never were two men more unlike; but sorra such an intimacy did I ever see afore, as there was between them. Morris when he had the drink in him was a poet. His ideas soared to the starry skies; he flew about upon the wings of the wind; faith I believe he thought the sun was not beyond his reach. But Hume was a divil! God save us, that I should say the like about any human creature; but he had the imp in him, for many's the time I see it grinning and looking out at his two eyes."
"I've heard it said that he was an unpleasant sort of chap," agreed the other.
"Unpleasant," said Tobin, "does not do credit to his capabilities, though 'tis a good word enough. There was never a man came into the Coffin Club, during the five years that I were there, that looked as though the place fitted him, but Hume. The others were like bad little boys who wouldn't take a dare. But Hume was just right. To see him lift one of the stone skulls to his lips and grin over it at you, would make your blood run cold. And bless us and save us, gentlemen, how he would jeer and snarl and laugh all at the one time. Many's the time I've listened to poor Morris rave and paint his pictures of what he was going to do in times to come; and on the other side of the coffin-table, Hume would urge him on, leerin' and grinnin' like Satan himself, and making all manner of game of him. Bedad, me gorge rose at it more than once, and it was all I could do to keep from takin' him by the scruff of the neck and throwin' him intil the street."
"Almost every man has some spark of good in his nature, however faint," said Ashton-Kirk. "And Hume may have had one, too, though no one seems to have discovered it."
Tobin smiled and returned:
"An Irishman always has a good deal of respect for the fighting strain, no matter if it be in a man, or a beast, or a bird. Old Nick himself must be a grand, two-handed man, and as such we must give him credit. And 'twas the same way with this felly Hume. He had real fighting blood, so he had; and sorra the man ever undertook to impose on him the second time."
"And as a true Celt, you held this to be a credit mark," laughed Ashton-Kirk.
"I did. And, indeed, he seemed to consider it so himself, though he was not one to care a snap what others thought of him. But often he'd boast of the stock he came from. Fighters they were to the core, he said, fighters who never knew when they were whipped, and who'd go on fighting while they had a leg to stand on, an eye to see, and an arm to strike a blow."
Tobin here paused and stroked his smooth-shaven chin, reflectively.
"He claimed descent from someone who was rated a real man in his day," he continued. "'Twas an officer, I think, who fought with—faith, yes," smiling in recollection, "at the side of sorra the one less than Washington himself."
Pendleton, listening with dwindling interest, saw Ashton-Kirk's hand clench, and saw a gleam shoot into his eyes. Then he saw him bend toward Tobin, his elbows on his knees, his clenched hands beneath his chin.
"Ah," said the investigator, and his voice was calmer than Pendleton remembered ever hearing it before, "he claimed a pedigree, did he? And from a Revolutionary officer. Such things are always interesting. It's a pity you can't remember the soldier's name."
Tobin pondered.
"I can't," confessed he, at length; "but there is one thing that I remember hearing Hume tell about him; it seemed laughable at the time, and I suppose that's why it's stuck to me. It seems that the supposed ancestor were a great felly for dress, and expected the like of all the men under him; and though he often had niver a crust of bread to put into their mouths, he always managed to have a pinch of white powder for them to dress their hair."
Ashton-Kirk laughed suddenly, and leaned back in his chair. The gleam died out of his eyes, and a twinkle of satisfaction replaced it.
"That," said he, "sounds amusing enough to be true. Mr. Hume's ancestor was at least consistent. But," and his tone changed, "we must not keep you from your duties, Mr. Tobin, and so we'll get to the matter in hand."
"If it is not hurrying you," agreed Tobin.
"A while ago," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "you mentioned young Allan Morris; and during your conversation you have led me to think that you were his father's friend."
"I were," said Tobin. "He were a decent man."
"Then perhaps your friendship extends to the son as well."
"Perhaps it does," and a note of perceptible caution crept into Tobin's voice.
"I am glad to hear it," said the investigator. "He seems badly in need of friends of the right sort just now; and I am confident, Mr. Tobin, that you are of that sort."
"A man who has disappeared as completely as this one has done," stated Tobin, "is out of the reach of even the best of friends."
"Have you not heard from him since the murder?"
"No," replied the other with a readiness that carried conviction.
"Then you will, and before long." Ashton-Kirk arose and stood looking into the old man's face. "Perhaps it will be to-night; but it will be by to-morrow night at latest. And when you do you can best show your friendship for him by telling him not to be a fool."
"You mean," said Tobin, shrewdly, "that I'm to advise him to give over hiding?"
"Exactly."
"I'll do that willingly enough, if I hear of him. An innocent man has no call to hide himself like a rat. But," inquiringly, "after I tell him that, what will I do?"
Ashton-Kirk took out a card; handing it to the other, he said:
"Ask him to come see me."
Tobin gave the card one glance, then his face lit up and his hand went out.
"Let me shake your hand, sir," said he. "And I'll tell the lad what you say with a heart and a half."
As Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton left the "Rangnow," the latter said:
"You surely do not suppose that Morris will call on you?"
"Why not?"
"It does not sound reasonable."
"A day or two ago I would have said the same. But things are taking on a different aspect. And with their change, Morris will change. He had no idea of what was to come, or he would not have done what he has done."
"No criminal would," said Pendleton.
Ashton-Kirk shrugged his shoulders at this, but made no direct reply.
"And now if these newspapers, with all their pointed references to Edyth Vale, do not make the man come forward," he went on, "what is about to happen—say within the next forty-eight hours—will be sure to do so."
Pendleton turned a surprised look upon him.
"You think, then, that something unusual is about to happen?"
"Iknowthere is," was the quiet reply. "To-night, old chap, has been most prolific in results. It has indicated why the murder was done; it has suggested the identity of the actual murderer; it has even pointed out the spot upon which we shall finally take him."
"You really mean all that?" cried Pendleton, incredulously.
"I do."
"Then you must have learned it at some time while I was not—" here Pendleton paused, and then proceeded in another tone. "But you havenotbeen out of my sight since dinner. Everything you have heard, I have heard; all that you have seen, I have seen."
"Just so," said Ashton-Kirk.
There was a pause; they walked along toward the place where they were to get a street car. At length Pendleton spoke once more.
"And from the rather bald reports of your two assistants, and the talk of this man, Tobin, you have gathered these most vital facts?"
"We can hardly call them facts as yet," said the other; "but I have every confidence that we can do so within the time specified."
A gong sounded sharply and a car crossed the street. Pendleton placed his hand upon his friend's shoulder.
"Kirk," said he, "I am not going to ask another question. I'm just going to wait, and if it turns out as you say, I'll never question a statement of yours as long as I live. I'll swallow them all as the Mussulman swallows the Koran."
They boarded the car and Ashton-Kirk settled himself in a corner. His arms were folded across his chest, his head gradually sank forward. To all appearances he was asleep; but Pendleton knew that he was merely turning over some plan of action that would, in a little time, begin to reveal itself.
However, he was not prepared for such quick action as resulted; for suddenly Ashton-Kirk jumped up, glanced out at the car window, then darted to the platform and leaped off. Pendleton followed at once, and came up with him part way down an intersecting street.
"Where to now?" he asked.
"City Hall," replied Ashton-Kirk, briefly.
It was no great distance to the municipal buildings; they shot up in the elevator and entered the police department.
"I'd like to see Superintendent Weagle," said the investigator to the officer who came forward to speak to them.
"He's just getting ready to go home," answered the man, "but I'll see what I can do."
The superintendent of police happened to be in an obliging humor, and they were shown into his office a few moments later. Weagle stood in the middle of the floor, drawing on a light over-coat; the end of a black cigar was clenched between his teeth.
"How are you?" greeted he. "Anything doing in my line?"
"Not just yet," replied Ashton-Kirk, "but I have some hopes."
The official laughed.
"We all have them," said he. "If we didn't we might as well put up the shutters." He threw the cigar end away and wiped his stubby moustache with a large handkerchief. "You've come for something," said he. "What is it? My wife and kiddies are expecting me, and I must get home."
"How long are you going to maintain the police guard at 478 Christie Place?" inquired the investigator.
"I hadn't thought of it," replied the superintendent. "However, we are in the habit of keeping such details up for some little time. Another thing, there is a lot of valuable stuff there which must be looked after."
"Beginning with to-morrow night," said Ashton-Kirk, "I want you to withdraw your men. And further, I want your permission for my friend Mr. Pendleton and myself to watch in their place."
The official opened his eyes at this.
"Well," said he, after a moment's silence, "I don't just understand your reasons; and the thing is most unusual. But," and he nodded his head approvingly, "I've always noticed that you have reasons behind everything you do, and if this thing is expected to throw any further light on the Hume case, why, it shall be as you say."
"Thank you," said Ashton-Kirk. "Unless I am much mistaken it will close the matter finally as far as your department is concerned, and put the whole thing up to the District Attorney."
"You mean," said the superintendent with interest, "that you've got something new on Spatola—and perhaps on Morris and the girl!"
"I mean," answered Ashton-Kirk, "that I hope to place the murderers of the numismatist Hume in your hands in a few days—whoever they may be."
Weagle waved his hand.
"That's all we want," said he with a laugh. "Give us the right ones and we'll make no complaint. And now, if you have nothing more to say, I'll say good-night."
They parted with the superintendent in the corridor; then Ashton-Kirk led the way into a room where some police officials and a number of young men were lounging about.
"Oh, how are you?" greeted a stout sergeant, affably. "And how's the work?"
While the investigator was speaking to the sergeant, one of the alert-looking young men approached.
"Pardon," said he. "But is there anything you'd like to say to theStar?"
"No," replied Ashton-Kirk.
"You are working on the Hume case, are you not?" asked the reporter with professional insistence.
"Oh, I have had a little interest in it as an outsider, that is all," returned the other. "However," as he was passing through with Pendleton, "I can give you a piece of official police news on the case, which I just got from the superintendent. After to-night the guard will be removed from Hume's place. Weagle thinks the regular policeman on the beat is all that is needed from now on."
As they left the building by the main door, Pendleton said:
"A little while ago, I rashly promised to ask no more questions. If you'll release me from that, I'll unburden myself of one or two which will otherwise keep me awake to-night."
"Go ahead," said Ashton-Kirk with a smile.
"Why," asked Pendleton, "do you want the police called off at Hume's? and why should we place ourselves on watch instead?"
"At the very first we made up our minds that the men who murdered Hume were in search of something, didn't we? Up to this time I have been unable to say whether they had succeeded or not. Now, however, I am convinced that they failed."
"Ah!"
"To-morrow the newspapers will announce that Hume's place is to be no longer guarded. It may be that the criminals are desperate enough to venture another visit in order to gain possession of the thing they covet. If they do, we shall be awaiting them."
"But how do you know that they failed of their object on the night of the murder?"
"You and I," said Ashton-Kirk, laughingly, "are perhaps going to spend considerable time in Christie Place, beginning with to-morrow evening. And while there we may find it dull enough, old boy; a little amusement of a practical sort might not be found out of place. So I'll not answer your question now; I'll allow it to stand until to-morrow night; and then I'll give it to you, compact and complete, with practical illustrations as I go along."