Next morning Ashton-Kirk's car was drawn up at his door; in the hall, the secret agent pulled on a pair of gloves; at his side stood the alert Fuller.
"You carried out my instructions?" asked the former.
"Yes," answered Fuller. "I telegraphed the secretary that you would reach Washington by 11:40 and would call upon him at once."
"You urged him that the matter was possibly one of much importance?"
"Yes."
The secret agent turned to Stumph, who stood at the front door.
"Have Dixon meet every Washington train after dark," said he. "We shall be on one or the other of them."
Stumph threw open the hall door and then that of the car; the soft throb of the engine changed to a startled snort, and then the huge vehicle glided away.
A little later the two men sat facing each other upon the heavy "Limited"; Ashton-Kirk turnedthe pages of a magazine. For a time Fuller was silent and thoughtful. But at length he said:
"Do you know—I don't just understand those two fellows behind the house last evening, the Jap, you know—and the one who acted as though he were cold. What are we to make of men who edge toward each other, apparently bent upon some sort of a secret communication—and then when they get within speaking distance, work away doggedly and at last depart without exchanging a word?"
"You are quite sure that there was no message dropped across the hedge, or stuck among its branches?"
"Positive. I did not take my eyes off them for a moment; and later I made it my business to go out and look. That they exchanged signals is scarcely possible, unless they were remarkably ingenious ones. And then, had they desired to signal, they could have done so at a distance; it would have been unnecessary for them to risk attracting attention by drawing so closely together."
Ashton-Kirk did not reply; and after another period spent in cogitation, Fuller spoke again.
"The feeling which you have spoken of as existing between old Nanon and her employer is rather queer, isn't it?"
"Somewhat."
"But that she should remain with him—evenaccompany him to a new country—and all the time hate, or fear, him is perplexing."
Ashton-Kirk nodded, his eyes half closed.
"Yes," he said, "it is rather so. But," and he opened his eyes, "don't forget that this woman is, by her trace of accent, a Breton, and the peasantry of that section have very rigorous notions as to duty."
"They must have if she's borne with his quips and sneers all these years. I can see very readily what Warwick meant when he said you'd not wonder at his lack of interest in Dr. Morse if you knew the man."
"When Warwick came into the room where we were awaiting him last evening, did you notice anything in his manner?"
"Hedidseem rather agitated, now that I think of it. His face was flushed and his voice trembled a bit—just as though he had been quarreling with some one."
Again the secret agent nodded.
"But with whom?" said he. "Not Miss Corbin, I feel sure; and scarcely the old servant woman."
"You think it was with Dr. Morse?" eagerly.
"I don't know. But when Morse was heard entering the house, the girl whispered something to Warwick, rather pleadingly I thought, and he brusquely denied having any intention of doing—whatever it was that she spoke of."
"Humph," said Fuller.
After some hours the train drew into the station at Washington; at once they took a taxi-cab and whirled to a government building. Ashton-Kirk was shown through a spacious suite and into a room where a handsome white-haired gentleman sat at a huge mahogany desk.
"It was kind of you, Mr. Secretary, to put yourself out," said the secret agent.
The white-haired gentleman arose and shook his hand cordially.
"I have had such telegrams from you before," he said, "and they have never failed to be followed by matters of some interest."
Ashton-Kirk sat down; the secretary pushed a box of long loosely wrapped cigars toward him.
"They are Porto Ricos," said he. "You may fancy their flavor."
For a little time after lighting the cigars they sat in silence watching the smoke drifts and enjoying the aroma. Then Ashton-Kirk spoke.
"Yesterday," said he, "my attention was called to a rather interesting train of circumstances."
"Ifyouclass it as interesting," said the statesman, "there is nothing more to be said. I recall several matters which you handled in a somewhat bored fashion; and yet, to me, they were in many ways really amazing."
"That is, perhaps, because you held to thepoint of view of the spectator. There is a broad element of drama in most things of this sort, and as a looker-on, this appealed to you. But this present affair," leaning a trifle forward, "may have a greatly increased interest for you, for the indications are that it will lead directly to your department."
The secretary knocked a narrow rim of ash from his cigar; he examined the red end carefully, and then said:
"Indeed?"
"All countries have had their secrets," said Ashton-Kirk, after a pause. "Some never see the light—others are only made known after centuries. If the hidden archives of the nations were thrown open to the world, history, perhaps, would have to be rewritten. Of course," with a wave of one long finger, "some governments have more of these state secrets than others; the Italian republics probably were in the lead; the United States I should place almost last."
"You are very good," smiled the secretary.
"But, still, we have some. Even in a democracy, it is not possible to make public all the details of government. Things are handed from one administration to another which must await the time of ripening and fulfilment."
The secretary smoked quietly, but he said nothing.
"These matters," continued Ashton-Kirk, "are not, of course, to be disclosed—they are scarcely to be hinted at. But the case which I bring to your attention perhaps involves a delicate point of international relationship; if my reasoning holds, I do not require you to make any admissions. That you consider the affair important and worth following out will be enough."
"Go on," said the official.
Ashton-Kirk reflected for a moment; then with a smile, he said:
"Don't be alarmed if I date the beginning of my story back quite a bit. I merely desire to glance at one or two facts which I consider of some importance; then I will come as swiftly as I may to the present." There was another pause, but in a moment he resumed. "Have you ever noticed that there are individuals who, without any great intimacy, seem to cherish a steady regard for each other? There are families which do the same thing. And there are nations.
"Now, I'm going to take a running view of such a friendship between two countries. When George III was puzzled as to how he should put down the rebellion of England's American colonies in the year 1775, he turned to Russia and tried to borrow an army. Catherine was then Empress of Russia; and her answer to the request was a most biting one. And George growled that shewas a barbarian and contented himself with Hessians and Brunswickers.
"When the second war of independence began, John Quincy Adams was United States Minister at St. Petersburg; and to him the Czar expressed the keenest regrets. And he did not stop at this. Through his representative, Daschkoof, and by personal letters, the Czar strove to bring the war to an end; he failed, but through no fault of his own. The friendly manner in which Russia ceded Alaska to the United States needs no comment.
"During the blackest period of the Civil War, when practically all Europe favored the Confederacy and were upon the verge of giving it official recognition; when France had gone so far as to throw troops into Mexico in defiance of the Monroe doctrine, Russia still stood our firm friend. To the wonder of the nations she sent a fleet across the Atlantic; it entered our northern ports and lay grimly waiting. What the admiral's orders were, only St. Petersburg and Washington knew; but that they warranted his stripping his ships for action in the event of certain conditions arising, I have no doubt.
"When the famine swept Russia a score of years ago, what people so quick to respond as our own? And when that same nation, because of geographical disadvantages, was outclassed inher war with Japan, it was the United States that stepped in and called a stay which resulted in the treaty of Portsmouth."
There were some few moments of silence; the secretary leaned back in his chair, his fingers pattering upon its arms; that he was interested was shown by the quick little jets of smoke which rose above his head.
"Well?" said he.
"We now come to the matter of present interest," said Ashton-Kirk. "The early defeats of Russia at the hands of Japan demonstrated her unpreparedness; and upon the heels of the news, the Russian Count Malikoff, with some military officers, came to Washington. At once a scarcely audible murmur ran through the more daring of the newspapers, but almost instantly died away. However, one with his ear to the ground could detect the falling into place of the ponderous parts of some international arrangement; but just what this arrangement was has not been made known."
"Well," said the secretary again.
Slowly and with great care, the secret agent then began the story of Dr. Morse. Starting with the visit of Warwick, he related the queer happenings at Sharsdale; then came the flight to America and the grotesque messages which had so startled Stella Corbin. He proceeded:
"A second glance at the picture of the crownedwoman handed me by Warwick, and my attention was caught. It was the work of a Japanese."
"Ah!" said the secretary. And he sat a trifle more upright.
"It was a Japanese with a thoroughly Western training; but that his point of view was still Oriental was plain in the drawing. It then occurred to me that if a Japanese were vitally interested in Dr. Morse he would be likely to live as near to him as he could. And the telephone directory informed me that the house directly behind that of Morse was occupied by one Okiu."
The secretary laid down his cigar.
"Okiu!" said he. "I think I recall that name."
"And more than likely it is the same person," said Ashton-Kirk; "though as yet I am not assured of that fact."
"Well?" said the official, expectantly.
"As you have seen, the persecution of Dr. Morse began only after his return from Manchuria, where he had served in the Russian army. This in itself seemed to tell something; but when I add to it that he had never before come into contact with Japanese, and that one of the race was plainly involved, you will see that I had a fairly good reason for supposing that the thing had its beginning in Manchuria.
"But what was the thing? Plainly it was nota personal matter, for his person and effects had been spared more than once. Then I got a faint gleam of light; for just about now the name of Drevenoff comes into the case."
"Drevenoff!" The official repeated the name quietly; his ruddy face was entirely devoid of expression.
"It is the name of a young Pole who is employed by Morse as a sort of gardener. He is educated and, I understand, capable of filling a much higher position in life. A few weeks ago he came to Eastbury entirely destitute. I recalled that a Colonel Drevenoff made one of the party which bore Count Malikoff company upon the mysterious mission to Washington in the early days of the Russo-Japanese war; I remembered also that Philip Warwick had told me that Morse had known young Drevenoff's father.
"This suggested an amazing possibility. After leaving the house on Fordham Road I consulted the files of a newspaper; from this I learned that Colonel Drevenoff had, some six months after leaving Washington, joined the army in Manchuria and had been killed in battle."
The secretary nodded.
"Well?" said he.
"Morse told me, in the brief talk that I had with him, that he had been attached as surgeon to the 47th Siberian infantry; and I learned fromthe newspaper file that Colonel Drevenoff had been commander of that very regiment."
The official shifted his position; his face was still unreadable; his voice, when he spoke, was even.
"You appear to attach some significance to that," said he.
"Suppose," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "that Colonel Drevenoff were possessed of something of great value; when brought in wounded and dying, what more likely thing than that he should be attended by Dr. Morse? Also it is not without the range of possibility that he should entrust this precious possession to the physician's keeping."
"You are not deficient in imagination." And as the secretary said this he smiled.
"Imagination is a vital necessity in my work. Without it I could make but little headway. And now I will venture still farther upon the same road; but, remember, I am claiming nothing substantial for what I am about to say. I merely place it before you as what might have happened and ask you to fit it to any facts of which you may be possessed. That Colonel Drevenoff was in the party of so eminent a diplomat as Count Malikoff shows him to have been a person of some standing; that he should so suddenly be packed off to the Orient to head a provincial regiment indicates a fall in favor.
"What was the cause of this? I have no means of knowing, but in view of what I do know, I can build up a structure which may be more or less composed of truths. Suppose, after Malikoff left Washington, he missed something—a document, perhaps, in the hand of some person high in this government. Suppose Drevenoff were suspected of taking it, but could not be charged with the act because of lack of proof. There we have a reason for his banishment. Now we will suppose that Drevenoff did actually take this paper. Why did he do so? In order that he should profit by it. In what way? The answer follows swiftly: by selling it to the Japanese government."
The secretary arose and crossed to a window.
"It is rather close here," said he. "But don't stop."
"Suppose the mission of Malikoff had already suggested the existence of this paper to Tokio; but upon Drevenoff getting into communication with them, they learned for the first time of its reality. But before the matter could be closed, Drevenoff met his death; and after Dr. Morse returned to England, the enemies of Russia in some way discovered that he had been made the custodian of the secret. What followed has been in the nature of attempts to gain possession of the coveted thing."
"But if this is so, how do you account for thebizarre—almost nonsensical methods employed? And how do you account for the apparent ignorance of Dr. Morse as to the meaning behind this persecution of him?"
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"I do not account for it," he said. "That is a thing which I have not come to, as yet."
The secretary recrossed to his desk, took another cigar and pushed the box toward his visitor; after he had the long roll burning freely, he began pacing up and down. After quite a space, he resumed his chair.
"As you said in the beginning," he spoke, "there are things which cannot even be hinted at before the time of ripening and fulfilment. Therefore, I can say only this: Count Malikoffdidlose a document of most tremendous importance. Colonel Drevenoffwassuspected. The paper in question, should it fall into the hands of those unfriendly to this government, might cause a nasty diplomatic complication. That it has not done so as yet, we feel sure; because the conditions are such that immediate and open steps would be taken. But official Washington has, so to speak, been living over a volcano for several years."
"This is all you can say?"
"In an official way, yes. But, assuming the point of view of a mere spectator, of which youlately accused me," and here the secretary smiled, "I should say that this matter of Dr. Morse holds all the elements of an interesting case."
"I agree with you," said Ashton-Kirk, as he arose to his feet and looked at his watch, "and as there is a train in another half hour I think I shall return at once and take up the study of it."
As it happened, Ashton-Kirk was too late to get the train which he had mentioned. The next did not leave until 7:30; and even this was delayed on the way, so that it was rather an unusual hour when they stepped into the motor car which the waiting Dixon held ready for them.
The mean street, with its high smells and grimy buildings, was strangely quiet; the venders' carts, along the curb, were empty; the stands were shrouded, and the stores dim-looking. As the automobile stopped before the secret agent's door, a bell in a neighboring tower struck one.
"Hello," cried Fuller, "what's Stumph doing?"
The hall door stood open to the fullest extent; the light was switched on, and beneath it stood Stumph with a roughly-dressed man whom Ashton-Kirk an once recognized as young Drevenoff. Stumph, aroused out of his usual gravity, was gesticulating determinedly. Drevenoff seemed insisting upon something doggedly. As Fuller spoke, the two heard the car for the first time, and turned.
"Thank goodness, here he is now!" criedStumph. He dashed excitedly down the step. "Here is a man who desires to see you, sir," he said to Ashton-Kirk. "He would not leave, though I told him a dozen times that you were not at home."
The secret agent, followed by Fuller and the man, entered the hall and the door closed behind them.
"Well?" asked the former of Drevenoff.
"You are Mr. Ashton-Kirk?"
"I am."
"I was sent to fetch you at once to Dr. Morse's place on Fordham Road, Eastbury."
"Who sent you?"
"Miss Corbin."
Ashton-Kirk looked at the young man; his face was pale, his eyes were brilliant with excitement.
"Has anything happened?"
"Dr. Morse has been murdered."
Ashton-Kirk turned to Stumph.
"Tell Dixon to wait."
Instantly the man opened the door; the chauffeur was upon the point of starting away, but halted upon hearing Stumph's voice.
"What trains are there?" asked Ashton-Kirk of Drevenoff.
"No more to-night," answered the man. "I had hoped to find you before the last one left."
"No matter—the motor will do."
Followed by the others, he hastily reached the car; Fuller seated himself beside Dixon and Drevenoff entered the tonneau with the secret agent.
"Fordham Road, Eastbury," directed Ashton-Kirk. "The number is 2979."
The car wheeled in its own length under the skilful hand of Dixon; then it went speeding away.
"When did this happen?" asked Ashton-Kirk, of Drevenoff.
"The murder?"
"Of course!" sharply.
"I don't know the hour. Some time to-night."
"How was it done?"
"He was shot through the chest."
"Where?"
"In his library."
It is natural, under such circumstances, for an informant to become very voluble; but not so Drevenoff. His answers were brief; his manner, too, was sullen and unwilling.
"Tell me what you know about it," requested Ashton-Kirk.
"I know very little," said the man. "This evening about dark I ate my dinner and looked at the evening paper; then I went to my room, which is on the third floor. I go to bed early these nights; I am not well, you see. It must have beenabout half-past ten when I heard a knocking at my door. It was Nanon, and she was crying out that Dr. Morse was dead. I dressed and hurried down-stairs. Dr. Morse was sitting all huddled up in his chair; his face was smeared with blood. Miss Corbin was kneeling beside him; the old woman stood by the door."
"Is that all?"
"Nanon told me to go for the police; but Miss Corbin got up at once and warned me not to. There was a train almost due; she told me to take that and go get you."
"I see."
The big car rushed along at high speed through the silence of the night; in a surprisingly short time Eastbury was reached and they turned into Fordham Road. The residence of Dr. Morse was silent and dark; the blinds were closely drawn; not even a glimmer of light was to be seen around their edges. Ashton-Kirk touched the bell; almost instantly the door opened and through the darkness a voice asked:
"Is that you, Drevenoff?"
"Yes," replied the Pole.
"Have you brought the gentleman?"
"Here he is."
The light was switched on; they saw the seamed face of the old Breton woman, harsh and emotionless. She spoke to Ashton-Kirk.
"Miss Corbin will see you at once, sir, if you please."
The secret agent followed her down the hall; they passed the library door, which was closed; and the old servant paused at the room into which she had shown them the evening before.
"I will tell her that you are here," she said.
Ashton-Kirk entered the room; it was dim, for only one light was burning; the atmosphere was hushed and breathless; a sort of terror seemed to have settled over everything. He had waited but a few moments when he heard a light, hasty step. Then Stella Corbin came in.
Her face was white and the great eyes were dry and dumb with fear; the corners of her mouth twitched. Silently she held out both hands to the secret agent; they were deathly cold and he felt them tremble.
"I came as soon as I could," said he.
"I called and called upon the telephone, but they told me that you were not at home. Then I sent Drevenoff." She spoke in broken, sobbing sentences; and the fear in her eyes crept into her voice as she went on. "You see, it is as I expected. He is dead. They have killed him."
"Are you quite strong enough to tell me what you know?" he asked. "It is important that we act quickly; the police will, of course, be in thehouse before long, and they are sometimes disposed to stand in the way."
"The police!" He felt the small, cold hands tighten convulsively, and, if possible, her face went still whiter. "The police! Oh! I had forgotten them."
He got her a chair, forced her to sit down, and then took another, directly facing her. The light fell dimly upon the dark, loosely coiled masses of her hair and brought out the clear perfection of the face. Her slight figure seemed almost childish in the long enveloping robe which she wore.
"I have heard the manner of your uncle's death," he said. "When you entered the library did you see any sort of firearms lying about near to his hand?"
Instantly she grasped the meaning behind the words.
"No, no," she said hastily. "It was not suicide! Tried as he was, many would have resorted to that; but my uncle was not of that sort. He was murdered."
"There were no firearms, then?"
"No."
"Who discovered the body?"
"Nanon."
"If I may I should like to ask her a question or two."
The old servant was summoned; she entered, angular, severe and sharp of eye.
"Miss Corbin tells me," said the secret agent, "that it was you who discovered the body of Dr. Morse."
"It was."
"Would you mind telling me how you came to do so?"
"When he worked at night, he always drank coffee to keep himself awake. I always made and took it to him. When I went into the library to-night, I found him sitting in his chair—dead."
"You heard no shot?"
"No."
"When did you last see the doctor alive?"
"About half past nine. I had just finished locking all the windows and doors when he rang for me."
"Is it your custom to lock up every night?"
"Yes. I have always done so at nine o'clock by the doctor's orders."
"He was so urgent about this," said Stella, "that I have thought he feared a repetition of the entrances which occurred at Sharsdale."
"You had seen that everything was fast, then?" said Ashton-Kirk, looking at the old woman.
"Yes; every door and every window upon the lower floor and every window overlooking the porch on the second floor. As there was noway by which the house could be entered by any of the other windows we never bothered with them."
"You say Dr. Morse rang for you as you finished locking up?"
"Yes, sir; and I answered. He was in the library, and I was surprised to see that he was dressed as though he meant to go out—perhaps upon a journey. He had on his hat, an overcoat lay across a chair and he was trying to turn a key in the lock of his traveling bag. The key was bent and he had rung for me that I might bring him something to straighten it with. But as he was speaking to me, the lock turned, and he told me that I need not mind."
"You say he was dressed as though to go out. Did he do so?"
"No, sir. I am sure of that, because I went to the hall door and sat upon the step for some time. It was a fine night. So if he had gone out I should have seen him."
"How long did you sit there?"
"About ten minutes. Then I went to prepare the coffee."
"While you sat upon the step did you see or hear anything?"
"I heard Dr. Morse talking."
"With whom?"
"I don't know. I heard a second voice, butnot distinctly. I thought it must be Miss Stella or Mr. Warwick."
Here the girl drew a deep, audible breath, and Ashton-Kirk saw the old woman fix her sharp eyes upon her.
"But," resumed Nanon, "Miss Stella tells me that it was not she."
"You went directly from the library to the hall door after speaking to Dr. Morse, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you close the door while you sat upon the step?"
"No; I left it open, thinking to hear if the doctor rang again."
"No one else was in the library when you spoke to the doctor regarding the key?"
"No one."
"Was there a light in the hallway while you sat at the door?"
"There was."
"Should you have seen any one entering the library?"
"I should. To go into that room he would first have to come through the hall."
"There were no visitors in the house at any time during the evening?"
"No," said Nanon. "I should have heard them ring, even if some one else had admitted them."
Ashton-Kirk turned to the girl.
"It is necessary that I know everything that can be told me as to what took place in the house to-night. So you will pardon a question or two, I know."
She inclined her head in answer to this; but her mouth twitched nervously, and her hands held tightly to the chair upon which she sat.
"Where were you when you learned that Dr. Morse was dead?" proceeded Ashton-Kirk.
"In my sitting-room, where I had gone to read immediately after dinner."
"WHO BROUGHT THE NEWS?"
"Who brought the news?"
"Nanon. She stood at the foot of the back stairs and called to me."
"Where is your sitting-room?"
"On the second floor at the back; the door was open and I heard her at once."
"Did you hear or see anything else, previous to this?"
"Very early in the evening I saw Drevenoff going to his room on the third floor; I sat facing the doorway and had a view of the stairs."
"He did not come down again?"
"Not until Nanon called him."
"You are quite sure of that?"
"Quite. I should have seen him had he come down."
There was a pause of some length; the secretagent looked from one to the other of the two women, and finally he said to Nanon:
"You say that you are not sure that the second voice you heard in the library was Mr. Warwick's?"
Again came the quick, deep drawn breath from the girl; and again the gray eyes of the old woman sought her face. At the same time she replied:
"I heard a voice. Whose it was, I cannot say."
There was another pause; then he turned to Miss Corbin.
"At all events," said he, smoothly, "I should like to speak to him."
She arose a trifle unsteady.
"I am sorry," she said in a low voice, "but I am afraid that is impossible, just now."
"Impossible?"
"He is not here—he has gone away."
"Gone away!" It was old Nanon's voice, and it was pitched a shade higher than usual. She took a step toward the girl, the thick gray brows bent over the sharp-sighted eyes. "Where has he gone? Why did he go?"
The girl did not reply; she put her hands to her face, and the secret agent as he looked at her saw that she shivered as though struck with a chill.
"I do not know," she said.
For a moment the old woman stood looking at her, something like menace in her face; it seemed as though she were about to burst forth into a torrent of words. But Ashton-Kirk rose.
"If you don't mind," said he, calmly, "I should like to go through the house."
Slowly the stern eyes turned from the girl to the speaker.
"You will not seehim?" indicating the direction of the library.
"Not until afterward."
Without another word she walked toward the door. Ashton-Kirk followed her; as he was stepping into the hall he looked back. Stella Corbin was standing erect, her hands clasped, her face white and drawn with what seemed suspense; and the great dark eyes, filled with terror, were fixed steadily upon him.
Old Nanon led the secret agent through the rear of the house and then up the stairs from floor to floor and room to room. His eyes seemed to take in everything, gauging, measuring, speculating; now and then he asked a question to which she returned a brief, illuminating answer. Finally they descended and Ashton-Kirk examined the front door. Beside the ordinary spring lock it had a heavy bolt.
"When you left the step and went back into the kitchen to prepare the coffee, did you close this door?" he asked.
"I did; and bolted it."
"Did you look at it after the body was found?"
"It was I who opened the door for Drevenoff when he started after you. It was still bolted."
Both Fuller and Drevenoff stood in the hall; and as old Nanon paused at the library door, Ashton-Kirk said to the Pole:
"How far away is the nearest police station?"
"About half a dozen blocks," answered the other.
"I want you to go there at once and report what has occurred."
"I can call them upon the telephone," suggested Drevenoff.
"I prefer that you go in person," said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly. "More than likely they will send a man or two; if so, please wait for and return with them."
Nanon opened the library door, turned the switch which controlled the library lights, and then stepped back.
"He is there," she said, one lean finger pointing to the empty doorway.
"Will you not go in?" Ashton-Kirk looked at her keenly.
"No." She drew back further, and he noted her make the same furtive sign that he had caught upon his first visit. "He has filled the world with evil," she went on, "and you see the end of it. Who knows but what that room swarms with things that the soul should fear?"
With this she turned and retraced her steps down the hall, and they saw her reënter the room where the girl had been left.
"A queer sort of old party," commented Fuller. "And one that seems to stick to her opinions."
The two went into the library and closed the door behind them. The hideous thing which sat huddled in the desk chair compelled their instantattention; the head lay tipped back and the face was caked with dry blood. From one thing to another the secret agent swiftly turned his attention; his singular eyes were narrowed, his nostrils widened like those of a hound searching for the scent.
"He was killed while he sat," said he to Fuller. "His position in the chair is too natural for it to be otherwise. And from the size of the wound I should say the weapon was a small one; the fact that no one, not even a woman seated just outside the door, heard a report, also indicates the same thing."
Around the library went the secret agent; the side windows were tried, but were fast, as were those opening upon the porch. A raincoat lay upon the floor; upon the top of the highboy rested a dark, soft hat.
"The bag!" said Ashton-Kirk in a low voice.
"Was there a bag?" asked Fuller.
In a few words the other related what old Nanon had said. Fuller whistled through his shut teeth as he searched the room with a glance.
"It's gone," said he, "and a hundred to one the thing we want is gone with it."
"Perhaps," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we are not at all sure of that. The person who is keyed up to the pitch of a desperate deed such as this seldom is in the state of mind to make an intelligentsearch. If the desired thing is at his hand, well and good, but if it is hidden the chances are decidedly against him. Witness the attempt upon the rubies of Bostwick's wife, in which her butler lost his life; also the astonishing matter of the numismatist Hume.[1]A miscalculation spoiled the criminals' chances in the first case; and a misunderstanding with a confederate was fatal in the second. The beast in a man is uppermost when he can do murder; and even the most intelligent of beasts is not a reasoning thing."
"That sounds like truth," said Fuller. "But this is the way I look at it. Dr. Morse was clearly in a state of dread; all about him agreed that these queer things, which were continually recurring, had broken his nerve. A servant enters a room and finds him preparing for a journey. Yet apparently he has not mentioned his intentions in this regard even to his niece, to whom he is much attached. To my mind this indicates that he was about to run off somewhere without saying anything to any one. He feared to remain and he feared to tell that he was going, thinking it would, somehow, leak out."
"Well, and what next?"
"The most natural thing for him to do under the circumstances," proceeded Fuller, "would beto take with him the article which created all the fuss. It would be against human nature to leave it behind. He was about to put it into the bag, or he had already done so, when the servant saw him endeavoring to turn the key."
"That," smiled the secret agent, "is rather well thought out. But you have overlooked one thing. That Dr. Morse intended doing as you state would necessitate his knowing definitely what his mysterious communicants desired. His own acts and especially his own words, as overheard by his niece, indicate the reverse of this. And if he did not know what they wanted," with a twinkle in his eye, "it is certain that he could not pack it away in a bag."
Fuller looked perplexed, but nodded understandingly.
"That's so," said he. "I forgot, for a moment, that the case had that peculiar phase." Again he looked all about. "However," he continued, "the bag is not here, and if the murderer took it with him, you can bet that he had an excellent reason for so doing."
While Fuller was speaking, Ashton-Kirk lifted the coat from the floor; several of the pockets were pulled out. At once he examined the coat worn by the dead man; the inside pockets of this were also turned out, as were those upon the lower outside.
"There was a search," said he. "But, as before, when the house at Sharsdale was broken into, the personal valuables were not its object. Here is his watch in his fob pocket, and this," taking up a torn card case from the desk, "lies just where the criminal flung it in his anger at not finding what he wanted. Its contents," pointing to a tightly wadded heap of bills also upon the desk, "are there."
"Suppose," doubted Fuller, "that the paper wanted was in this pocket case. The murderer would have taken it. As it stands, you do not know whether he found it or not."
"I think I do," replied Ashton-Kirk. "A man who has sought for a thing for a long time is delighted at finding it. The man who threw those bills upon the desk," holding up the tightly twisted lump, "was angry. That is plain in the vehemence of the act."
He stooped and pulled open drawer after drawer in the desk; their contents were tumbled, showing that a rough and hasty hand had been plunged into them. Fuller was gazing in fascinated silence at the long, supple, inquiring fingers as they deftly ran through everything; then suddenly he noted them halt. At once his glance went to the owner's face; Ashton-Kirk, his eyes turned in a sidelong look toward a door at the rear of the room, stood in an attitude of listening. Fuller was about tospeak, but the other lifted his hand in a warning gesture. There was an instant's silence, the secret agent listening as before; then he bent toward Fuller and said softly:
"Switch off the lights!"
Stealthily Fuller crossed the room and did so; then he stood waiting. In a few moments he heard a slight creak from the hall, and a muffled sort of jar. A minute or two passed; he was then astonished to hear the voice of the secret agent speaking in an unconcerned tone of voice.
"Hello," muttered the young man, "he is mighty cool about it, whatever it is. Turning off the lights to hold a conversation is rather new, I should say, outside of a spiritualistic seance."
A short time passed; then steps came along the darkened hall, and Ashton-Kirk's voice said:
"Now, Fuller, the lights, if you please."
Fuller turned on the lights once more, and again the two entered the library.
"I thought I heard you speaking to some one," said Fuller inquiringly.
"Over the telephone," said the other, quietly. "There was a little matter that I desired information upon."
Again he resumed his inspection of the room. The furniture, piece by piece, passed under his keen eye; the floor, the walls, the hangings, the books and writing materials—nothing escapedhim. At length he came once more to the highboy with its numerous drawers and glistening glass knobs.
First one and then another of the drawers he pulled open; like those of the desk, they told of the same hasty hand. However, this seemed to be all they had to tell, for the secret agent did not spend more than an instant over each. But as he was about to open the last but one, Fuller saw him pause and bend nearer. Then out came a morocco case and from this was produced a powerful magnifying glass. It was the knob upon the left hand side of the drawer that had caught his attention; putting the lens on this it threw up a thick, dark splotch.
"Blood!" said Ashton-Kirk.
Fuller bent forward with great interest.
"In searching the body after the shooting," said he, "the fellow, whoever he was, probably came in contact with the flow from the wound. And in opening the drawer he transferred it to the knob."
But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"No," said he. "It is his own blood. Look!" and he ran the glass from knob to knob upon the other drawers; "there are no marks here. And yet a man making a search would invariably start at the top, as I have done." Then the lens shifted back to the knob with the splotch. "Mark thisone closely," he added, "and tell me what you see."
"The knob has been broken," said Fuller at the first glance.
"Exactly. All along its top there is a keen ragged ridge. Probably seizing this to tear open the drawer, the criminal cut himself."
For a moment the speaker stood studying the broken knob with its particle of dried blood; then like a flash he turned to Fuller, his singular eyes ablaze, and snapped:
"On the desk there is a paper-weight. Get it."
Fuller, astonished, did as he was bidden.
"What now?" he inquired.
"Throw it through a bookcase door," was Ashton-Kirk's astonishing reply.
Fuller stood amazed.
"What?" gasped he.
"Throw it through a bookcase door," repeated the secret agent, busy with his lens.
Fuller stood a moment, hesitating; the other arose impatiently, took the heavy paper-weight from him and sent it crashing through the door of the nearest case. The glass splintered and fell jingling to the floor; Ashton-Kirk selected two small pieces and handed them to Fuller.
"In the kitchen you will find hot water and soap; wash and dry these carefully."
The assistant went hastily, and while he wasgone, Ashton-Kirk bent once more over the broken knob. With the thin blade of a pocket-knife he picked at the fragment of dried blood; finally he worked it loose and caught it upon a card as it fell. Carrying this to a small table above which hung a light, he examined it carefully. Then to Fuller, as the latter returned, he said:
"Are they ready?"
"All ready," replied Fuller, and he placed the two pieces of glass ready to his employer's hand.
Once more Ashton-Kirk looked at the blood clot; selecting that portion of it which appeared to be thickest he pressed the back of the knife blade carefully against it; then taking it up with the tip of his fingers he carefully broke it in two at the exact place. Sharply he brought the pieces under the light; two crimson, shining spots of uncongealed blood showed within the outer crust.
"Excellent," said the secret agent. "I thought it possible, but scarcely dared hope for it."
One after another and with delicate care he applied the newly exposed surfaces of the clot to one of the bits of glass; a fair sized smear of red appeared upon the smooth glaze. Then he drew the second glass across the top of the first; the result was that he now possessed two distinct smears of the blood.
With much satisfaction he placed these upon the top of the highboy.
"Now we'll leave them to dry," said he, "and in this place they'll not be likely to be disturbed."
Fuller was filled with curiosity as to the meaning of the foregoing performance, but the other had already resumed his prowling up and down, and the aide understood that this was no time for questions.
After a little, Ashton-Kirk opened the door at the back of the library, and they entered the rear room. There was a long window overlooking the lawn, and a door opening into the hallway. The room was scantily furnished; but upon the shelves were a stack of books in wrappers; also there were a number of filing cabinets.
The secret agent looked at some of the books.
"Remnants of editions," he said. "Morse was his own publisher, it seems."
Fuller examined the window.
"All tight," said he. "A Caspar window holder."
The door leading to the hall was fitted with a large old-fashioned lock, from which protruded a copper key.
"That looks safe enough," said Fuller, as he glanced at this.
"If it were fast it might be," said the other,drily. "But I had occasion to use it while you had the lights out, and found it unlocked."
Nanon was summoned and Ashton-Kirk met her in the hall.
"This door," said he; "is it usually left unlocked?"
"Never," she answered. "Dr. Morse always had it fast from the inside. He kept his books and papers there, and did not care to have them disturbed."
"That will do," said Ashton-Kirk. The old woman was just about to turn away when there came a loud peal at the door-bell.
"The police," said Fuller.
"Go and see," said Ashton-Kirk to Nanon.
Grimly she went along the hall, her spare, strong figure iron-like in its rigidity; Fuller's eyes followed her and then turning to the secret agent, he said:
"The thing looks queer, doesn't it? Everything tight as wax, but a very effective job done for all." Then, lowering his voice, he added: "There were only four of them inside; and from my way of thinking the thing rests between them."
The front door had opened in the meantime; they heard the murmur of voices and then it closed sharply. The old Breton woman hurried back to where they stood; and as she came the hall lights showed that her lined face had gone alivid yellow; her bony, large veined hands were outstretched.
"Who is it?" asked Ashton-Kirk.
She pointed toward the door quiveringly.
"The Japanese," she answered.
For a moment there was a silence; then Fuller spoke.
"Japanese!" exclaimed he. "At this time of the night? They are original in their choice of hours, anyhow."
"Let them come in," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly.
The old woman turned her startled face toward him; her hands went up rebelliously.
"No," she said. "They must not come in—at this time above all others."
The singular eyes of the secret agent fixed themselves upon her steadily.
"Show them into the room across from the library," said he in an even tone. "It is necessary that I should speak to them."
The stern gray eyes met the dark ones squarely. There was no sign of weakening in them; the yellow tinge left the old face; the hands fell at her side.
"Very well," she said, after a moment. "But let it be understood that I lifted my voice against it."
Again she went to the door; they heard the bolt shot and a rush of air told them the door had opened. From where they stood they had no view of the entrance, as the stairway shut it off. Again there came the voices, then footsteps and once more the door closed. In a moment the old woman returned. She pointed down the hall.
"I have done what you ordered," she said. Then in an ominous tone she added: "And I trust no harm comes of it."
With that she went on, and they saw her enter the rear room once more. Ashton-Kirk spoke quietly to Fuller.
"Stand in the hall and busy yourself somehow."
"I understand," answered Fuller.
Ashton-Kirk approached the room into which the visitors had been shown, and went in.
Two men arose upon the entrance of the secret agent. One was the small gray-haired man Ashton-Kirk had seen weeding the lawn two days before; the other was larger in girth and taller; his face was yellow and as devoid of lines as that of an infant.
It was the latter who spoke.
"Do I see Dr. Morse?" he inquired. The accent was perfect, the voice soft, smooth and almost caressing. Ashton-Kirk, as he looked at him, saw that the lineless face was singularly expressionless; however, a pair of jetty eyes looked out piercinglyfrom between the drooping lids and the chin protruded with much natural resolution.
"I am a friend of the family," said the secret agent. "If there is anything that I can do I shall be pleased."
The Japanese smiled.
"You are very good," said he. "But it is Dr. Morse whom I wish to see."
The voice was soft and purring; it was as though he were speaking to a child.
"If you will be kind enough to call him," suggested the speaker, "I will be obliged to you."
"That," said Ashton-Kirk, "is a thing which I should readily do if it could have any effect. But it would not. Dr. Morse is dead."
There was complete silence for a moment; a tall clock ticked solemnly at one side; its strokes now seemed to grow quicker and louder, like the heart-beats of a man fighting down an increasing excitement.
"Dead!" said the small man in a throaty voice.
"Not that, surely!" spoke the other, and one hand went out, as though in protest.
"He is dead," said the secret agent. "And more, he has been murdered."
"No, no," cried the small man. "That is horrible!"
The other approached a step or two; both hands were gesticulating as though he found it difficult to find words. And the hands were quite wonderful, slim and strong and beautifully shaped. Their color was a bright saffron, the fingers were long and as supple as those of a magician; their tips were delicately pointed, the nails rounded and gleaming.
"This what you tell us," said he, "is a frightful thing! Murdered! And by whom?"
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"That," said he, "is yet to be learned."
"But the police? They are not here?"
"No."
One of the wonderful hands touched the smaller man upon the shoulder.
"Humadi," said the gentle voice, "murder has been done and the police are not here."
The eyes of the gray-haired Japanese sought those of his companion; and a look as rapid as lightning passed between them.
"The West prides itself on many things," said Humadi, "but in Tokio, this would not be so."
"The officers will arrive in due course," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly. "But, in the meantime, if there is anything that I can do, I shall be, as I said before, much pleased."
"Will you permit me to sit down?" asked the taller of the two. "Thank you; and you will sitthere, will you not?" As he spoke he smiled and pushed a chair toward the secret agent in such a way that it would bring his back toward the door if he sat in it. But Ashton-Kirk took it readily, without a sign that he noticed anything studied in the act.
"My name," said the Japanese, as he seated himself facing Ashton-Kirk, "is Okiu. My house is on the next street; the back you can see from the rear windows of this. On the second floor there is a room where I read and smoke and study. It is at the back, and there," with a wave of the hand, "I sat to-night."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"It is in the blood of all lands," proceeded Okiu, "to love its native literature. I have many quaint books and rare manuscripts; they are full of the, as you of the West call it, folk-lore of my people. I love it;" the soft voice seemed to caress the subject on which it dwelt; "I sit and smoke and dream for hours. The bright legends of the Samurai sound like music to the mind; and forgotten heroes rise before me in all their ancient power." Here he laughed gently. "You see," said he, "how filled I am with the subject, when I drift unconsciously into it at a time like this.
"To-night I was so engaged. I was deep in a book lately sent me by a friend, a reprint of a precious writing that I had never before seen. Ibecame lost in its pages; two, three hours slipped by before I knew it. But when the clock struck ten, I got up and turned off the light, for I live very strictly," smilingly, "much as one of the recluses of the waste places of our own island. The night was beautiful, however, and I stood for a little looking out. The shadows fell in long lines and finally upon the edge of one of these—the shadow cast by this very house—I saw something stir."
The last word had hardly left his lips when there came a sharp swift rustle in the hall, an exclamation and the sound of a closing door.
"What is that?" cried Okiu, as he came to his feet.
"I'm inclined to think it's your friend," said Ashton-Kirk, as he lounged back in his chair. "I rather wondered why he went out into the hall."
Humadi appeared in the doorway, his manner apologetic, but a heavy furrow between his eyes. Fuller glanced in, over his shoulder.
"The gentleman made a mistake in the room," said he. "If I startled him in putting him right, I'm sorry."
"It is my place to ask pardon," said Humadi to Ashton-Kirk. "While you talked to my friend I stepped into the hall thinking to observe something which might be of value to the police when they came."
"I thank you for your interest," said the secret agent. "It is kind of you to trouble yourself. The door across the way leads to the room where the body lies, and it is as well that it be kept closed."
"It is for you to say," agreed Humadi, as he sat down, wearing a somewhat baffled look.
Okiu laughed softly, and the wonderful hands gestured appreciation.
"You do not know Humadi," he said to Ashton-Kirk; "you do not know him, or you would not wonder at him for this. His is one of the helpful natures; always is he desirous of being of assistance. To aid others is his one ambition."
"Ah, yes, to be sure." And Ashton-Kirk's fine white teeth shone in a smile of understanding. "One meets people of that sort now and then, but upon the whole such natures are rare."
"Rare, indeed! But the world," caressingly, "would be greatly the better if there were more." There was an instant's pause, then Okiu went on: "As I was saying, while I stood at my window, I saw a stirring just upon the edge of the shadow cast by this house. It was not a very marked movement, and at first I thought it must be something waving in the breeze. But after a little I knew that this was not so; the movement was too intelligent; I felt that there was some one lurking about on the lawn. Then I called Humadi; andwhen he came he said—what was it you said, Humadi?" turning to the gray-haired man.
"I said it must be men," said the other Japanese promptly. "And I said that there were more than one, and that they appeared to be thieves."
"He has such excellent vision," said Okiu, approvingly, to Ashton-Kirk. "He is many years older than I, but his eyes are like those of a boy. Yes, he said that they must be thieves, and I agreed with him. We watched for some time, but the shadows were so dense that we could make out little or nothing. Then suddenly we saw a man emerge into the moonlight."
"A tall man," said Ashton-Kirk, "broad in the shoulders, and carrying a leather bag."
Both Japanese turned their eyes upon him with swift surprise.
"You saw him?" cried Humadi.
"No, I merely fancied that it might be so."
The surprise died quickly out of Okiu's eyes; and in its place came a look that was peculiarly speculative; from the beginning he had regarded Ashton-Kirk with interest; but to this was now added surmise and, perhaps, quickening dread. But when he spoke his voice snowed no trace of this.
"Your imagination is excellent," purred he, gently; "indeed, it amounts to something like second sight. You are quite right, sir," his glancerunning over Ashton-Kirk; "he was tall and well set, and also young, judging by the ease with which he leaped over the fence. After this, as nothing more happened, I went to bed. But I could not sleep. I felt sure that something had occurred, and it troubled me. At last I got up, called to Humadi and came here to speak to Dr. Morse."
Here the Japanese arose; the smooth chubby face expressed no emotion, but the eyes, the hands, the whole body showed evidences of shock.
"I thought," said he, "to tell of a mere robbery; but I find something more terrible!" Then as though a thought had occurred to him. "But the others—the young lady? the young man? They met with no harm?"
The secret agent shook his head.
"No," replied he.
"That is well! The other is a frightful calamity, but even that could be worse." He seemed to hesitate for a space, then added in another tone: "You will express my sympathy to them?"
"I will," said Ashton-Kirk.
"I would not disturb them now," and Okiu gestured the idea from him. "No, that would not do. But I will leave my sorrow with you. It is fitter that it should be mentioned by an old friend of the family like yourself." Again therewas a slight pause; the speaker looked at Ashton-Kirk inquiringly as he asked:
"Am I right in understanding you to say that you are an old friend of the family?"
"A friend, yes," answered Ashton-Kirk, readily. "But scarcely what could be called an old one."
"Ah!" The drooping lids almost hid the searching black eyes. "Then you have not known them long?"
"For two days merely."
"Two days!"
Again the glances of the yellow men met, and again did a rapid intelligence pass between them.
"Two days," repeated Okiu, softly. "That is odd, is it not?"
"Acquaintances must begin some time," protested the secret agent.
"To be sure. But that your acquaintance with Dr. Morse should begin last night, and that he should die to-night——"
"Well?" The keen eyes of Ashton-Kirk met the peering ones of Okiu inquiringly.
"Fate seemed determined that the friendship should not grow," answered the Japanese, gently. "It is strange how things come about, is it not?"
Ashton-Kirk also got upon his feet.
"Fate seldom consults us," he said, drily. "If it did, perhaps things would happen differently."
Just then there came the growing sound ofvoices without; the shuffle of feet was heard upon the walk and then more noisily upon the porch. The bell rang in long streams of sound.
"The police," said Ashton-Kirk, looking at his watch. "Their methods are as distinguishable as their uniforms."
Fuller looked in; the secret agent nodded and the young man stepped briskly toward the hall door. In another moment a thick-set man in a sergeant's dress entered the room, and with him were two patrolmen.
"How are you?" said the sergeant, nodding to the three men. "Members of the family?"
In a few moments the status of the Japanese was explained; the sergeant listened to their story of the prowler with satisfaction.
"There's the party we want," said he. "Had a bag, did he? Humph! Full of swag, I'll bet." He then took Okiu's name and address. "A headquarters man will go on this case, of course," continued the sergeant, "and he'll want to hear you tell about that. And in the meantime," stuffing his note-book into his breastpocket, "I'll have to ask you all to go. We've got to look things over, and get the hang of it all, and you can see how too many people would be in the way."
As Ashton-Kirk and Fuller emerged from the house, they found the two Japanese standing by the gate. Dixon, who had been waiting all thistime, threw on the power at sight of his employer, and the engine of the big French car began to hum in the silence.
"Good-night," said Okiu, gently, a smile upon his smooth face. "I shall see you again, sir."
Ashton-Kirk waved his hand in answer; and as the car started off, and he and Fuller settled themselves back, the latter said:
"Did you notice the way that fellow said that? It sounded to me much as though he had something against you, and meant to get square."
"Perhaps," returned Ashton-Kirk quietly, "thatiswhat he meant. One can never tell."