The following morning the secret agent sat in his study immersed in the newspapers. Each contained a circumstantial account of the murder of Dr. Morse, and each, according to its policy, commented thereon. Much was made of the mysterious happenings at Sharsdale and the equally mysterious communications at Eastbury; the police had gone to apprehend Karkowsky at his lodgings, but he was missing.
TheStar, true to its enterprising spirit, contained front page reproductions of the three drawings which young Warwick had shown Ashton-Kirk.
"The pictures," said this newspaper, "will in the end be found to contain the solution of the entire matter. What they mean and why the colors varied so is just now a puzzle. The crowned woman and the cross with the different colored strokes are at this stage of the case absolutely without meaning. But the police are working upon this phase of the affair with much interest and zeal; and any hour may bring forth amazing results. Osborne, a talented man from the centraloffice, has the matter in hand; and judging from past performances, he should accomplish wonders."
"Well, there are worse than Osborne," commented Fuller when his employer pointed out the latter passage, "but he'll never set the earth to rocking, at that."
"He has a healthy brain," said Ashton-Kirk, "but he seldom centers it properly. And if his mind is kept constantly between the narrow barriers of police procedure, its possessor cannot hope for moments of inspiration."
TheStandarddwelt at great length upon the missing bag and the disappearance of Philip Warwick. The story of the two Japanese convinced this newspaper that with Warwick discovered the case would end there and then.
"There can scarcely be any doubt that it was he whom Messrs. Okiu and Humadi saw leaping over the hedge fence in the moonlight," declared theStandard. "The leather bag which he carried was more than likely the same that Dr. Morse was fumbling with when the servant last saw him in the library. To be sure, the old woman does not definitely state that it was Warwick's voice which she heard later as she sat upon the step. But circumstances fail to point to any other possible person. The house was absolutely secure, except for the street door, and the servant sat infront of that. It would have been impossible for any one to have passed in and she not be aware of it. The young man, Drevenoff, was in his room from first to last; we are sure of this because Miss Corbin saw him go up the stairs before Dr. Morse sent for the servant about the key, and is absolutely certain that he did not come down until after the body was discovered. Warwick, therefore, is the only person unaccounted for; and the fact that a person answering his description, even if only vaguely, was seen stealing away shortly after the time the crime must have been committed, seems almost convincing evidence of his guilt. And that this dimly seen person also carried a hand-bag, the only article learned to be missing, and that Warwick's present whereabouts is unknown, almost clinches the supposition."
Fuller nodded his head at this.
"They make a good case against him," said he. "I'm also of the opinion that Warwick, when found, will tell a mighty illuminating story—if he has the mind."
Ashton-Kirk threw the papers from him with a yawn.
"As usual," said he, "they grasp the obvious and apparently sensational features. The trouble with some of the journals and their staffs, however, is not lack of acuteness; it is the desire to get in on a good story before their rivals—to flame outinto broad-faced type which will give the prospective purchaser a blow between the eyes as it lies upon the stand, or allow the newsboys a fine line to fill the streets with. But the real things are not brought forward with such a dramatic rush; they filter gradually through a mass of extraneous matter and their quality appears only to a person seeking an absolutely convincing result."
He pulled off his coat and turned up his sleeves; entering the laboratory, he opened the drawer of a stand and took out the two pieces of glass broken from the front of Dr. Morse's bookcase. Holding these up to the light he said:
"We secured two very satisfactory blood smears under most unpromising conditions. That the clot was not altogether hard was fortunate; and that I was able to take advantage of the fact without accident was doubly so."
Lighting a Bunsen burner he passed the glass once through the flame; then he took a shallow vessel and poured out a quantity of liquid; in this he immersed one of the bits of glass with its dry stain.
"Some sort of a test?" inquired Fuller.
"Yes. This bath of alcohol will fix the smear."
"I see."
Fuller's curiosity prompted him to inquire as to what would follow this fixation; but knowledge of the other's habits of mind forbade this.
"About all that is known of the parasite for which I am going to seek," said Ashton-Kirk as he stood by the tray, watch in hand, "is due in the first place to a French army surgeon named Laveran. After him came the Italian, Marchiafava, the German, Koch, and a number of others. There is a monograph upon the subject by Mannaberg which is most comprehensive."
"What sort of a little beast is it?" asked Fuller.
"A lively, wriggling atom—a unicellular organism, directly upon the border-land between the animal and vegetable kingdoms."
"That sounds very exact and scientific," said the other. "But it means little to me."
"The young specimens of the plasmodia, as this particular germ is styled, develop in the red blood cells; and as they grow they destroy their habitation. I could tell you of interesting changes of color in the blood corpuscles, of the active, joyous dancing of the parasite, and of its multiplication by sporulation. But not now. All this, however, is repeated again and again; and each sporulation of the parasite is usually associated with marked symptoms in the person whose blood it inhabits."
"You speak as though you expected to find some such condition in this," and Fuller nodded toward the blood smear.
"I expect nothing. I am merely about to prove or disprove a suggestion."
At the end of twenty minutes, Ashton-Kirk took the bit of glass from the fixing bath, threw the alcohol into a waste pipe and ran some water into the vessel.
"It will take some ten minutes for the slide to dry," said he. "And in the meantime we shall prepare the next step in the process."
He took down a bottle filled with a dark blue liquid. This he held up to the light that poured in from the window.
"Here," said he, "is the bloodhound upon whom I depend to find and mark the parasite. It bears the rather formidable name in its present state of aqueous methylene-blue, and is in a two per cent. solution. Combined with it is a five per cent. solution of borax. I had a druggist send it in this morning."
This mixture he poured into the small vessel until the bottom was barely covered; then he added water until there was a layer of perhaps one centimeter in thickness, and the blue began to become transparent.
The alcohol had dried off the bit of glass by this time; and Ashton-Kirk took the fragment up with a pair of forceps and dipped it several times into the methylene stain; after this he passed it through clear water until the blue paled to a greenish tinge. Then he took up a white disc of filter paper; placing this upon a stand he laid the glassupon it and carefully dried both sides, much as one would blot ink from a letter sheet.
"This process is what is called staining," said Ashton-Kirk, "and the method I have used is one recommended by Koch; it is somewhat similar to the older one of Mannaberg, but more rapid in result."
Out of a tube he dropped a single gem-like globule of cedar oil upon the blood smear; then he covered it with a small square of glass; upon this in its turn fell a second drop of the oil.
The whole was then placed in position under a microscope and fastened. Then the secret agent brought out the lens. It glittered like a tiny diamond in a huge setting, and Fuller gazed at it fascinated.
"How you can see anything through a glass as small as that I can't understand," said he. "It looks like the point of an awl."
"It is a one-twelfth objective," replied the other, as he screwed the lens firmly down upon the cover glass, and thus embedded it, so to speak, in the globule of cedar oil.
"It is necessary," said he, "that the specimen be observed through the oil because the lens must be brought down directly upon the glass; without the oil the glass would be scratched and the whole thing ruined."
Then he set himself to the close study of whatthe tiny lens made plain; in a few moments he lifted his head with an exclamation of triumph.
"I have it!" he cried.
"What have you found?" asked Fuller eagerly.
"Evidence," answered Ashton-Kirk, triumphantly, "that will enable me to lay my hand upon the person who searched the library and clothing of Dr. Morse."
"The murderer?"
"Perhaps he is that also—who knows?"
"But," demanded Fuller, "I don't quite understand."
Ashton-Kirk waved his hand toward the microscope, and Fuller applied his eye to it.
"What do you see?" asked the secret agent.
"A pale green circle," answered the other, "and it is crowded with irregularly shaped spots."
"Compare the circle with the dial of a watch and look closely at the point where the six should be."
"Yes," said Fuller.
"What do you see—at a very little distance from the edge?"
"There are some small blue spots; some are dark, the others lighter and more intense."
"That last is my proof," said Ashton-Kirk. Then as Fuller turned upon him a still inquiring look, he added:
"The indications have been that some memberof Dr. Morse's household had a hand in his death. The house was secure at all points; it was not possible for any one to gain an entrance after the locking up. You might say: Suppose the criminal had entered the house before the time for locking up and remained concealed until he saw his opportunity? To that I would answer that we would have detected his method of departure. He should have left something unfastened behind him unless he had a confederate in the house. That the doors and windows, in every instance, were fast proves that this must be the case."
Fuller nodded his head.
"That's so," said he.
"Now let us take the members of the household one at a time. Miss Corbin——"
Fuller waved his hand.
"Oh, she's out of it," said he.
"Very well," said Ashton-Kirk, his white teeth showing in a smile. "Then let us take up Nanon. Here we have a severely religious woman—one who evidently detested her employer, but who served him well and had been many years in the family."
"It looks as though we'd have to pass her, too," said Fuller. "There is no reason whysheshould murder Dr. Morse that I can see."
Again the other smiled.
"In this you agree with the newspapers, at anyrate," said he. "None of them have found occasion to associate her with the matter, either."
"I also agree with the papers in the matter of Warwick," said Fuller. "I know that it's best to start without preconceived notions, but I can't help thinking that, if he's not exactly the man, he knows quite a bit about it all."
"That he has unaccountably disappeared is a bad point against him," admitted Ashton-Kirk. "And that some one resembling him was seen stealing away in the night, carrying a hand-bag, is another and most damaging one. However, as you say, it is best not to start with preconceived notions; and until we are sure that the unknownwasWarwick, and that the bag he carriedwasthe missing bag, we'd better not accuse him."
There was a pause; the secret agent looked at the stained blood smear for a moment and then continued:
"There is still another person—the fourth and last. This person possessed the marked symptoms of a common complaint—chills followed by fever. To this person I know Dr. Morse gave quinine."
"Well?" asked Fuller, eagerly.
"Chills and fever are indications of malaria—quinine is the invariable remedy for that complaint. And the light blue spots which you see inthat smear of blood," pointing to the microscope, "are the germs of that same disease."
For a moment Fuller stood as though transfixed.
"You have the man!" he cried at last. "You have him beyond the shadow of a doubt! To think," in great admiration, "that he should be found out in such an unusual way. Why, it is one of the——" Here he paused, the enthusiasm died from his face, and he added slowly: "But suppose that blood clot was not left upon the drawer pull at the time you think. The man may have been in the library during the afternoon upon a perfectly legitimate errand."
But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"No," said he. "It happened last night about the time of the murder. If it had been earlier the blood would have been dry and hard to the core."
"I see," said Fuller. "I recall that you were surprised at its having retained any softness, even at that. But there is something else. If Miss Corbin is sure that Drevenoff did not descend from the third floor, after once going to his room, how do you account for his presence in the library at that time?"
"Miss Corbin was in position to see Drevenoff as he ascended the back stairs. She did not see him descend, and so concluded that he could not have done so. As a matter of fact he could have gained the first floor without any trouble by passingthrough some unoccupied rooms upon the third floor, and using the front or main staircase."
"Then that's it," declared Fuller. "He came down that way while the old servant was in the kitchen seeing to the coffee, did his work and went back to his room by the same route. But," with a puzzled look upon his face, "what in the world ever drew your attention to Drevenoff in the first place—that is, what made you think it might be his blood upon the handle of the drawer?"
"Do you recall that while I was examining the desk I stopped to listen?"
"Yes, and told me to put out the lights."
"The sound that I heard came from the room in the rear of the library; when I asked you to switch off the lights it was because I wanted to open the door between the two rooms without the knowledge of the person who may have made the sound."
"You saw no one?"
"No. But I heard something like quick footsteps going down the hall, and then the soft closing of the street door."
"By George, I heard that, too," said Fuller, remembering.
"Some one had been in the room in the rear of the library," said Ashton-Kirk. "What I heard in the first place was perhaps some sort of sound made as he was stealing away. Drevenoff wasthe last person I had seen in the hall, and naturally he was suggested to me as the cause of the sounds."
"But you had told him to go to the police station."
"Told him—yes. But if you will remember, he had not yet gone when we entered the library. He said that the police station was a matter of four blocks; if he had gone at once he would have reached there long before I heard the sound in the back room. I at once went to the 'phone, which I had noticed in the back hall, and called up the station in question. No; he had not yet reached there. Would the sergeant kindly make a private note of when he did? The sergeant would."
"And did he?"
"He whispered it to me as I was leaving the house later. Drevenoff reached the police station less than ten minutes after I called them up—just about the length of time it would take him to get there if it were he who had been in the rear room."
"Ah!"
"The man's actions seemed suspicious, even before I received this apparent verification; also I had not forgotten the intelligence we had gathered concerning his father. So when I came upon the blood clot I naturally had him in mind; the symptoms of malaria and the quinine came back tome, and I at once determined upon this test on the chance that it would turn out as it has."
"I think you have sufficient evidence to have him taken at once." But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"It would be enough to hold him on, at any rate," protested Fuller. "And if he's not arrested now, he may escape, and Dr. Morse's murder will go unavenged."
The secret agent took up his big German pipe.
"The murder of Dr. Morse," said he, "is a most frightful crime against society. I am perfectly willing to do what I can to trace the criminal, but don't forget that the important matter with us is another thing entirely."
"You mean the document, or whatever it was, which was stolen by Drevenoff's father?"
"Whichmayhave been stolen by Drevenoff's father. Exactly. The murder of Dr. Morse is only incidental to this." Here the pipe was lighted and heavy clouds of smoke began to rise. "And even though young Drevenoffshouldprove to be the murderer, I don't think we need fear his attempting to escape."
"No?"
"No. For some little time, at any rate, it will be perfectly safe to give him a free foot; indeed, it may prove to be of great advantage to us to do so. He has not yet found the thing of which he is insearch. That is plain. If he had, he would have been off before now. So, for a time at least, it will be highly interesting to watch his movements; for who knows but what it is through him that we are to save the government much embarrassment."
Fuller regarded his employer, the huge pipe and the smoke clouds which rose lazily above both; there was much speculation in his eye.
"You have not lost sight of the Japanese?" said he.
"The Japanese!" Ashton-Kirk took the amber bit from his mouth and his white teeth gleamed as he laughed. "Oh, no! I have not forgotten them. Mr. Okiu and his friend Mr. Humadi interest me exceedingly."
It was a few hours later that the big car drew up at the house on Fordham Road. There was a crowd of loiterers at the gate, open-mouthed and marveling at everything they saw; and these at once gathered about the car, scenting a possible sensation.
But Ashton-Kirk, followed by Fuller, pushed his way unceremoniously to the gate; and a few words to the policeman on guard there admitted them to the lawn. One of the first persons they saw at the house was Osborne, the burly central office man, who stood upon the porch smiling expansively and talking with a couple of alert young fellows who listened with interest.
"I see that friend Osborne has the ear of the reporters," said Ashton-Kirk amusedly; "and to all appearances he is not losing any advantages which the situation might have."
"He looks good-natured enough to have had some luck," commented Fuller.
When Osborne caught sight of them he broke into a laugh.
"Hello," cried he. He came forward and shookthe secret agent by the hand. "I rather thought you'd poke your learned head above the horizon this morning."
"It pleases me to be borne in mind," smiled Ashton-Kirk, good-naturedly. "But what are the developments?"
"Oh, several little things have taken occasion to occur," replied Osborne, his broad face beaming. "One of them is that we have nailed the man with the bag. It was Philip Warwick, beyond a doubt."
"Ah!"
"He was seen a block from here, walking rapidly along the road, the bag still in his hand, by a market gardener driving into the city. The gardener knows Warwick very well by sight, having been in the habit of selling greens to the Eastbury people along this way. He says he spoke to the young man in a friendly way as he went by; but Warwick paid no attention; the gardener says he went right on without even turning his head."
"That seems to be definite enough," commented the secret agent.
"But that's not all," stated Osborne, with a widening of his already broad smile. "You see, I got to thinking over what the market man said, and an idea struck me. Warwick was going north, while the Eastbury station is south from here. I asked a question or two and learned thatHastings is the next station north—and a much more important one than this, by the way. A time-table told me that a New York train stopped at Hastings at 11:15. It was about 10:35 that Warwick was seen on the road. Suppose he was making for this train. I called up the Hastings station and found that that's just what he was doing. The night operator sold a ticket to a tall young man, in a light suit, who carried a big leather bag, and boarded the 11:15."
"That," said Ashton-Kirk, "sounds rather neat and complete. I congratulate you."
Osborne coughed self-consciously.
"I thought it was rather good myself," he said. "The New York police have a detailed description and are looking out for him. I'm trying to dig up a photograph or two to send them, because they're a little shy of picking people up on a description alone."
Here one of the reporters stepped up to Ashton-Kirk.
"Pardon me," said he. "My name is Evans, and I represent theStar."
"Oh, yes." Ashton-Kirk looked at him with attention. "I have noticed your work, as you are permitted to sign it. Your specialty is the comic aspect of things. Are you not somewhat out of your way on a murder case?"
"It is unusual. But then it might not be altogetherbarren in results. If I can pick up a few points that will bear distortion, I might produce a novel column." He put his hands in his trousers pockets and swayed backward and forward. "I understand that you were here last night before the police arrived. Perhaps you could tell me——"
But here Osborne interrupted him with a laugh.
"If you listen to this fellow," said he to Ashton-Kirk, "he'll have you saying things you never meant to say, and he'll be attaching meanings to them that you never meant to give them."
"Now, just for that," said Evans, unruffled, "I'm going to give you a panning."
"All right, my boy," said the big man. "Go ahead. I'm used to all that."
Then Osborne drew the secret agent into the hall.
"I'm glad you've come," said he, his face more serious than it had been all along. "There's a little thing in connection with this case that has me winging. It's all right to put on before them paper fellows out there," with a nod toward the porch, "because it don't do to let the public think the police can be put up a tree. It makes 'em lose confidence, you see."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"And then, if the department people show a sign of not being as well up on a subject as they might be," went on the detective, "the press getsonto them and maybe puts in pictures, and all that. The funny fellows, like that Evans, are the worst of all. I make believe I don't mind him, but honest, I'd rather go against a second story worker with the swag on and a gun in his fist, than that same young man."
There was a pause; and Osborne began shooting the heavy bolt of the hall door backward and forward.
"This is the thing that I can't get," he proceeded, after a little; "these bolts and locks and window fasteners. Every one of them was doing business last night. The whole place was tight as it could be. Are you following me?"
"Go on."
"That this young secretary fellow did for Dr. Morse, I'm positive. But whom did he have in with him? Which one of the other three in the house helped him in the job? One of them did, sure; for somebody had to lock the door or window behind him when he left."
"That is a compact little problem in itself," said Ashton-Kirk. "And the solving of it might be of interest. But why devote so much attention to young Warwick? Don't forget that there may be other aspects to the case?"
Osborne stared at him in astonishment.
"Well, say," spoke he, "youdobeat all, sometimes! Of course, there's other sides to the case;but Warwick is the center, and my attention is going to stick right there all the way. Once I nab him and get his why and wherefore, all the rest will be plain sailing."
"We have discussed methods before now," smiled Ashton-Kirk, "and I scarcely think there would be anything gained by going over the ground again. However, I will say this. Nothing is gained by riveting one's attention upon one phase of a matter. The only effect it has is to blind one to everything else; keep your mind open; then you will be ready to accept facts no matter from what point they come."
Osborne smiled broadly.
"You sound good, anyway," said he. "I always did like to listen to you. It's like as if you were reading out of a book. But, just the same, I'm going to stick to Warwick. He's the fellow for my money; the things that we've got on him don't happen just by accident, as you'll find out when the case comes to trial."
The secret agent remained in conversation with the headquarters man for some little time longer. He learned that a deputy coroner had viewed the body and that the inquest was to be held later in the day.
"And say," said Osborne, as they once more went out upon the porch, which was now clear of the newspaper men, "don't think because I don'thold to your way of looking at the matter that I ain't glad to have you in this. The fact is, I'm just as tickled as can be, because you've really got some moves that are rather smooth. I know, because I've watched you work them. But don't waste the good gifts by chucking them all around. Get after Warwick; there's the profitable end of this hunt; take it from me!"
Osborne then went to speak to the policeman at the gate; and, with Fuller, Ashton-Kirk made his way around upon the north side of the house. Holding to the hedge they slowly skirted the lawn. After a little the secret agent paused.
"So," said he, and Fuller fancied there was a note of surprise in the voice, "our friend Okiu was not drawing entirely upon his imagination. Here," pointing to a ragged place in the top of the hedge, evidently only recently made, "is where Warwick leaped over the fence. His foot caught and he almost fell. See there," pointing, to the opposite side; "the soil is bare and soft and his feet sank deep as he landed."
The lawn was smooth and hard at the front and sides and the grass cut very short; no trace of any sort was to be seen upon it; but at the rear, and especially close to the house, there were a number of bald places.
"Servants are never so careful as the family," said the secret agent.
Here there were numerous tracks, one upon the other. After only a glance, Ashton-Kirk passed on toward the south side of the house. Away from the rear doors the confusion ceased; but some of the footmarks continued.
"Osborne has been looking about," said Ashton-Kirk, pointing to a broad, blunt-toed impression; "here is his track, apparently coming from the rear door. But he did not put in much time," as the track halted and doubled upon itself. "His coming out at all was merely perfunctory, I suppose; for the fact that the doors and windows were fast before and after the crime was done is enough for him."
They drew nearer to the window which opened from the room in the rear of the library. Then Fuller heard an exclamation, and saw his employer bend close to the ground.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A woman," said Ashton-Kirk.
Fuller examined the ground; sure enough, there were the tracks of a slim, delicately-shod foot, the high heels having sunk deep into the soft earth.
"There's a man's track, too," cried Fuller, as he noted a series of heavier prints.
But Ashton-Kirk made no reply to this; a few rapid steps took him to the window above mentioned, and he searched the low sill.
"It may mean nothing, after all," said Fuller. "Curiosity probably induced some people to venture into the grounds this morning in order——"
"A man and woman entered the back room by this window," said Ashton-Kirk.
"I don't like to put myself in an attitude of continued protest," said Fuller, "but these low windows are commonly used that way. You see, it's only a step to the lawn."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"As you say," he agreed, "these low windows are commonly used in that way. But only when the rooms into which they open are also in common use."
"I see what you mean," said Fuller. "This back room is private. Old Nanon said the door was always kept locked." He remained gazing at the other for a moment, apparently pondering the new aspect which this discovery gave the situation. "Well, what do you think it means?"
"A woman and a man entered this room by the window; the latter had been left unfastened because it shows not the slightest indication of having been forced. And when they departed, the window was refastened—perhaps not at once, but as soon after as possible."
"You think——" Fuller paused, his eyes wide.
"If you heard a slight noise in the back roomwhile you were in the library, some time after the murder, what would you think?"
"Why, we discussed that this morning," returned Fuller. "It was Drevenoff, beyond a doubt! He waited in the hall after you told him to go to the police station. Then he stole into the rear room and replaced the window catch. And this being so it was he who admitted the woman——"
"And the man?" Ashton-Kirk smiled as he asked the question.
"The man?" Fuller's face grew blank. "Why, the man must have been Warwick! And if it was," after a moment, "why did he require to be admitted to the house by a side window when he could have gone in by the front door?"
If Ashton-Kirk intended to reply to this, he had no time to do so; for at that moment they heard a step behind them and looking around they saw the well-knit figure and expressionless face of Okiu.
The Japanese nodded and smiled in his peculiarly meaningless fashion, the black, intent eyes going from one to the other.
"I was getting a breath of air," said he, "and reading a favorite book, when I happened to see you here. I trust you are well?"
"Quite well," returned Ashton-Kirk, with equal politeness.
Okiu laid a heavy book upon a bench, patting it gently as he did so, as though it were a living thing.
"The old books," smiled he, and his voice was soft and purring, "are always hard to handle. The ancient makers did not know their trade as well as these of modern days. But," and the gracefully flexible hands gestured a pardon, "they had something to put into them. The old poets told of wonderful things in most wonderful ways."
"Every age has its own excellences," said the secret agent, "and perhaps mechanical efficiencyisthe high mark of our own."
"I fear that it is," said Okiu, in a gentle, regretful tone. "Even in my own country, once so peaceful and content with the old things, this fierce desire to perform wonders has taken root. Everywhere you see the sign of the times—in the people, in the schools, in the governments, and," here Ashton-Kirk saw the heavy lids quiver over the intent eyes, "in the army and navy."
"Ah, yes," said the secret agent; "the army and navy. We have heard of them."
"And Russia," said Okiu, softly, "has also heard of them." Fuller, a flush staining his cheeks, was about to reply to this; but a look from his employer restrained him. And after a moment's pause, Okiu went on in another tone: "Last night I offered my services if they were needed; to-day I repeat the offer, sir."
"You are very good," said Ashton-Kirk. "But the police have the matter in hand; and they resent interference, as I have found."
"I have read the morning papers with great attention," said the Japanese. "The matter as a whole is a most singular one. But, no doubt, the arrest of this young man, Warwick, will shed a light upon a great deal that is now shadowy."
"It will explain some things, no doubt."
"Some things!" The Japanese bent his head forward inquiringly. "Then you do not think it will explain all?"
"What I personally think," said Ashton-Kirk, "is of no great consequence."
The other laughed quietly.
"You are modest," remarked he. "And sometimes, if the real truth were known, the knowledge of the man who says little is of great value." He stood back a trifle, the yellow, finely-kept hands softly clasped; the round, lineless face beaming like that of a child. "And for all I know," he added, purringly, "you may know a great deal."
"You are very kind to think so," said Ashton-Kirk, and the tone was so open and pleasant that Fuller wondered if he had been at fault when he had fancied that he had caught a second meaning in the words of the Oriental.
"I am only a student," resumed Okiu, "but I may be of assistance here. And since there is nothing that I can do foryou, perhaps the police would——" A gesture finished the sentence.
"Mr. Osborne, who has charge of the matter, is at the gate—or was a few moments ago," returned the secret agent.
"Thank you. I will speak to him."
With a nod the Japanese left them and walked around to the front of the house; Ashton-Kirk, without a word of comment upon him or his sayings, bent down and once more studied the foot-prints. One spot in particular seemed to attract him; it was about five feet from the window andthe ground seemed a good deal scuffed and trampled.
"Just here," said the secret agent, "the two who were within there spent some little time in talk. There may have been some sort of an altercation between them; at least the indications are that they stamped about more than is usual in an ordinary talk. After a space the man went around by the rear of the house, for here you see his prints lost in the confusion. But the woman went the other way, as these three sharp impressions indicate," pointing. "However, the grass becomes thicker here and the sod tougher, and the signs fail. We can judge that she continued in that direction only by the fact that we fail to find any returning impressions."
They continued here for a little longer, then they made their way to the rear door and entered the kitchen.
Old Nanon was busily scouring some pans. By the range sat Drevenoff.
"Good-morning," said the secret agent, as he entered.
"Good-morning," they both returned.
Drevenoff arose and stood as though at their service. But the old Breton woman was as severe and erect as ever; her thin-lipped mouth was set firmly, her keen gray eyes looked out from under the thick gray brows.
"I am going to go over the house once more," said Ashton-Kirk, "but," to the old woman, "I shall not ask you to accompany me this time."
"You are not like the regular police, then," said she. "They had me up and down with them for hours. And the other——"
"The coroner's man," suggested Drevenoff.
"Yes, that is the one. He was even worse than the others. And the questions! Mother of God! I never heard anything like them before."
As the two young men passed through the kitchen Drevenoff spoke again.
"Is there anything new, gentlemen?" he asked.
"Nothing as yet," replied Ashton-Kirk.
"I have read the papers," said the young Pole, "and I am sorry for Mr. Warwick. He was a good-natured man."
"Good-natured!" said the old woman, in a tone of contempt "Ah, yes, good-natured."
"I knew," said Drevenoff, "that he quarreled very often with the doctor toward the last, but I never thought it would come to this."
Here the pan slipped from the old woman's fingers, upset the scouring powder and fell to the floor. Muttering angrily she stooped to pick it up.
"Quarreled!" said Ashton-Kirk. He paused in the doorway and looked at the Pole with interest.
"It was about Miss Stella, I think," said Drevenoff. "To be sure I know very little about it, and——"
"You know nothing about it, Drevenoff," said the Breton woman. "If you knew Simon Morse," she continued, turning upon the secret agent, "you would not wonder that any one had words with him."
"Ah, no, perhaps not," said Ashton-Kirk, carelessly. "I understand that his temper was not of the sweetest." He was about turning away when he asked of Drevenoff: "How are you getting?"
"I'm better to-day than I have been for a week," was the answer. "But it won't be for long. Before I came here I worked in a construction gang for the Virginia and North Carolina Railroad and the worst of the line was through low country. Sickness is thick down that way."
"I hope I shall not disturb Miss Corbin," said Ashton-Kirk to Nanon. She gestured in the negative.
"She is sitting with Simon in the room opposite the one where he died," said the woman. "She has been there for hours. She does not pray and she does not cry. She just sits and stares."
The secret agent and his aide reached the second floor by the rear stairs; as they paused by awindow which overlooked the house occupied by Okiu, Fuller said:
"There is something which I have been turning over in my mind for the past hour; it occurred to me as soon as we reached here this morning. Do you recall that first drawing which Warwick showed you? It was the one which looked like this."
With his forefinger the young man drew upon the dust of the window glass the design:
"From the very first," said Fuller, "that thing struck me as being a sort of ground plan, so to speak. As you stood talking with Osborne a while ago, I got looking about. It seemed to me that Okiu's house and this one were very much of a size and that the connecting plots of ground were very long and very narrow. Here," and Fuller indicated one of the squares at the end of his drawing, "might be Okiu's house, and here," pointing to the second square, "might be that of Dr. Morse. The intervening space might be the adjoining lawns."
Ashton-Kirk looked at the speaker, a curious light in his eyes.
"I wonder," said he, "how far you are from the truth?"
Fuller entered the bathroom to remove the dust from his finger-tips; and as he was toweling briskly away he caught a glimpse, through the partly open door of a closet, of a pair of soiled shoes. In an instant he had them out.
"By George," he breathed, "here's a find."
The shoes were light and made upon a slim, well-shaped last; the heels were high, the instep arched; except for a caking of yellowish looking soil about the edges of the soles they were the quintessence of feminine elegance.
"That is the color of the soil outside there," said Fuller, "and the only person in this house to whom they could belong is Miss Corbin."
Ashton-Kirk took the shoes in his hand and examined them carefully at the bathroom window, which stood open. Fuller, watching him expectantly, saw his lips forming the first words of a reply. But it was never uttered. Something without attracted him, for he put down the shoes and protruded his head from the window. The latter overlooked the north side of the house; and the secret agent leaned from it motionless for some moments.
At length, however, he drew in his head, and Fuller was surprised to see a perplexed look upon the keen face, a baffled eagerness in the singular eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
Ashton-Kirk indicated the window silently. In turn Fuller looked out, and what he saw almost made him cry out. Okiu stood below; from a window of the room in which Nanon had said she was watching the dead leaned Stella Corbin, and the two were engaged in a low-pitched, earnest conversation.
The conversation between Okiu and Miss Corbin was too low voiced for Fuller to catch any of it; and in a few moments he also drew in his head.
"Well," said he, "here's a state of things. First we find tracks which might be hers, then we come upon the shoes which she might have worn when she made them, now we see her engaged in secret conversation with a man whom we know to be——"
But Ashton-Kirk with an impatient gesture stopped him.
"Indications are not proof," said he, as he went into the hall. "Don't forget thatweourselves have also made tracks round about the window below, our shoes are also more or less caked with earth, and we have both spoken to Okiu."
"Of course that's so," said Fuller, "but nevertheless the facts are peculiar." He followed the other along the hall and into a room at the front of the house. "But, for that matter, everything having to do with this case is peculiar. I never saw a trail so snarled and crossed and recrossed.First you get the idea of a Japanese. Then Warwick is plunged into the thing so deep that I fail to see how he's ever going to extricate himself. Thirdly, we have enough proof as to Drevenoff's complicity to put him behind the bars; and now the probabilities are that the girl is also concerned."
Ashton-Kirk moved slowly about the room; it was one evidently used by Dr. Morse as a sort of lounging place, for there were sofas and big chairs and many books. At one side near the front window was a narrow antique desk of polished wood; it was open, and its contents had been tumbled about by the police. Ashton-Kirk sat down before it, annoyed and frowning.
"After an Osborne and a deputy coroner have been over the ground, one could drive a herd of mules over it without causing any appreciable difference in its aspect," said he. "They are as heavy handed as draymen."
And while he proceeded with a careful inspection of the contents of the desks, Fuller continued in a complaining tone:
"I'd like to know what we are to make of the whole business. Is it a sort of general conspiracy against Dr. Morse? Are Warwick, Miss Corbin and Drevenoff in league with the Jap for some particular purpose?—are there factions in the matter—each working for its own advantage?—oris every individual laboring for him or herself, and against all the others?"
"Mostly correspondence of a private nature," said Ashton-Kirk, as he ran through the papers. "Contracts with publishers, notes as to lectures, and negotiations for the delivery of the same."
There were some bits of jewelry of no particular value, a few small books of accounts and various odds and ends.
After some further search he lifted the writing bed of the desk, which was also the lid, and was about to close it; something seemed to attract his attention and he paused.
"Were you ever handed a bulky book and were surprised to find it extremely light?" said he to Fuller. "That oddity of thickness combined with lightness applies also to this lid."
The tip of the long inquiring finger ran along the edge of the lid; the quick, observant glance followed close behind. Instantly Fuller caught the suggestion.
"That's so," said he, eagerly; "it may be hollow."
"On each side of the lock," said Ashton-Kirk, "there is an inlaid strip. Look closely and you will see slight marks at the ends of each where the point of a knife has been inserted from time to time."
As he spoke he brought his own knife into play.Out came one of the inlaid pieces, disclosing a shallow opening. But it was empty. However, the second one revealed a number of sheets of paper. With the aid of the knife blade he managed to work these out; then spreading them upon the desk the two men examined them with attention.
"Hello," said Fuller, "here is that thing which I said a while ago looked like a ground plan."
"And here are the variously colored versions of the same, just as Warwick described them," said the secret agent. "They are precisely alike, but some are in brown, others in black, still others are in red, while some again are in blue. And here are the ones done upon neutral paper, in white."
"Is it possible, do you think," questioned Fuller, "that anything was meant by the differing colors?"
"There is nothing to convince me that such is not the case," replied Ashton-Kirk. "Chance seldom rules in a matter of consequence."
"Could the change in color not be ascribed merely to the fact that the draughtsman used the one that came first to his hand?"
"It may be. But see here: The design which you say resembles a ground plan differs in color, but is always the same in shape. But here are the other drawings. First there are a number of the crowned woman, all of which are done in brown.Then here are several duplicates of one which I saw the first time we came here. It is a cross, and in each case the down stroke is red and the cross stroke blue. Here the selection of colors never varies, and that there was a reason for clinging to these particular colors seems pretty evident. And that there was an equally good reason for changing the colors in the first design seems to me reasonable."
"Yes, it would appear so," admitted Fuller, but doubtfully. Then another sheet caught his eye and pointing to it, he inquired: "But what isthat?"
Ashton-Kirk was reaching for the drawing when the question was asked. The squares of paper were exactly the size of the others, but the design upon it was totally unlike, however, and was done in heavy black. It was a picture of a human heart, and transfixing it were a number of pointed weapons resembling stilettos.
"What a murderous-looking thing!" observed Fuller. "Much like a Black Hand design as illustrated in the evening papers."
Ashton-Kirk did not reply; he bent down over the drawing as though inspecting it closely; then there was a considerable pause in which he did not stir and Fuller, watching, noted the glaze of introspection in the singular eyes. However, this was not for long; he suddenly straightenedup; the other designs slowly passed through his hands once more; then he arose, a smile upon his face.
"More than likely that is it," said he.
"Is—what?" asked Fuller.
But the other allowed the interrogation to go unheeded.
"Away somewhere in our memories," said he, "there are many little bits of information all ticketed and ready to the hand of the person who cares to reach back for them. Those people who go through life with their eyes open possess more of these items of recollection than those who refuse to look beyond the confines of their own affairs. But the impressionable person—the one who makes no conscious effort to retain the things that buzz like bees about him—and yet catches them all much like the record of a phonograph—has the greater resources to draw upon."
"I would not call you one who made no effort," said Fuller. "And things must need be more or less proven to make an impression upon you."
"I make my effort in the particular line along which my interest runs at the time," said Ashton-Kirk. "And it is true that the things which I then accept must be more or less solidly supported by facts. But a newspaper casually picked up, a novel read as a time-killer, a spoken word, the gesture of a stranger in the street, or theunstudied action of a child, may convey a something that will stay with us for life."
"And just now," said Fuller, curiously, "you came upon one of these little incidents, a sort of unattached thing, which throws some light upon these," and he pointed to the drawings upon the desk.
Ashton-Kirk nodded; placing the sheets of paper in his coat pocket he closed the desk.
"The police will have little use for these," he said. "Nevertheless, I suppose I had better call Osborne's attention to them."
He spent another half hour in the upper part of the house, but nothing of interest met his eye. Then they descended to the first floor; and as they did so, met Miss Corbin upon the stairs. As she saw them, a startled look came into her face.
"Good-morning," said Ashton-Kirk.
"I did not know that you were here," she said.
"There were a few trifles which I knew only daylight would show us," he returned. "We came more than an hour ago."
"I did not see you go up-stairs," she said; and to Fuller there was a sort of confused resentment in her voice.
"We took the liberty of using the back stairway, that being the nearest," explained the secret agent.
There was a pause. The slim, girlish figure blocked their way; the great dark eyes were fixed upon them observantly. "You were in my uncle's room?" she asked.
"Yes. We fancied that there might be something there of interest."
"Ah, no doubt," she replied; and again Fuller's attention was called to a peculiar something in her voice. However, she said nothing more; and then as they stood politely aside, she passed on up the stairs.
The telephone bell was ringing furiously as they reached the hall; Osborne hastened from somewhere in the rear to answer it.
There followed the usual one-sided and enigmatic telephone conversation; but this one was interspersed with high-pitched questions, amazed ejaculation and wondering adjectives upon the part of the headquarters man. At last he hung up and turned to Ashton-Kirk.
"Well, what do you think of that?" he cried.
"What is it?"
"That was the chief. He's just had a wire from New York. They got on Warwick's track an hour after hearing from us, and traced him to an up-town hotel."
"Ah! And have they taken him?"
"Two plain clothes men went in and a couple more stood outside. The clerk said yes, he wasin his room. Was registered under the name of Gordon. They went up and knocked. No answer. Knocked again. Still no answer. They broke down the door, and found——"
"What?" asked Fuller.
"That Warwick was gone. On the floor lay a traveling bag like the one he took from here, slashed open and empty, and beside it lay an unknown Japanese—stabbed through the heart."
The late editions of the evening-papers ran riot with this latest feature of the Morse case. The New York police, by happy chance, had pounced upon the warm trail as soon as the young Englishman stepped from the train. What followed was so totally unexpected by the authorities that it set them into a violent state of agitation. This they at once communicated to the ever receptive "yellows," and then the public received more than its due share of the developments as served upon scores of front pages.
"Who the Japanese is is a mystery to the police and the hotel people," declared theStarin triple-leaded feature type. "How he got into the hotel and up to Warwick's room is, as yet, a thing which, so they claim, has baffled the best efforts of all concerned. But what he meant to do when he reached the room is in the opinion of this journal a matter that will prove infinitely more taxing upon the wit of the detective department."
Fuller read column after column of such comment. The various people who had figured in thematter were separately interviewed and their ideas were given much space. The railway porter, who had sprung into fame by recognizing Warwick and who had had the awesome experience of carrying the much spoken of leather bag from the day coach to the cab outside, related his feelings when he later became aware of his patron's identity, and told of his hunt for the policemen who had given him the young man's description. The cabman also talked thrillingly, as did the clerk and the bell-boy who led the detectives to the door of Warwick's room. As for the police, they appeared to have maintained an attitude of much wisdom. What utterances they condescended to make were of a peculiarly Delphic character; and, as is usual, they hinted at astonishing revelations which limited periods of time would bring forth.
"They are now deep in the case," stated theStandard, hopefully, "and a little time may work wonders. A half dozen experienced man hunters are running out the various fine threads which stretch away in as many directions. Each of them has a hopeful outlook and is confident of ultimate success. And this intelligent force has been recruited by Osborne, a local man of acknowledged parts, who is handling the parent stem, so to speak, of this exotic crime growth. Mr. Osborne will familiarize himself with this newphase of the case and will then be ready to take up his task here with renewed vigor."
"For experienced people," commented Fuller, as he cast the sheets from him, "I think the publishers of newspapers are the most gullible in the world. Day after day they apparently stand for the same old explanation—day after day they seem to be taken in by the same old conventional lies."
A short man with a bulging chest and surprisingly broad shoulders sat opposite the speaker. He stroked his prominent jaw as he remarked:
"They are as wise as any one else, and they feed that sort of pabulum to the public because they think it wants it. They know how the regular police work; but they say nothing because they don't think their readers are interested in hearing about it. The fellow who takes an evening paper home to read after business would much rather believe that Osborne is a remarkable detective than just a fair mechanic who was dragged away, by ward politics, from his natural job of gas fitting."
"I suppose you are right, Burgess," replied Fuller. "There is more interest in the first, I admit. But between you and me, I don't think Osborne ever cleared up a case yet that he didn't get the rights of just by sheer luck."
"And he knows it," said Burgess. "And what'smore, he is firmly convinced that that is the only way a casecanbe cleared. He trusts to luck in every instance."
"I expected that you would be sent to New York to look up this hotel matter," said Fuller, as he sat back in Ashton-Kirk's lounging chair and stretched his legs out in luxurious comfort.
"Oh, I've been looking up that fellow Karkowsky," said Burgess. "The boss sent O'Neill over on the Warwick end. O'Neill is pretty smooth, you know, and is just the fellow to get along with the regular police, and work all they know out of them—if thereisanything."
"How does Karkowsky look?" questioned the other.
"I haven't got sight of him yet. Seems to be a queer sort of bird and flies only at night. And now that the police have got so interested in looking for him, he's apt to get more difficult to out-guess than before."
"Have they muddled up the trail?"
"In the usual way," with a disgusted wave of the hand. "Brass band methods, you know. They follow him with drums beating and then wonder why they don't catch him."
At this moment there was a step at the door, and Ashton-Kirk entered. He wore evening clothes with an overcoat over them; a silk hat was on his head, and he carried his gloves and stick asthough he had just come in. There was only one light burning in the room, and it threw his gigantic shadow upon the wall.
"How are you?" he said to Burgess. "Anything to report?"
"There it is in the envelope, as far as I have gone," replied Burgess. "But there is nothing very vital. Karkowsky seems as elusive as any one that I know of."
Ashton-Kirk nodded. He took up the envelope and opened it. There were several closely typed sheets and his eye ran over them quickly. The report was as follows:
"Notes on Karkowsky"
"The keeper of the harness shop at Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue is of the name of Andrew Brekling. He is a Pole and has been in this country for five years. Karkowsky was unknown to his landlord in every way, save that of a lodger. He rented a third-story room and lived in it almost a month. He had few callers. The harness-maker does not remember any one of the name of Drevenoff, and is quite sure that no young man of the description which you gave me of Drevenoff ever came there."I made a great many inquiries in the neighborhood, but learned little. A grocer told me that Karkowsky purchased many articles from him and appearedto have plenty of means; he also said that while the Pole was voluble upon most things he never spoke of himself or his affairs."Then I found from the harness-maker that Karkowsky had spent a good bit of his time at a branch of the city library which was no great distance away from his lodgings. Thinking this might, on an off chance, turn some light on the matter, I went there. The young woman in charge recalled Karkowsky perfectly, although she did not know his name. He had always been good-natured and smiling and always read the one kind of books—scientific philosophy of the most modern type. Once he told her that all the other books in the place should be burnt."
"The keeper of the harness shop at Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue is of the name of Andrew Brekling. He is a Pole and has been in this country for five years. Karkowsky was unknown to his landlord in every way, save that of a lodger. He rented a third-story room and lived in it almost a month. He had few callers. The harness-maker does not remember any one of the name of Drevenoff, and is quite sure that no young man of the description which you gave me of Drevenoff ever came there.
"I made a great many inquiries in the neighborhood, but learned little. A grocer told me that Karkowsky purchased many articles from him and appearedto have plenty of means; he also said that while the Pole was voluble upon most things he never spoke of himself or his affairs.
"Then I found from the harness-maker that Karkowsky had spent a good bit of his time at a branch of the city library which was no great distance away from his lodgings. Thinking this might, on an off chance, turn some light on the matter, I went there. The young woman in charge recalled Karkowsky perfectly, although she did not know his name. He had always been good-natured and smiling and always read the one kind of books—scientific philosophy of the most modern type. Once he told her that all the other books in the place should be burnt."
Having reached the end of the report, Ashton-Kirk took off his coat and hat and laid the report upon the table.
"Have you made any further attempts?" he asked of Burgess.
"I've been hunting for some trace of him all day," replied the man. "But it's tough work. He went off without any one seeing him, and I haven't a thing to dig a claw into."
"Was there nothing left in his room—nothing that would indicate what his intentions were?"
"Not a shred of anything. You see, he hadrented the place ready furnished. And the police were there ahead of me."
"Take the matter up again to-morrow; if nothing develops let me know, and we will make a fresh beginning over the same route. Mr. Karkowsky has been, so it appears, an important figure in this matter, and it would be just as well to know where we can put our hands upon him when we want him."
After a brief conversation relating to the details of the work that Burgess had done, that gentleman departed. Ashton-Kirk rolled a cigarette and sat down in the big chair which Fuller had vacated. Then he drew toward him a number of books which lay upon the table.
"These," said he, "were kindly loaned me by Father O'Leary of the Church of the Holy Redeemer. And the information they contain is quaint and most valuable."
"They are rather out of your line, are they not?" questioned the other, as he took up one of the volumes and looked at the title. It was a "Life of St. Simon Stock."
"Nothing is out of my line," said Ashton-Kirk. "I have, as you know, seized some of my most helpful assistance from what might be regarded as a most unpromising source." He took the little book from his aide's hand and ran over its pages. "In what way," asked he, "can a biographyof St. Simon Stock help me to save the United States from an international embarrassment and incidentally give me more information upon the subject of the murder of Dr. Morse?"
Fuller shook his head.
"I don't know," said he. "But if you say it will do so, I'm perfectly willing to believe it."
The other smiled.
"You have been with me for several years, Fuller," he said, "and your clerical work is very complete. Your investigations, when you are given a definite point to work upon, are also satisfying. But you stop there. I should think that by this time you would have begun to weigh the different problems which come up and reason them out for yourself."
Again Fuller shook his head.
"I've got a pretty good kind of a brain," said he; "people who know have considered me a first-class accountant, and I'm a perfect storehouse for certain kinds of facts. But it's not your kind of brain; for ages of effort would pass and not once would I dream of trying to gain information as to the death of a resident of Eastbury from a parcel of books like these."
"I suppose you are right, my boy," said Ashton-Kirk; "different types of mind have different tendencies." He continued fluttering the leaves of the book, the pale smoke of the cigarette driftingformlessly about him. Then he went on: "Perhaps it does seem rather an extraordinary thing to expect a monk of the thirteenth century to aid in solving the present problem. But let us go further into the matter and we may possibly get some light."
He laid the burnt end in the shell upon the table and rolled another cigarette; and while he did so, he talked.
"Simon Stock was an Englishman, and was a native of Kent. At the age of twelve he is said to have left his home and lived in a hollow tree. The Oriental idea had penetrated the West, and Europe was filled with anchorites. Some monks of the Order of Mount Carmel entered England from the Holy Lands and Simon, now a man of mature years, joined them. There is a legend that he was directed to do so by a supernatural agency, but Catholic scholars seem to pay little attention to this. At any rate time passed and the Kentish man, famous for great piety and virtue, was finally made general of the White Friars, a name by which the Carmelite Order was known.
"Again legend plays its part. As he knelt one day in prayer in his monastery at Cambridge, the Virgin Mary is said to have manifested herself to him and presented him with the scapular."
"I have a sort of hazy notion as to what that is," said Fuller, "but not enough to work on."