"It was originally a sort of habit which the monks wore over their other garments," replied Ashton-Kirk; "but from St. Simon Stock's day it altered in appearance. It became two squares of cloth fastened by two pieces of tape, and was worn around the neck by those persons who desired to benefit by its privileges. When stretched out on a flat surface its appearance," went on the speaker, as he took up a pencil and drew a few rapid lines upon the margin of a newspaper, "was something like this:"
Fuller's eyes opened in wonder.
"Why," he cried, "that is exactly like the drawing sent so frequently to Dr. Morse!"
Ashton-Kirk laughed quietly.
"Already," said he, "you are beginning to see the use of Father O'Leary's books. And, perhaps, as we go on, your vision will become wider still." There was a moment's pause, then the speaker continued: "There is another scapular beside that of St. Simon; it is the Trinitarian, which was brought forward by an order of that name, founded by John de Matha, and Felix de Valois for the redemption of captives. These religious wore a white habit with a cross upon the breast. ATheatine nun named Ursula Benincasa originated still another scapular, that of the Immaculate Conception, which is of light blue. An Italian order, called the Servites, introduced another, this time of black; and the Sisters of Charity of Paris brought forward still another—of scarlet."
Ashton-Kirk's pencil tapped upon the drawing which he had made upon the margin of the newspaper.
"Dr. Morse had this design sent to him in all the colors named. First came the brown, then there was blue, white, black and red. When the gamut, so to speak, of colors had been run, he received the picture of the crowned woman, done in brown. This is now very easy to explain. The sender for some reason had called attention to the various sorts of scapulars and was beginning all over again. The Carmelite scapular is of brown and bears a picture of the Virgin Mary—hence the woman wearing the crown. Then came the cross which I was shown upon my first visit to the Morse house; its down stroke of blue and cross stroke of red is the same as the device upon the white scapular of the Trinitarians. But, however, all this would never have been dreamed of by me if it had not been for the third picture as found by us in the secret drawer of Dr. Morse's desk."
With the pencil, Ashton-Kirk sketched a human heart, transfixed by numerous daggers.
"When this caught my eye," he continued, "I could feel the stirring of a memory—one of those which I spoke of as being ticketed and ready to hand," with a smile. "Was it the heart which awoke this dim feeling of familiarity? No. Was it the daggers? Again, no. Then it must be the general idea—a heart pierced by daggers. At this I felt the memory struggle desperately in the brain cell; then suddenly it broke out. I had seen the design upon a bit of laced card in the show window of a religious goods store, when a boy. I recalled the title, printed at the bottom of the card, perfectly. It was 'The Seven Dolors.' The memory of this was specially keen, for I had not known what was meant by dolors, and had gone to a dictionary and found that they represented sorrows or pangs. This all came back like a flash, and instantly I counted the daggers transfixing the heart in the drawing. They were exactly seven.
"I was now convinced that the whole matter of the drawings had a religious aspect, and looked at them with a different eye. The cross was self-evident; the crowned woman could be none other than the Virgin Mary. However, it was not until I had consulted Father O'Leary that I got to the bottom of the matter. With the other things made plain to him, he instantly recognized this as the outline of the scapular," tapping the marginal sketch upon the newspaper.
For a few moments Fuller was silent. Then he said:
"That was a clever stroke, and it might go a long distance toward making some other things plain. But," and he shook his head in a rather hopeless way, "I confess that I don't see the reason for all these things being sent to Dr. Morse. In fact, theredoesn'tseem to be any sort of reasoninit."
Ashton-Kirk arose.
"There is seldom any reason in things which we do not understand," said he. "But it often happens that when we do come to understand them then we find the reasons behind them solid and far-reaching enough."
The next morning, contrary to Fuller's expectations, Ashton-Kirk did not start out on a fresh trail. The discovery, as developed the night before, was so curious that the young man was quite sure that it would immediately lead to more surprising revelations. So he was greatly astonished when he reached the old-fashioned house to learn from Stumph that the secret agent had gone into the country.
"He took his fishing rods," explained Stumph, "and went to Jordan's Mills. He said he'd be back to-morrow."
"He's gone down there to think things out," Fuller told himself, other occasions of the same sort fresh in his mind. "A pipe, a green bank under a tree, and a painted float to watch, are fine things to make thoughts run. They just seem to drift along with the current."
Sure enough, the next afternoon Ashton-Kirk came back; there was a keen, vigorous look about him that told of a freshening such as his aide had pictured. He heard what Burgess had to say regardinghis hunt for Karkowsky as soon as he arrived, for the man was waiting for him.
"He's gone completely, so far as I can make out," the broad-shouldered man informed him. "There's not a trace to be found in any direction. I've questioned everybody I could find in the section who was acquainted with him, but they knew only his name and thought him a pretty good sort of fellow."
Ashton-Kirk said little in reply; but his manner showed that he was far from satisfied. After dinner he smoked and walked about his study. Then he went to his room.
A half hour later a tall, cadaverous-looking person, in a black coat and with a silk hat, the nap of which was well worn, came down the stairs. To Stumph he said:
"I shall be back in a few hours, perhaps. But should any one call, say that I will see him in the morning."
"Very well, sir," said Stumph, gravely.
It was just fading from the late twilight to the early shadows of evening when the cadaverous man turned the corner and headed toward Fourth Street. His shoulders were bent and his gait was shuffling; the thread gloves which he wore were broken in places here and there and the black coat was a trifle short in the sleeves.
But he attracted little or no attention, for inthat neighborhood shabby characters were frequent enough. When once he got into his stride it was astonishing to see how he covered the ground, for all the shuffle. At Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue he halted and looked about.
It was now dark; the street lights were throwing their pale blue rays into the hidden corners of the dirty highways; upon stoop and cellar doors, throngs of soiled-looking men and women were congregated; hordes of children were all about, and their cries were shrill and incessant.
"Brekling?" said a man with a peddler's cart. "Oh, yes, his place is there on the corner."
A yellow gaslight burned dimly in the harness shop when the man in the worn top hat entered. There was a heavy smell of leather and oil; the floor was littered with scraps, and the broken parts of many sets of harness were stacked up in the rear. A small man with round spectacles and a dirty apron came forward; he had been reading a Polish newspaper under the dim light.
"Well, sir," said he, inquiringly, and with a marked accent, "what can I do for you this evening?"
"You have rooms to rent, I believe," said the other in a shaky sort of voice.
Instantly the small man was all attention. He put down his newspaper and beamed through his glasses at the stranger.
"I have one room," said he. "It is on the third floor, but it is a good room and well furnished. Will you look at it?"
"Yes, if you please," quavered the man with the bent shoulders.
The little harness-maker lighted a candle and led the way to a staircase at the side which opened into the street. A troop of children had possession of it and their shrill outcries as they ran up and down were deafening. Like a fury the Pole ran among them, scattering them right and left.
"But they are good children," he told the prospective tenant, "and they make very little noise."
The room was small and had a window opening upon a court; the furniture was scant and the floor was bare.
"Once," confessed the little harness-maker, "I had a carpet for it; but there were so many holes in it at last, that I took it up. Some day," hopefully, "I shall get another."
The other gave a glance about.
"I shall take it—if it is not too much."
"Six dollars a month is not too much," said the tradesman landlord. "It is worth more."
"I'll give you five," stated the other, in his shaky voice.
The Pole gestured his despair; the candle went up and down and the two huge shadows jigged grotesquely upon the wall.
"It is worth six," he said. "The last tenant paid that much without a word."
"He was rich," suggested the other. "No one but a man of means would pay that."
"He was not rich," protested Brekling. "He was as poor as a rat. I know that, for he was a countryman of mine, and there are no rich Poles."
The man with the bent shoulders counted out five dollars in small coin upon a table.
"I will pay a month in advance," said he.
The little man looked at the pile of silver for a moment; unable to resist, he said:
"Very well, I will take it. But the room is worth more."
He scraped up the money and put it away in his pocket; the other took off his hat and laid it upon the table and looked about with the manner of a man at home.
"Have you any other lodgers?" he asked.
"There are three families on the floor below, and then there are a few mechanics on this. But they are all decent people," earnestly. "Sometimes they take a little too much, but not often. You will find that they are quiet enough." Then after a look at his new tenant, "You will move in at once?"
"To-morrow. And now, if you don't mind, I should like to be left alone."
"Of course," said the little harness-maker. "Of course."
And so he went out and down the stairs to his shop. If he had been a curious man and had loitered on the landing and put his eye to the keyhole, he would have witnessed an unusual sight. For the door had no sooner closed behind him than the cadaverous-looking man altered in appearance like an enchanted prince in a fairy-tale. The bent shoulders disappeared, the tread as he moved swiftly about the room was firm and noiseless, the face became keen and resolute, the eyes alert and eager. He drew off the long black coat and with sleeves tucked up began a searching examination of the room. The closet, the bureau, the wash-stand came first; then the edges of the floor. The contents of a small sheet-iron stove were dragged out; amid the coal ash was much burnt paper, but apparently nothing that brought the searcher any reward. After about an hour, he stood in the center of the room, defeated.
"Friend Karkowsky is a careful man," he muttered. "There is not a scrap of anything."
He put on his coat and hat and left the room. Once outside the door, the shuffle reappeared in his gait, the cadaverous look returned, and the shoulders bent wearily. In the shop, the harness-maker was once more engaged with the Polishnewspaper; he looked up as his new tenant came in.
"Your last lodger was not careful," complained the latter in his shaky voice. "The room is in quite a state."
"But I will fix it," announced the Pole accommodatingly. "I always treat my lodgers right; never has one complained. ButIoften had to complain. Now, that same man—the one that had your room last—gave me much trouble. Would you believe it, the police came at last!"
"Ah, yes. He was a disturber."
"No, no. Indeed, he was very quiet. Even when the other lodgers made a noise he did not get mad. The only person he ever quarreled with was Jackson."
"And who is Jackson?"
"He is the postman. It was something about letters that they fought over. Once Karkowsky called the letter man a dunce. But Jackson only laughed."
An hour later, in his study, Ashton-Kirk took down the telephone receiver and asked for a certain number. When he was connected he asked:
"Is that Postal Station Seven?"
"It is," came the reply.
"Can you give me the address of Postman Jackson, attached to that station?"
"No. But I can tell you where you can get him if you want him to-night."
"I'll be obliged to you."
"Call up Wonderleigh's place; he's sure to be there at this hour, playing pinochle in the back room. The number's 35-79 Parkside."
In a few moments the secret agent had Mr. Jackson on the wire.
"I want to speak to you about Karkowsky, lately on your route," said he.
There was a laugh at the other end; then the postman answered:
"This ain't the police?"
"Not exactly, but something of the sort."
"Well, I've kind of expected that somebody would ask me about that old scout; they seem to have asked everybody else."
"Would you mind telling me about the trouble you had with him regarding some letters?"
"Oh, that! Sure. You see, Karkowsky for the first while that he lived at Brekling's place received a letter a couple of times a week that always got my attention. It was in a woman's writing—kind of a foreign writing that was mighty hard to make out. It was always a brown, square envelope, and it was always post-marked at Central Station. I couldn't tell you all this about most of the letters I handle, butthis one gave me so much trouble at first finding out what the address was that I knew it by heart.
"One day I handed one of them to Karkowsky, and he threw it back at me.
"'That's not for me,' he said. And sure enough it wasn't. It was for another party a couple of blocks away—a party that was new to my route. This same mistake happened a couple of times—me being so used to the letters that I never looked at 'em twice—and every time old Karkowsky got his back up. One day I kidded him about losing his girl and said I guessed some other fellow had won her out, seeing that he was getting all the letters, and Karkowsky swore. He called me some hard names that day and threatened to report me. So I cut out the jokes."
"When the letters began arriving for the second person they ceased for Karkowsky?"
"Right away. He never got another one."
There was a moment's silence; then the secret agent asked:
"Can you recall this other person's name?"
"Oh, yes. It's Kendreg. He lives on the top floor of 424 Lowe Street."
After Ashton-Kirk had hung up he sat for a few moments, a peculiar expression on his face. Then he pressed one of the row of buttons. While awaiting a response, he penciled a few lines upona tablet; when Fuller came in he tore off the sheet and handed it to him.
"Give this to Burgess," he requested. "Have him look this person up quietly. Tell him to work under cover as much as possible; and to especially note if he has any women visitors."
"Very well," said Fuller; and turning he left the room.
Ashton-Kirk was at breakfast next morning when Fuller entered.
"I beg pardon," said the assistant, "but I've just had a call from Burgess, and I thought you'd like to hear what he had to say."
"Good. Let's have it."
"He went to 424 Lowe Street last night after I gave him your instructions. It's a large building, once used as a factory, but now rearranged as an apartment house. There was a gas-lighted sign over the door which said rooms might be had. Burgess took one on the fourth floor, and in a conversation with the caretaker mentioned that he had a friend, a Pole, who had lived there.
"'Do you know Kendreg?' says the caretaker. 'He's right across the hall from you.'
"But Burgess says no, that's not the name. And when the man went away he waited a while, and then knocked at the door opposite. The person who opened in answer to the knock was a middle-aged man, stout and with grayish hair. Burgess says he was enough like the description we had of Karkowsky to be his twin brother."
Ashton-Kirk set down his coffee cup, a smile upon his face.
"It is Karkowsky himself, just as I expected," said he. "But," glancing at Fuller, "what happened then?"
"Burgess merely asked if he could bother him for a match, which the stout man provided willingly enough, and then promptly closed his door."
"Nothing more?"
"That is all, so far."
"What do the papers report that is new?"
"Nothing, except that Osborne has returned and will now plunge into the intricacies of the case with renewed zeal. They seem to suspect him of having made wonderful discoveries of some sort."
"Have you heard anything from Purvis?"
"Yes. He reports that no one but Drevenoff has made any movement away from the house in Fordham Road, Eastbury. And thathehas merely walked about a little, apparently for exercise, or gone to the nearest post-box to mail some letters."
"Dr. Morse is to be buried to-day, I believe?"
"Yes, at about noon."
It was at that hour that Stumph entered the study.
"There is a woman below, sir," said he. "Sheis quite old—and quite remarkable. She wishes to speak to you, and says that I'm to inform you that she is from Dr. Morse's."
"Bring her up."
Old Nanon came in a few moments later, grim, erect and angular. Her keen eyes seemed somewhat sunken, and her wrinkled face more gaunt; but her glance was as sharp as ever, and her mouth was set in the same stern line.
"You are surprised," she said, when she had seated herself and studied him for a moment. "You thought that because Simon Morse was being carried to the grave that I, an old servant of his family, would remain near him to the last."
"It's the sort of thing that's usually expected," said the secret agent.
"No one who knows would expect it from me," said the old woman. "No one who knows would expect it from me," she repeated, her lips forming the words slowly, and her gray head swaying from side to side. "I knew him from a child. He was evil—possessed of evil; and what he was in the last days of his life, so he was always."
Ashton-Kirk said nothing; he remained gazing at the old Breton woman, his hands clasping his knee and his head tilted so as to rest upon the back of his chair.
"There was never any other in the family like him," she continued. "Not one. I have knownthem for four generations. His great-grandmother it was who employed me first; I was a girl then, and she was good to me. They wereallgood to me, and I remained with them and served them as well as I could. But there must have been something wicked in them somewhere, something hidden and black, and in this son it showed itself." Here her voice lowered and she leaned toward the secret agent. "In Brittany there is a belief that there are those gifted with a strange vision. Have I that, I wonder? Sometimes I have thought so; for it was I alone who saw Simon Morse entirely as he was. To be sure, others have heard him blaspheme, and still others have read his books. But I alone knew him for what he was."
The secret agent still sat attentively silent; if he wondered what all this would eventually lead to, he made no sign.
"I have always been thankful," proceeded Nanon, "that only one of the family was so cursed. All those who had gone before were mild and religious and gentle. And because of this I felt that I should not desert this tainted one, but remain and strive with him, even if it did no good." She paused for a moment, and the bony old hands, with their thick blue veins, were locked tightly together. "Yes," she resumed, "I was always thankful that only one of them was evil of heart,but now," whisperingly, "I am not so sure that I have even that to be thankful for."
A faint wrinkle showed itself between the eyes of Ashton-Kirk; but other than this he made no sign that he was disturbed.
"Love," said the old woman, after a few moments, "is the one thing which is thought to be the corrector of what is bad. Through love, I have heard it said, the fair-hearted influences the wrong-doer. It is as a bridge between them, over which is passed the saving grace. That is what every one says. But," and there was a note in her voice which was almost savage, "is it true? And if it works one way, why should it not work the other? If good passes between two people because they love each other, why should not evil? And," very slowly, "Simon Morse and his niece were much attached to each other."
Through the open window, the roar of midday arose from the street. The throaty voices of peddlers, the grind of wheels and the warning cries of drivers were ceaseless; and below all this was an undertone, a subdued murmurous undertone such as is made by cautious creatures, each with a private design.
"Sometimes," said the old woman, "things are expected, and when they come they create no surprise. And, again, there are others which are so unexpected that they all but crush one to the earth."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"Something unexpected has happened," he said.
"You shall hear all for yourself," said the old servant. "It was for that purpose that I came to you." She settled herself rigidly in her chair, upright, unbending, full of purpose. "I have read the newspapers," she said. "I have heard the police and the coroner's deputy. They have all said much, and in the end their talk comes to this: Philip Warwick murdered Simon Morse.
"Perhaps," and her gray eyes searched his face, "you too think so. But no matter. I tell you,and I know, that he did not do this thing."
There was a moment's silence, then Ashton-Kirk said, quietly:
"Then who did?"
She gestured with both hands.
"Because I say that I know thathedid not," she replied, "does it follow that I must know whodid?" She waited for an answer, but as none came, she went on: "You have heard that Philip Warwick and Stella Corbin were to be married? I thought so. He is a very boyish fellow; he was proud of her and told every one. I was glad when I heard it, for I thought them well mated. But Simon was not pleased; the young man perhaps would not follow where he led; at any rate he disliked him. They quite frequently had high words; but Mr. Warwick never allowed himself to go toofar in his resentment—at least never until lately. The day that you first visited the house, they almost came to blows; and on the night that Simon was killed, he actually struck his secretary."
"This was not told to the police," said the secret agent. "Why?"
"I was the only one that saw it," said the old woman, "and I did not tell of it because I knew that it would only make them suspect the young man all the more."
"Go on," said Ashton-Kirk.
"This is how I came to be a witness to what passed between them. I had gone to the front door to answer a ring, but it was only a person to inquire about some one who had lately left a house across the street. As I closed the door, I saw that of the library ajar; and through the opening I saw Dr. Morse and Mr. Warwick standing facing each other.
"'Very well, then,' Mr. Warwick was saying, 'it shall be done in spite of you.'
"And with that the other lifted his hand, and I heard the sound of the blow even where I stood."
"Did Warwick return it?"
"I think not. I did not wait to see, however, but went on along the hall. I turned, though, as I reached the end, and saw Mr. Warwick step out of the library and walk toward the stairs. He had gone up perhaps three steps when he stopped andwas about to turn back; but, though he was fairly shaking with anger, he thought better of it and went on up to his room."
"At what time was this?"
"Immediately after dinner." If such a thing were possible, the old woman sat more erect than ever, the craggy brows bent over the sharp eyes, and the voice sank a tone lower. "And as Philip Warwick went up the stairs, I saw Miss Stella come out of the room opposite the library; she stood looking after him—and on her face was a look which I had never noticed there before. She had seen what had happened, and for some reason was glad of it.
"There was nothing more, until I left the front door some time later and went to the kitchen to make the coffee. Then I heard something on the back stairs. Thinking it might be Drevenoff, taken bad, I opened the door. But it was Miss Stella and Mr. Warwick. They stood on the landing, and were talking in low tones. I could not help overhearing what they said; and I remember it because I have repeated it over and over to myself a thousand times since then.
"'Is it possible?' Mr. Warwick said. 'Have you really got it?'
"I did not hear what was said in answer; and then he spoke again.
"'But how in the world did you manage it? Iknow he thinks a great deal of you, but I never dreamed that he'd give——'
"Here she must have stopped him by putting her fingers to his lips, a way that she had.
"'Don't stop to talk,' I heard Miss Stella say. 'You must go at once. And no matter what you hear, do not return until I send you word.'
"Then I closed the door softly, as they stole down-stairs; and after a little again came the soft footfalls, this time going up the stairs."
There was a pause, and then the old woman crossed her hands in her lap, her eyes looking sternly into the face of Ashton-Kirk.
"It was only a few minutes after that," she said, "that I found Simon Morse dead in his chair."
Ashton-Kirk, a short time after the old servant woman left, rang for Fuller. When the latter entered he found his employer writing a telegram.
"Have you heard anything from O'Neill?" asked the secret agent.
"This morning—yes. He merely said that he was still trying to strike the trail of Philip Warwick."
Ashton-Kirk held out the telegram.
"Send him this," said he, briefly.
Fuller glanced at the yellow sheet, and then whistled, amazedly; however, he said nothing, but instantly left the room.
The morning mail lay neglected upon the table. Some were sharp, businesslike envelopes, bearing downright statements as to the senders' identity; others were big and square, while a number were small and dainty. A few were remarkable after the same manner that an oddly dressed man is remarkable; and to one of these latter the eye of the secret agent was first attracted.
"It's hardly to be wondered at," he mused, as he held up the envelope and studied its characteristics, "that the postman should have mentally marked the letters received by Karkowsky. There seems an individuality about each piece of mail that must almost unconsciously impress the person handling it. A strange style of handwriting is like a strange face; the very manner of sticking on a stamp might give very clear indications as to another's mental process."
He cut open the flap of the envelope; when he unfolded the sheet enclosed, he glanced at the signature; then he lay back in his chair, a smile upon his face.
"Okiu," he murmured. "I was beginning to wonder what his first move would be."
Still smiling, he held the letter up once more, and read:
"My dear Mr. Ashton-Kirk:"I was most happy to meet you upon several occasions recently. But, believe me, I had no actual realization of what you were, or I should have been overcome."To think that you know my own language, that you have studied the literature of Nippon, that you have even written a most delightful appreciation of it. And all the time I was ignorant of this!"It grieves me to think that you might considerme amiss in this, and so I try to make amends. May I not greet you at my house? I can show you some Japanese and Korean manuscripts which no Caucasian has ever laid eyes on before; and also I have rare books which may afford you some pleasure to see."I should be gratified to have you call to-night. If it can be managed, have some one telephone me. And, in the formal way of my country,"I am, most honorable sir, at your feet,
"My dear Mr. Ashton-Kirk:
"I was most happy to meet you upon several occasions recently. But, believe me, I had no actual realization of what you were, or I should have been overcome.
"To think that you know my own language, that you have studied the literature of Nippon, that you have even written a most delightful appreciation of it. And all the time I was ignorant of this!
"It grieves me to think that you might considerme amiss in this, and so I try to make amends. May I not greet you at my house? I can show you some Japanese and Korean manuscripts which no Caucasian has ever laid eyes on before; and also I have rare books which may afford you some pleasure to see.
"I should be gratified to have you call to-night. If it can be managed, have some one telephone me. And, in the formal way of my country,
"I am, most honorable sir, at your feet,
"Okiu."
For some time Ashton-Kirk lay back in his big chair, the smile still on his lips. Then Fuller came in.
"O'Neill will be astonished when he gets that wire," he said.
Ashton-Kirk tossed him the letter.
"Answer this," said he, lazily. "Say that I'll come."
Fuller read the letter through without comment; then he went to the telephone and did as directed. When he had finished, he turned to the other.
"The Jap has made up his mind to something," he said.
"He made up his mind upon our first meeting," replied Ashton-Kirk. "He has now decided what he will do."
Fuller shook his head.
"Look out for him," he warned. "He's dangerous."
Ashton-Kirk yawned. "The bird or beast of prey is marked by nature," he said. "And there is no movement they make that is not in itself a warning."
There was nothing more said for some little time. The secret agent read his mail, and indicated upon each letter back what his answer was to be. These he passed to Fuller, who read them over and arranged them for answering. But after finishing this work the young man did not retire at once, as was his custom. He hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
"Don't think I'm taken with the idea that I can run this case better than you; but last night after I left here, I got to going over the matter, and there are some things about it that troubled me."
Ashton Kirk nodded.
"You are not exactly alone in that," he answered. "Several times I have seen what I fancied must be the bottom of the affair; but in almost the next breath, something happened which changed my mind. This morning I was ready to indicate to Osborne what steps to take to secure the assassin of Dr. Morse; but again I received information that brought me to a standstill."
"You found that you were mistaken as to the guilty person?" asked Fuller curiously.
But the other did not reply to this.
"Just what are the things which you say troubled you?" he asked.
"First of all, the fact that this fellow Drevenoff has the free run of the Eastbury house. Suppose Warwick did not, after all, make off with the state paper you are seeking. Very likely it is still in the house. You know that the Pole is searching for it; at any moment he may find it, and if he does, how easy it would be for him to slip it in an envelope and mail it to a confederate."
"There is very little danger of his coming upon it now," said Ashton-Kirk quietly.
Fuller looked at him swiftly.
"You have learned, then, that it is not in the house!" he said.
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"As to that," said he, "I am not sure. But," and the singular eyes half closed as he spoke, "perhaps it does not make a great deal of difference."
After dinner that evening, Ashton-Kirk looked over the last edition of the papers. About eight o'clock he arose, stretched himself contentedly, and then went to a stand, a drawer of which he pulled open. From this he took several black, squat-looking pistols of the automatic type, and one by one balanced them in his hand. Selecting the one which struck his fancy, he slipped it into his pocket and prepared to go out.
"Shall you leave any word, sir?" asked Stumph, in the lower hall.
The secret agent paused for a moment. Then he scribbled something on a card and gave it to the man.
"If I do not return by morning, get Fuller on the telephone and read this to him," said he.
"Very good, sir."
At the station Ashton-Kirk was forced to wait some little time for a train; and when, finally, he rang the bell at Okiu's door in Eastbury, it was a trifle past nine o'clock.
There was a delay after he rang; the house was gloomy; not a light showed at any of the windows;from all indications it may have been deserted. But through the tail of his eye he caught a slight stirring of a curtain at a window upon the lower floor.
"They seem to be very careful," mused the secret agent. "I am much favored, as, apparently, they do not admit any one who is not thoroughly convincing."
After another brief space, the door was opened. Ashton-Kirk saw a dim hall and a short man of enormous girth.
"Mr. Okiu?" asked the secret agent.
"He is at home," replied the fat man. "Who are you?"
The secret agent gave his name, and at once the man stood aside.
"I will tell him that you are here," said he, as Ashton-Kirk entered. "Will you sit down?"
He indicated a hall chair with much politeness; but Ashton-Kirk nodded and remained standing. There was a single incandescent lamp burning in the hall, and its yellow rays barely lit up the dark corners. At the end was a railed stairway which led to the rooms above; and along the hall there was a dark array of tightly-closed doors. However, these things got but a glance from the secret agent. The Japanese who had admitted him attracted his notice.
This latter had a huge, round head and a fat,brutal face, and his immense body gave him the appearance of an overfed animal. His skin glistened with a high-smelling oil; when he moved, its scent was particularly heavy and unpleasant. Everything about him seemed to promise inertia, ponderous movements, shortness of breath. But this promise was not kept, for he passed down the hall with a light, quick step; then he sprang at the staircase and went bounding up like an enormous rubber ball.
There was something in this so unexpected, so utterly tiger-like, that Ashton-Kirk felt the nerves of his scalp prickle.
"Rather a formidable sort," he murmured, and as he spoke his hand went to his outer coat pocket as though to assure himself that the squat, black pistol was still there. "One might hold him off and hit him to pieces; but let him break down a guard and come to grappling and he'd afford astonishing entertainment."
In a few moments the fat man reappeared. He paused half-way down the stairway, and the light rays were reflected in his slanting eyes as he fixed them upon the secret agent.
"You will come with me, please," he said.
Unhesitatingly Ashton-Kirk followed him up the stairs and along a hall upon the second floor. A door at the rear stood open, and at a round table, under a powerful light, sat Okiu. At sightof the visitor this latter arose, a welcoming smile upon his placid face.
"Sir," said he, "you are too good. I am delighted beyond measure."
Ashton-Kirk shook the outheld hand.
"I am pleased to be asked here," said he. "I could have hoped for nothing that would have agreed so well with my inclinations."
The heavy lids partially veiled the black searching eyes of the Japanese; but the bland, childlike face was as expressionless as before.
"You are polite," smiled Okiu, still shaking the secret agent's hand. "But I knew you would be so. All persons of real parts are kind and ready to place the stranger at his ease."
Then turning to the other Japanese, who remained waiting in the doorway, he added:
"Sorakicha, give the gentleman a chair."
With rapid, soft, tiger-like steps, Sorakicha advanced; lifting a high-backed chair he placed it at the side of the table opposite where Okiu had been sitting. And when the secret agent walked around the table he came face to face with the man as he was about to leave the room.
"Sorakicha," said Ashton-Kirk, "I think you have been a wrestler."
The brutal face became a mass of yellow corrugations; a set of broad, well-worn teeth shone whitely.
"I have been a champion," said he proudly.
Ashton-Kirk nodded, and critically his keen eyes ran over the monstrous form before him.
"You are strong," said he. Then darting out one of his slim hands he grasped the thick wrist of the wrestler. Instantly the man caught the meaning of the act and his huge, blubber-like body grew rigid with effort. There was a pause full of striving; the eyes of the two were savage, the teeth shut tightly, the breath swelling in the lungs. Then, slowly, the thick arm of the Oriental bent upward until the clinched hand touched the shoulder; and at this Ashton-Kirk released him and stepped back.
For a moment the amazement which the wrestler felt was plain; but again the fat face broke into yellow corrugations.
"You, too, are strong," said he. "But it was a trick."
"The proper use of strength is made up of tricks," answered Ashton-Kirk, simply.
Okiu had witnessed this little incident with a smiling calm. And now he said to his countryman:
"And so, my friend, you have met your match at hand grasps? I told you it would be so. But," and he turned to Ashton-Kirk, "I did not expect to see it in a man like you." There was a curiously speculative look in the half-closed eyes asthey examined the tall, well-built form of the white man. "But," he went on, "experience is knowledge, is it not? And to profit by experience," to Sorakicha, gently, "is the sign of wisdom. So remember, my friend," and he smiled as he spoke, "remember that Mr. Ashton-Kirk is strong."
"I will not forget," replied the wrestler, his well-worn teeth shining. And with that he left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Ashton-Kirk sat down, as did his host. The latter fluttered the pages of a great, uncouthly made book which lay before him; his yellow, beautifully-shaped hands touched the leaves with careful gentleness; it were as though the volume were a child which he was caressing.
"Again," said he, "I will tell you that I am greatly favored by your coming. I had not hoped for so much when I wrote you, for I knew," and here his voice grew even softer than before, "that your time was greatly occupied just now."
"We all have our occupations," replied Ashton-Kirk, suavely, "but even when one is interested, one can always find a little time to devote to others."
"I suppose that is so," said Okiu, thoughtfully. "However, I who am a mere idler, so to speak, know very little of the value of time. Day after day, night after night, I spend wandering in theancient gardens of Nippon. There are no singers like these," and one pointed finger indicated some shelves filled with books and scrolls; "there are no written words quite so full of beauty."
"The poets of one's own nation are always the most touching," said Ashton-Kirk. "This is especially so of the old poets. Sometimes we take down a dusty, musty old fellow from a top shelf where he has long lain neglected, and being in the humor for it, we are startled by the sweetness of his vision. There is a fragrance about ancient memories which is irresistible. The distance, perhaps, has something to do with it. Yesterday has no perspective for the most of us; but 'yester year' is deep with it, for all."
Okiu nodded.
"The ancient peoples had their prophets and their oracles," said he, "and their gods spoke through them. But the shades of the old Nipponese speak to me through the messages of the poets. The virtue of the dead is here accumulated; the wisdom of my holy ancestors leaps up to me from the pages of my books." Caressingly, the wonderful hands touched the faded pages of the volume upon the table. "There are no thoughts so reverent as these," he went on; "there are no gardens so still, so full of quiet odors, so slumberous under the stars. And there is no moon so silent, or so wan and soft in searching out thesecret paths beneath the flowering trees, where the shadows walk hand in hand."
"But," said Ashton-Kirk, "the great bulk of your countrymen have forgotten these dreams of a past time. Modern progress seems to interest them more than anything else."
Again the Japanese nodded.
"Progress was forced upon them," said he, and then with a smile, he added: "It would be strange, would it not, if they should outstrip their teachers?"
"It is a thing which has happened before now."
"Napoleon, I have read, once declined to molest the Chinese because he feared to teach them his own great art, and so put the power in their hands which might eventually crush him and his nation." Okiu laughed softly, and his polished nails picked at the edges of the book. "The Corsican, my friend, was not quite so venturesome as your merchants."
"Your history will point out to you the fact that soldiers are seldom so daring as those in quest of trade. In most cases the trader is first upon the ground; and the troops come later."
"In any event," replied Okiu, "your merchants desired the trade which the Dutch possessed, and that desire, in the end, made Japan a nation to be reckoned with. The more imitative the people, say your own philosophers, the greater theirfuture development. And no one," gently, "can say that my countrymen have not kept their eyes open."
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"It is a way they have," said he. "And people who keep their eyes open learn much."
"But not all," said Okiu. "The eyes will not tell us all." He arose and walked to the window; the starlight was but dim, and there was no moon. "Much as I might desire to see what is passing out there," said he, after a moment, "I cannot do so. And it is so with other desires. Many things which we might wish to know are hidden from us, some in one way, some in another."
Ashton-Kirk said nothing in reply to this; there was a marked pause, then the Japanese went on:
"The other night as I stood here, I saw——" he turned upon the secret agent. "You recall what I told you?"
"Very clearly."
"I saw moving shadows, then I saw a man hurrying away. I should have liked to have seen more, but I could not—and so I went to the house over there to see what a closer look would do for me."
"And to tell Dr. Morse what you had seen."
"As you say, of course. And then I saw you—a friend of the family of—was it two days' duration, or three?"
"Two only."
"Thank you."
Okiu looked out into the night; his arms were folded, his legs very wide apart, his back turned toward the secret agent. Usually there is something peculiarly disconcerting in a squarely turned back; it is so blank, it tells so little. However, this was not so in the case of Okiu. His bland, lineless face told nothing; whereas in his attitude there was a purpose which Ashton-Kirk read easily. And, reading it, he looked carefully but swiftly about the room.
The table was between himself and the closed door; a pair of heavy curtains hung behind him. To all appearances these protected some open book shelves, but a rapid swing of his light stick showed the secret agent that their real purpose was to conceal a doorway. Calmly he sat back in his chair, nursing his cane, his keen eyes upon the figure at the window.
"I think," now resumed Okiu, "that I remarked at the time how short a space there was between your forming the acquaintance of Dr. Morse and his death. You meet him one night and he dies the next."
The tongue clicked against the roof of the mouth pityingly; it were as though the coincidence excited his grief.
"I have always understood that you Americanswere an impatient people. You have the reputation, whether deserved or not, of forcing things which do not happen as promptly as you would have them. This in itself is an excellent trait at times, for it saves one from imposition of many sorts. But it does not always serve." Here Okiu turned and faced the secret agent. His face was as bland and meaningless as ever, and his voice was low pitched and gentle, as he proceeded. "No," said he, "it does not always serve. As it has resulted in this case, Dr. Morse is dead, and you have not benefited in the least."
Ashton-Kirk looked at him with steady eyes; there was not the slightest surprise in the secret agent's face, and his tone was unruffled as he replied:
"I think I understand."
"I am quite sure that you do," replied Okiu, with equal suavity. He resumed his seat at the table; and once more he began lovingly to flutter the leaves of the ancient book. "That the methods pursued in this case should be resorted to by a barbarous nation," said he, and a gleam of mockery appeared in the slanting eyes, "would be the expected thing; but that a Christian government should so stoop is something of a surprise."
"Oh! You were surprised, then?"
"Only mildly. You see, I have been employedupon many international occasions, and know the requirements of a secret agent. When the case demands it, he does not hesitate. But," and here the smooth hands gestured their disapproval, "this case did not demand it. Nothing was to be gained by the mere death of this Englishman."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"In that," said he, "I agree with you."
"I do not know," continued Okiu, "what put you upon the scent, but that a person possessing sufficient acumen to strike it at all should at the same time be so great a bungler as to do that," and one leveled finger indicated the Morse house, the lights of which could be seen through the window, "astonishes me."
Ashton-Kirk bent the light cane into a bow across his knee; his expression was that of a man waiting for an expected something to be said or done. There was now a pause of some duration. Okiu studied the man before him in the same impersonal fashion with which a man studies a mounted insect, then he resumed:
"I have heard of you very favorably, and had counted upon one day having the pleasure of testing myself against you; but now——" again the remarkable hands gestured, this time to complete the sentence.
"I'm sorry you have been disappointed."
"You are not nearly so sorry as I, believe me."The heavy lids drooped over the piercing eyes in a way which Ashton-Kirk had already come to regard as a warning of something ulterior. "You have been searching the house?" he asked.
Ashton-Kirk laughed lightly.
"Who has not?" he inquired.
Okiu joined in the laugh.
"It has all been labor wasted," said he. "Dr. Morse was not the man to leave valuable property lying about." Again he regarded the secret agent intently, and once more resumed: "I suppose by this time you have not so much hope of coming on anything as you once had?"
Ashton-Kirk allowed the cane to spring back straight; with a look of unconcern he made reply.
"On the contrary," said he, "I was never quite so sure as I am just now."
Okiu stared, and then came slowly to his feet.
"You have found it?"
"No." And Ashton-Kirk yawned contentedly. "But I could place my hands in a very few moments upon the person who has."
At this the palms of the Japanese came together softly.
"Why," said he, and his voice was full of gentle surprise, "perhaps I have been mistaken in my opinion of you, after all."
"Perhaps," answered Ashton-Kirk.
But for all the secret agent's seeming ease ofmanner, at the soft slap of the Oriental's hands, his every sense had grown alert; and now his ear caught a rustling behind him which said plainly that some one had stepped quietly into the room. An instant later, a peculiar, high scent as of an Eastern oil reached his nostrils; and though he did not turn his head, he knew that the newcomer was the wrestler, Sorakicha.
Though Ashton-Kirk was as sure Sorakicha stood behind him as he would have been had his eyes rested upon him, he did not turn his head. The man's entrance had been effected almost without sound; the rustling of the curtains had been no louder than a lightly drawn breath.
"And now," reflected the secret agent, calmly, "he is waiting behind me until he is told what to do. I trust that I shall be sufficiently fortunate as to catch the signal."
But he continued to lounge back in his chair with crossed legs, balancing the stick lightly between his fingers. Okiu stood regarding him with careful attention.
"Yes," he continued, "I now see that it is probable that you are what I have always understood you to be—a man of exceptional talents. No one," with a slow smile, "cares to admit that he is dull of perception, but I confess, sir, that in this matter, in which I have been judging you, you may have been more successful than I have imagined."
"It is more or less difficult to follow the workingsof a mind, the owner of which is not under one's immediate observation," returned Ashton-Kirk, philosophically. "So, looking at the matter from that point of view, you have nothing to chide yourself for."
But Okiu paid no attention to this; apparently he was grappling with a more concrete matter.
"What you have said interests me," he said. "And so," putting his hands upon the table, and leaning across to the other, "the paper has been found?"
"You might call it finding it, if you were at loss for an expression," replied Ashton-Kirk. "Though on second thought, I confess I should apply another term, myself."
"We will not discuss terms," said Okiu gently. "Let us call the matter of getting the desired thing what you please; there are more important matters to think about just now." He still bent forward, his hands resting upon the table; his expressionless face was held close to that of the secret agent. "And so," said he, "you could place your hand upon the person who now has the paper, could you? That is interesting. And still more interesting is the fact that you could do it in a very few moments."
Ashton-Kirk nodded and smiled.
"It gives us all a certain satisfaction to learn that we are interesting," said he. "This is soalmost at any time. But at a moment like this—when interest is created in a person who had utterly lost confidence—it is doubly pleasing."
"Perhaps," said Okiu, and the purr in his low-pitched voice was more pronounced than the secret agent had ever heard it before, "you have occasion for satisfaction; and then perhaps you have not."
Ashton-Kirk met the black, heavy-lidded eyes squarely.
"Will you be more explicit?" he said.
"I can see no harm that it will donow," said the other, and the secret agent quietly noted the emphasis which he laid upon the last word. "So the facts are these. Though I regard you as a sort of fellow workman, and though I have a very definite admiration for your talents, still your interests are arrayed, so to speak, against mine; and this being the case——"