THE GLITTERING EYES LIFTED
Here he paused. The glittering eyes lifted and darted a look over Ashton-Kirk's shoulder to the waiting Sorakicha. But even then the other maintained his lounging attitude and his manner remained unruffled.
"Well?" said he, inquiringly.
"This being the case," said Okiu, smoothly, "I have thought it best to——"
One of the supple hands began to rise; as it stirred, Ashton-Kirk launched a kick at the tablewhich threw it against the Oriental and drove him back several steps. At the same instant as he delivered the kick, the secret agent bent low and leaped forward. The great arms of the wrestler closed above the chair upon empty space; then the light cane swished through the air; the globes of the cluster of lights which had hung over the table fell in a shower of fragments, and instantly the room was plunged into darkness.
Softly, and with the catlike quickness of Sorakicha himself, the secret agent gained the door. He had fixed its location in his mind, and so had no trouble finding it in the dark. It opened as he turned the knob; the hall too was dark, and he slipped into it, closing the door behind him.
Carefully, but with some speed, he passed along the hall, his hands outstretched like the antennæ of an insect. From the room which he had just left came the sounds of stumbling feet and the confused outcries of angry men.
Just as the door was thrown open, Ashton-Kirk felt his hand touch the stair-rail; and he softly descended as the feet of the two Japanese sounded in the hall behind him. The lower hall was also dark; but through a fanlight he caught the gleam of a street lamp.
"The front door," he told himself, as he carefully made his way toward it. But it was fast. Up and down its edges ran his fingers; but therewas no bar, chain nor catch; the bolt of the lock was shot, and the key had been removed. He turned with his back to the door and listened; the Orientals were stealing down the stairs.
For the second time that night his hand went into the outside coat pocket in search of the pistol. But, this time, when the hand slipped from the pocket, the weapon came with it. Silently he stood there in the shadows that lurked beneath the fanlight; the creeping sounds from the staircase continued and then paused. There was complete silence.
"They are listening," was Ashton-Kirk's thought. "They think that the fanlight may have attracted me, and desire to make sure."
At any moment he expected a flare of light, but none came; neither did he hear any further sounds. He held the pistol hand close to his body, the muzzle commanding the hall; the fact that ten grim, copper-clad servants of death stood between him and his foes was reassuring, and he continued to await the development of the situation.
For a long time there was silence; then he heard the creeping resumed; his jaw tightened and his grip upon the pistol butt grew more rigid. But another instant told him something else. The Japanese were not advancing as he had expected; instead they were retreating along the upper hall.
"They have made up their minds to the situation," was Ashton-Kirk's explanation. "And as facing a stream of bullets does not enter into their calculations, they are about to try something else."
This latter, of course, would be based upon his remaining where he was; and at once he took steps toward the confusion of things by also moving along the hall in the same direction as the others. He had noticed upon his entrance to the house that the hall was almost bare of furniture, so there was small danger of his colliding with anything. Little by little he went on; now and then he paused and listened intently. But there was no sound, however slight. At length his hands touched a smooth surface. It was a door; cautiously he turned the knob and opened it. The room before him was as dark as the hall; and he halted with the door only a few inches ajar, peering within.
"It's a room on the north side, and well toward the rear," passed through his mind, "and it's only natural to suppose that there are windows in it. The blinds must be tightly drawn, for I can't make out even a glimmer of light."
He waited a little, his pistol held ready, then he stepped into the room. The first thing that attracted him was a thin, bright line which apparently lay upon the floor at his right. He studied this for a moment and then it occurred tohim what it was. There was a light in an adjoining room, and the rays were seeping under the door. Again he waited, and listened. It had been his purpose to locate a window, unfasten it, and so make his way to the open air; but the light in the room beyond indicated the presence of someone so close at hand as to make this proceeding perilous.
But as no sound came from the lighted room, he made up his mind to venture nearer. He had taken but one step, however, when a board creaked behind him in the darkness. Poised for the next step he halted and again stood listening. Nothing followed, and the breath slowly exhaled from his lungs, his flexed muscles relaxed, and he settled back upon his feet for another spell of silence. He had just about made up his mind that the creak had been caused by himself, when he became aware of another and barely discernible sound. It was soft and hissing, a sort of rubbing, as though one smoothly-surfaced thing were drawn across another. Like a flash the secret agent realized what it was. Some one stood in the doorway with his hands outstretched, as his own had been, and it was their contact with the door frame that made the sound.
Then there came a step, slow, careful, light; a pause followed and then the unknown's breathing could be distinctly heard. Another step followed, cautious, muffled, secret; and again came the pause.
The grip of the secret agent tightened upon the pistol; he faced about softly to meet the newcomer, whom a few steps would bring to his side.
But now the steps ceased, and though he listened with eager ears, Ashton-Kirk failed to note their resumption. This struck him as odd; there had been no sound, nothing that could have startled the other into a longer pause than formerly; and yet that he was standing stock-still somewhere in the darkness was unquestionable. Then like lightning it occurred to Ashton-Kirk why this was. Judging from the footfalls, he stood between the unknown and the door under which crept the line of light; and the break in this line, caused by his intervening feet, had caught the other's attention.
Gradually the secret agent became aware of the unknown's breathing; at first it was scarcely discernible, but little by little it grew in rapidity and harshness; it became labored, straining and drawn with increasing difficulty; as plainly as words could have done it, it spoke of mounting excitement and a quickly forming purpose.
The automatic pistol began to lift—but too late. Like a wild beast the unknown leaped through the darkness, and a pair of long powerful arms enwrapped the secret agent. The pistol fell to the floor, and there began a desperate struggle for the mastery. By a few swift twists and thefree use of his knee, Ashton-Kirk managed to free his arms which had been pinioned at his sides; then he drove one elbow into his opponent's neck, and they went reeling blindly about.
There was a moment of this, then the attack of the unknown abated; it were as though he had felt his adversary out and found him rather more than a match. And with this discovery came new tactics. Ashton-Kirk felt the rugged grasp grow still slacker; one hand slipped away altogether. This could mean only that it was feeling in unseen pockets for a weapon; and upon this the secret agent began to fight silently, swiftly, desperately.
A series of short jarring blows drove the other back; a short powerful lock lifted him from his feet. But with a frenzied wrench the man broke the hold, and as he did so they both fell with their full weight against the door under which the light was shining. It gave way with a crash, and a flood of illumination poured upon them.
And with the first flash of it, Ashton-Kirk saw a hand armed with a "billy" lifted to strike him; and behind it was the white, desperate face of the man who had followed him into the room—the face of Philip Warwick. And as recognition came, the wrist bent with a quick practised jerk, the leather-covered lead descended, and Ashton-Kirk fell prone upon the floor.
When one wakes from a heavy, unsatisfying sleep, it is with a vague memory of flitting shadows, of empty spaces, of strange deeds and peculiar sayings. There is also a painful sort of lethargy and an odd sense of personal defeat which is peculiarly annoying.
It was with some such feeling as this that Ashton-Kirk opened his eyes. The first person whom he saw was old Nanon, and she was bathing his head with cold water. Near at hand stood Drevenoff; and seated by a table was Stella Corbin.
"So," said the old servant in a gentle tone that he had not yet heard her speak, "you are better."
The secret agent sat up; his head felt strangely light, and there was a sharp, shooting pain across his scalp. But, for all, there was a smile upon his face.
"I will not pattern by the young lady in the novel or the play and inquire where I am," said he. "But Iwillask," and he looked from one to the other, "how I happened to get here."
The old woman gestured toward the Pole.
"Drevenoff found you lying upon the back lawn, unconscious, less than a quarter of an hour ago," she said.
The young man nodded.
"I did not recognize you at first," said he; "I thought it was some one who had wandered in and fallen there. But when Nanon came with the light, we knew you at once."
"And a good thing it was that he came upon you," said the old servant, shaking her gray head. "You might have bled to death."
There was a moment's silence; then Drevenoff asked, curiously:
"What happened to you?—and how did you come to this?"
The secret agent smiled.
"I was making a call," said he, "and my presence was evidently not altogether appreciated."
Though they waited for more, still he stopped at that; and raising his hand he felt of a wet bandage which was drawn tightly about his head. Stella Corbin during the above had sat quite still; her dark eyes were fixed steadily upon him; their expression was strange and full of speculation.
"It is queer how things chance at times," spoke Drevenoff, addressing Nanon. "If Miss Corbin had not asked me to go to the city for her to-night, I should not have gone out; and if I had not gone out, I should not have found him."
But the old woman paid no attention to the latter part of his speech. She gazed at him for a moment: then her eyes shifted to the girl.
"You are sending him to the city, then?" she said.
"Yes," answered Stella Corbin.
"Why?"
At this question the girl appeared to stiffen; it seemed as though a curt rejoinder was upon her tongue. But, then, she changed her mind.
"There is an errand that I desired him to do," she replied, meekly enough.
The gray eyes searched her face from beneath the craggy brows; the thin lips were set in their hard, straight line.
"There will be no more trains back to-night," she said. "He cannot return before morning."
"I know," replied the girl.
"Can the matter not wait until then?"
Stella Corbin arose.
"That I wish him to go to-night should be enough," she said, coldly. Then turning to the young Pole, she added, "You remember my instructions?"
"Yes, Miss Corbin."
"Then go at once; the train will reach here before many more minutes, and you must not miss it."
Drevenoff took his hat and went out withoutany further words. And as the door closed after him, Ashton-Kirk arose, rather unsteadily.
"If that is the last train to the city," he said to Stella, "I fear that I, also, must make it."
The girl inclined her head ever so little, but said nothing. However, the old servant spoke.
"It is a good walk to the station," she said, "and hurt as you are you could not get there in time. Another thing, it is much better that you should rest for a little. To exert yourself now might start your wound bleeding once more, as I have not yet properly bandaged it."
"You may be right," said the secret agent, and his eyes sought those of the girl. But if he expected her to agree with the old servant he was much mistaken; her face was set, and rather pale; her hands, as she trifled with a brooch at her throat, trembled.
There was a pause; then, as she did not speak, the old servant, who had been watching her fixedly, said:
"Miss Corbin will be pleased to have you stay until morning, of course."
Still the girl's expression did not change, and still she said nothing.
"In that case," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "I will venture to trespass upon her kindness. I confess that I feel somewhat shaky, and a night's rest may help me wonderfully."
"It will," said Nanon, but never taking her eyes from the girl's face; "sleep brings the strength back to one. And then," her tone changing, "it will be so much safer to have a man about the place—even though a sick one. Now that Drevenoff is gone for the night, we should have been alone."
Again there was a pause; then:
"I dare say we should have managed," said Stella. Her manner had suddenly changed, and her tone was even light; she smiled as she turned to Ashton-Kirk and added: "Of course we must not turn you away; and you are very welcome indeed. Please do not think me strange; but so many things have happened of late that I am not altogether myself." Here she turned to old Nanon, the smile upon her white face forced and pathetic. "Of course we should need a protector. I had not thought of that. But you, Nanon," and the look in the great, dark eyes was unfathomable, "you think of everything."
"It is not that," replied the servant woman, meaningly. "It is that I do not forget."
The eyes of the two were fixed upon and held each other steadily for a moment; and Ashton-Kirk, as he sat and quietly watched, smiled and seemed to fall to pondering.
After a few more remarks of a general and impersonal nature addressed to the secret agent, MissCorbin left the room; old Nanon stood for some moments gazing at the closed door through which the girl had passed; then she turned to the table and began stripping up some bandages and preparing a lotion for the guest's wounded head.
"You are not to think her strange," she said in a low tone, "because so many things have happened of late that she is not herself." The keen old eyes turned on Ashton-Kirk a look of significance, and she nodded her head. "Many thingshavehappened of late," she commented; "so many that I have often wondered if there were not more of them than I have seen. And who knows if she is now herself, or no? Indeed, perhaps I now see her true self for the first time."
She removed the wet pack from his head and carefully cleaned the wound.
"It is not more than a deep scratch," she said, "but it bled a great deal, and so weakened you. To-morrow it may feel stiff, and you may have a headache; but that will be all."
Quickly, and with admirable skill, she put the bandages in place. When it was done he surveyed himself ruefully in a mirror.
"With that," remarked he, "there is nothing left for me but my room. So if you will show me there, I shall be obliged to you."
She led the way to the stairs, opened a door upon the second floor and then halted.
"I beg your pardon, sir," she said, "but I shall have to go for a match. I can never remember."
He produced a metal safe and struck a match. She took it from him, and entering the room, turned on and lighted the gas.
"There is no wiring above the first floor," she said, in explanation; "and I find it confusing at times." She went from one thing to another, seeing that all was right "The room is small," she continued, "but I think you will find it comfortable. And right behind it," opening another door, "there is another room, sir, with fine large windows in case this should get too stuffy for you in the night. You can open the door and the back window, and so get plenty of air and no direct draught."
Ashton-Kirk thanked her and she went out. He took off his coat, sat down in a big cane chair and leaned his wounded head against a cushion.
"Rather a night," said he to himself. "Things seem to have crowded upon me in a rather unexpected sort of a way. And this knock on the head has not just helped to make it all clear, either."
The events of the night, from the moment he rang the bell at Okiu's house, began to pass through his mind in a sort of review; then, little by little, they grew hazy and indistinct; one seemed to melt into another in an unnaturallycomplete and satisfactory manner, and he found himself accepting weird conclusions with the cheerful ease of a man falling asleep.
He may have remained so in the chair for an hour; it may have been longer. At any rate he awoke at last with his head throbbing painfully. He sat for some moments gazing at the flaring gaslight; then he heard a clock from somewhere in the house strike once. He glanced at his watch.
"One-thirty," he said. "Phew! I've got a long night to put in."
He got up and looked at the bed. But there was nothing inviting about it; all desire for sleep seemed to have deserted him. As Nanon had suggested, the roomhadgrown stuffy; and so he passed into the rear apartment and lifted the window. The stars still burnt palely in the sky as they had some hours before when he looked at them from the window of Okiu's house; small, swift-moving clouds were shifting across their faces; and all about was dark and still and mysterious.
But the night air was cool and he stood drinking it in for a time, and gazing down toward the dark loom made by the house of the Japanese at the far end of the open space. No light, no movement came from that direction. It was for all the world like a place deserted.
At this thought the secret agent smiled.
"That is the second time I've thought that same thing to-night. But not a great deal of movement or light is to be expected of any dwelling at this hour," he said to himself. "However, I should not be surprised if deserted were now the right word, after all."
He had closed the door leading into the bedroom, and so all was darkness in the apartment in which he stood. The quiet pleased him, and the cool air felt grateful upon his aching head and so he remained at the window for some time.
Then, suddenly, there came something like a dim burst of light. An instant served to show him its nature; upon the lawn was sharply silhouetted the outline of a window, with a blind but a few inches drawn.
"Some one in the hall," he said to himself, "and he has lighted the gas."
Curiously he gazed at the illuminated square upon the grass below; the sash and even the swinging cord of the blind were sharply outlined. But, as he looked, a figure partially filled in the square—the figure of a woman, small, delicate and exceedingly graceful, her back was, apparently, turned to the window, and she was waving one hand in a beckoning motion as though to some one further along the hall. Then a second figure appeared, and the two silhouetted heads bent together in earnest conference.
"So!" said Ashton-Kirk, softly. "I understood that with Drevenoff gone to the city I was the only man in the house. But I see now that there was a mistake somewhere."
The words of old Nanon, spoken only a few hours before, came back to Ashton-Kirk.
"It will be so much safer to have a man about the place, even though a sick one," she had said. "Now that Drevenoff is gone for the night, we should have been alone."
The two shadows remained with heads held close together for some little time. It was plain to be seen that the woman was doing the greater part of the talking; the man gestured now and then as though in protest.
"She is urging him to something which he does not fancy," thought the secret agent, his keen eyes not missing a movement. "And, as his denials constantly grow fainter, and her urging more insistent, I think she will finally have her way."
Fancifully the two silhouettes went through their parts within the lighted square as cast by the gaslight upon the lawn. The woman pleaded and demanded; the man resisted with wide gestures and violently shaken head.
But, as the secret agent had told himself, the woman proved herself the stronger in the end.Sharp, imperious, even threatening grew her manner; and the man's protests died, his head ceased to shake, until finally his gestures were inquiring only, as of one who consents and desires only to know the best way of going about the matter in hand.
At this stage the shadow of the woman became still for the first time since it had appeared. It were as though she were endeavoring to recall something, or devise a plan. Then with an impatient gesture she snatched at a hand-bag which hung upon her arm and seemed about to open it. But with a contemptuous sweep of the hand the man waved it aside.
Again the two began their mute debate. This time it was the man who took the initiative; she had failed when she came to the carrying out of what she desired; apparently she had no clear conception of the thing she wanted done, and he was reproaching her for it.
But in the midst of this she stopped him. Her hand darted out, and from the wall she drew something, the shadow of which was so fine that Ashton-Kirk could not, at first, even guess as to its nature. But the way it swung out at her touch finally gave him a clue.
"A folding gas fixture," said he, softly.
Once more the girl took the aggressive; she gestured sharply and indicated frequently a pointupon her left, some distance along the hall, and apparently a little above her head. The silhouette of the man remained motionless; what he heard was evidently bearing in upon him; his whole attitude seemed to say: "Here at last is something worth consideration."
Then there was a pause; the woman also became still; it were as though the two were measuring each other's strength. At length the man stepped toward the gas fixture, the woman drew back, and as she did so her hands went to her face as though she would shut out something repellent. With a handkerchief, the man brushed away any possible dust from the gas-burner; then he reached toward where the valve should be, and the half twist of his hand indicated that he had turned on the gas.
Then the man seemed to be gathering himself for an effort; he applied his lips to the burner and remained motionless and tense; suddenly the picture upon the lawn dimmed and then vanished entirely.
For an instant Ashton-Kirk remained looking out upon the now inky night; if one could have observed his face, a smile would have been seen; but a smile that would not have been an altogether pleasant one.
"It is not the most comforting thing in the world," he mused, "to have one person beckonanother along a deserted hall in the small hours of the morning, have the couple pause almost outside one's door and then confer as to the most effective means of taking one's life. And that the one—a woman—should be so urgent in the matter is particularly distressing." He turned from the window and faced toward the closed door of his bedroom. "And a ready-witted young lady she is," he went on. "How very quick she was to note that the gas was burning in my room; and what an instant and murderous idea at once took possession of her. To blow into an open gas-burner means that every jet upon the same line of pipe will go out as soon as the injected air instead of the gas begins to flow through the burners. About now I shall find the light out in my room and," here he opened the bedroom door, saw that it was in complete darkness and stood sniffing the air upon the threshold, "yes, the gas is pouring from the open burner. If I had been asleep——"
The apartment was thick with the overpowering fumes; he softly raised the windows and closed the valve. It would have seemed natural for a man so circumstanced to have taken some steps to identify and apprehend those who have made so murderous an attempt; but if this thought occurred to Ashton-Kirk he made no attempt to carry it out. However, another idea occurred to him.
"The old woman said that there were nothing but gaslights above the first floor. If another jet should be open in an occupied bedroom, there is still danger of a life being taken."
With this in his mind he pulled on his coat and opened the hall door. There were no fumes in the hall, and this showed that the burners here had been closed before the two had stolen away. He took out a match and was feeling for the nearest of the hall jets when a sound from the lower floor reached him. It was a continued, grating sort of noise, as though a cautious person were drawing a refractory bolt. He paused, his groping hand still outstretched, and listened with attention. The subdued squeaking ceased, there was a pause, then the street door opened and closed. He took a step or two toward the main staircase, and again he halted. Another sound came from below, the distinct, heavy sounds of falling objects striking the floor. Then came a shrill cry.
Like a shadow he slipped along the intervening space, and down the stairs. The lower hall was also dark; but there was a light in the library, and he gained the door at a bound.
Old Nanon, dressed as he had seen her when she showed him to his room, stood in the center of the library. In her hand she held a large brass candlestick; scattered upon the floor were a numberof articles of bric-à-brac which had apparently rested upon a shelf at one side.
Slowly the woman turned her gaze from the candlestick to the secret agent; her face was rigid and a yellowish white; the gray eyes were hard as flint.
"Ah, it is you," she said in a sort of subdued monotone. "I had forgotten about you."
"What has happened?" asked Ashton-Kirk.
The eyes of the servant woman once more returned to the candlestick, but she made no answer.
"I heard some one cry out," said the secret agent, his glance going about the room in its searching way.
Nanon nodded her head.
"Yes," she returned, "you heard some one cry out. It was I."
"What has occurred?"
Once more the stern old eyes sought his face; and she said:
"She has gone."
"Who has gone?"
"Miss Stella."
Ashton-Kirk thought of the creaking bolt and the closing street door; and his voice was pitched sharply when he again asked the question:
"What has occurred?"
The old servant placed the brass candlestickupon one of the desks; she rubbed her hands secretively with a corner of her apron while she said:
"I have told you what I fear; I have been as plain as one can be who has no proof. And as the hours passed I have grown more and more suspicious. Not one movement did this girl make that my eyes were not on her; not one word did she speak that I was not seeking behind it for some hidden meaning.
"To-night, as you know, she sent Drevenoff to the city. It was something of which I had heard nothing until the young man spoke. What was this urgent thing that could not wait until morning? Why would not the telephone or telegraph do as well as a messenger? I did not understand it. And then she did not care to have you stay here to-night; that was very plain—you must have noticed it."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"Go on," said he.
"It does not need a great deal to make me suspicious," resumed the old woman; "and her manner to-night aroused me to wonder if there were not something afoot of which I knew nothing. So when I went to my room I put out the light, left the door ajar and sat listening. After a long time I knew there was a light in the hall below; I stole out and bent over the rail and listened. Therewas whispering, but I could catch no words. Then I heard some one descending the lower staircase; and so I stole down to the second floor. From the head of the stairs I watched once more; then I saw the light go up here in the library.
"I had already started to descend when Miss Stella appeared in the library doorway—and in her hand she held," the speaker pointed at the desk, "that candlestick."
Here the old woman paused; and the secret agent, watching her face, saw the yellowish white change to gray.
"Well?" said he.
"She looked along the hall as if afraid of being seen," said the woman; "and all the time her fingers were picking—picking at something in the socket of the candlestick. She was just turning back into the room when she drew something out, looked at it and hid it in her glove. Then the light went out and I heard the bolt being drawn. I rushed down the stairs, but I was too late. The door opened and closed; I turned on the lights, but she was gone."
For a moment Ashton-Kirk stood studying the woman's face; then he stepped quickly to the desk and took up the candlestick. Something in the deep socket of this seemed to attract him and he turned on more lights. Under a cluster of incandescents he bent over the candlestick and examinedit minutely; then the magnifying lens came into play as it had upon the broken knob of the highboy. One glance through this and he sprang to the street door. The next instant a piercing whistle shattered the quiet of Fordham Road.
For a few moments after the shrill blast of the whistle filled the suburban street, the secret agent waited upon the door-step. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and with an angry exclamation he went quickly in and closed the door.
In a moment he was at the telephone, and stood with impatiently tapping foot until he was connected with the number called for; then the sleepy, dry voice of Fuller said complainingly in his ear:
"Hello, who is it?"
The secret agent made reply; and the aide's voice, now containing an eager note, demanded:
"What's up?"
"Get O'Neill at once. It's too late for a train, but call Dixon to get out the car in a hurry. Then come to Morse's, Fordham Road, with all the speed you can."
"All right," replied Fuller. "I'll get Dixon first, and have O'Neill ready when the machine arrives."
Ashton-Kirk hung up, and then turned to Nanon,who stood but a few yards away, still nervously rubbing her hands with the corner of her apron.
"You saw no one but Miss Corbin a while ago?" he asked.
"No," answered the woman.
"You are sure of that?" His singular eyes searched her face, but she met the look without flinching.
"I am sure," she said. There was a silence; Ashton-Kirk then walked down the hall toward the library door; and as he reached it, he felt her hand touch his shoulder. "You did not see any one?" she asked.
He paused, and turned his head.
"What would you say if I answered—yes?"
The sharp old eyes wavered; she swallowed once or twice spasmodically.
"You did see some one," she said. Then with intense eagerness: "It was not a man?"
He was about to reply when there came heavy footsteps upon the porch and then a loud peal at the bell. Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"A policeman, no doubt," said he. "Let him in."
The woman opened the street door; the hall lights shone upon the buttons and shield of a patrolman.
"I heard the sound of a whistle," said he, with a rich Irish accent. "Is anything the matter?"
Nanon looked toward Ashton-Kirk as though expecting him to answer; he came forward.
"How are you?" said he. "Will you come in?"
The policeman did so. He was a huge-chested and heavy-limbed fellow, and had a head of fiery red hair. He surveyed Ashton-Kirk with a grin upon his good-natured face.
"Oh, hello," said he. "So it's you, is it? I noticed you the other day with Osborne while I was keeping the gate, outside."
"Sure enough," said the secret agent; "so you were."
"I was on the corner beyant, there," went on the red-haired giant, "and divil the thing was I expecting when the blast of the whistle struck me two ears. Sure, there's seldom anything happens in the place; it's like a graveyard, faith; and to have a thing like that go off all of a sudden fair took my breath."
"It was a call for a man whom I thought was close by," explained the secret agent, as the old woman left them together in the library.
The policeman winked with much elaboration.
"I see, I see," said he. "A friend wid a good eye and a careful manner. Sure, it's meself who's seen him often enough of late; but I thought he was a headquarters man put here by Osborne."
Ashton-Kirk regarded him thoughtfully.
"You say you were standing on the corner when you heard the whistle," said he.
"There do be a convenient doorway there," smiled the policeman, "and it's often enough I stop there. Sorra the bit of use is there to go pounding about the edges of such a beat as this. A man might as well make himself quiet and easy."
"How long were you there to-night?"
The policeman considered.
"The best part of a half hour," he ventured, at last.
"Did you notice any one go by in that time?"
"There was one postman," said the officer, "a couple of milkmen going to the depot, McGlone's barkeeper on his way to open up for the early gas-house trade—and—yes, there was a girl."
"What sort of a girl?"
"Rather a nice sort—dressed well and wearing a veil. And it's a hurry she was in, for she turned the corner almost at a run."
"In what direction did she go?"
"Toward Berkley Street."
"It is not likely that you paid any further attention to her?"
"Well," replied the red-haired policeman, "maybe at any other time I wouldn't have. But you see, I had my old pipe going in a comfortable kind of a way, and was rather wide awake. Then,the queerness of the hour, and the hurry she was in, made me step out of the doorway and gaze after her."
"I see," said Ashton-Kirk.
"When she got to the corner of Berkley Street, she stopped for a bit, just as a body will who is not just sure of what they are going to do next. And from the way she looked, this way and that, I got the notion into me head that she might be expecting somebody."
"Ah! And did it turn out so?"
The man shook his head.
"Sure, I dunno," said he. "But no one come along while she stood there, anyway. She stopped for only a little, though; then she went on up Berkley Street."
"Up Berkley Street? Do you mean north on Berkley?"
"I see you do be very exact," grinned the good-natured giant. "Yes; it was north she went."
"Humph! South on Fordham Road, and north on Berkley Street. That seems rather queer."
The policeman looked at him curiously.
"What makes you think so?" asked he.
"Of course she may have changed her mind while she stood on the corner," said Ashton-Kirk. "But it is scarcely likely. Her movements were not left to chance." He paused and then asked:
"If a person goes south on Fordham Road, crosses to Berkley, which is a parallel street, and then proceeds north, what does it mean?"
The policeman pondered the matter deeply; then a light appeared upon his face.
"I get you," he said. "The woman was for stoppin' somewhere on Berkley Street. That's certain. If she were not, she'd have gone north be Fordham Road and so saved herself the walk av a full block."
The two remained in conversation for some time; but the policeman had nothing more of an interesting nature to impart. After about half an hour he went away, and Ashton-Kirk began to prowl from room to room on the lower floor; though he passed old Nanon frequently, as she sat under a light, her lips muttering over a book of fine print, she did not speak to him. Indeed, she scarcely once lifted her eyes. If the secret agent discovered anything in his mousing about he made no sign; and when there came the strident hoot of a siren in the street, he threw open the door.
"This way, O'Neill," he called.
A smoothly-shaven man of middle age came up the walk and stepped upon the porch.
"How do you do?" said he; then his voice pitched two tones higher as he added: "Good heavens! What's the matter with your head?"
"A little affair in the next street," said Ashton-Kirk. "It is of no great consequence, so we'll not speak of it. I want you to stay here and keep track of everything that goes on; you will be relieved before noon to-morrow."
"Very good," said the smooth-faced man as the other led him through the hall.
"This man," said Ashton-Kirk to the old servant as they came upon her, still poring over the book, "will remain here to see that everything is well while I am gone."
She merely glanced at O'Neill, and then nodded; bending close over the book, one gaunt finger following each line of the tiny type, she went on reading and muttering in a husked sort of way that made the newcomer stare.
"Rather a queer old party, I take it," he said, as he followed his employer to the street door.
"Yes; but then," and there was a frankly baffled look in the secret agent's eyes, "all the people in this house appear to be of that kind. I fancied that I had them pretty well gauged; but now I'm beginning to find out that I've been somewhat off the track."
With this he hurried out to the car and gave a quick order to the chauffeur. Fuller, who sat with upturned collar and down-pulled hat, exclaimed solicitously at the sight of the bandaged head, and the investigator in as few words aspossible told him what had happened. The eyes of the aide grew round with amazement.
"Warwick!" he cried. "Well, now that's one ahead of me. I've felt convinced from the first, as you know, that he had a good bit to do with this affair; but I wasn't sure that he was connected with the Jap. And so he is back, eh?" with a knowing nod. "Back and crawling about in the dark, knocking people on the head."
At a word from Ashton-Kirk the driver halted the car at the corner of Berkley Street.
"And this is where Miss Corbin stood, as the policeman told you," said Fuller, looking about. "And then she went northward—northward," with much significance in his tone, "toward Okiu's place."
His employer was looking about, and said nothing in reply; so Fuller went on:
"And what we sought for was hidden in the socket of one of those candlesticks all the time, and——" here he halted and his hand slapped sharply upon his knee. "But no! By Jove, it was not, for I distinctly recall that you examined all the candlesticks very carefully on the night of the murder."
Ashton-Kirk nodded rather absently; his eyes were traveling the length of Berkley Street.
"Then," cried Fuller, "the paper was placed there since that night. The murderer, fearing tokeep it in his or her possession, placed it in one of the candlesticks, knowing very well that they must have been already searched, and feeling that they would not be molested again. You said you were sure that none of those who sought the document had found it," he continued, "but it seems that in this you were mistaken. Unless," as though a fresh idea had come to him, "it should turn out that, after all, it was not the state paper which Miss Corbin took."
But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"I wish I could think so," said he, gravely. "If I could, I should not at this moment be classing myself as a blithering idiot."
"I hardly think I understand," said Fuller.
"Not many hours ago," said Ashton-Kirk, "I told Okiu that I could place my hands upon the person who was possessed of the paper. And to have found the assassin of Dr. Morse would have been no more difficult. Well," somewhat bitterly, "if I had taken a leaf from Osborne's book, and done these things when they became plain to me, I would not at this stage of the affair be circling about like a hound that's lost the scent."
"I see what you mean," said Fuller, "and I scarcely think you could have acted otherwise than you have. The entire Morse household is so entangled in this matter that itwasthe best planto arrest no one until you had learned the extent of the guilt or innocence of all."
"That was my idea, of course," said the investigator. "But I am not sure that it was not entirely the idea of a gambler, too confident of his luck. I fancy that I allowed the stake to lie too long upon the board; and now I find myself in a fair way to lose it entirely."
"But," and Fuller came back to the idea which he had expressed a few moments before, "are you quite confident that the object Miss Corbin took from the candlestick was——"
But the other stopped him.
"I have very excellent reasons for being confident. Listen to me." His gaze was still searching the street before them, but the brain behind the eyes seemed to be not at all concerned with what he saw. "Colonel Drevenoff, the commander of the regiment in which Dr. Morse served during the Russo-Japanese war, was a Pole. Most Poles are Roman Catholics. Drevenoff was one, and he wore the scapular."
"Ah," said Fuller, a light beginning to come into his eyes.
"The paper for which we are searching——" here Ashton-Kirk seemed to hesitate.
"And which Colonel Drevenoff stole from the Russian secret embassy," suggested Fuller.
"We are not at all assured that he did so,"returned Ashton-Kirk. "However, it was in his possession, no matter how it came there; and he had reasons for desiring to conceal it. The scapular which hung about his neck was a most likely place for this, being but several thicknesses of cloth stitched together. He cut some of these stitches, laid the paper between the layers of cloth and sewed them together once more."
"And," said Fuller, excitedly, "when he came to give the paper to Dr. Morse, he gave the emblem and all."
"Exactly. And judging from Dr. Morse's lack of light afterward, the elder Drevenoff said nothing about the paper itself. Of course he had an object in entrusting the scapular to the Englishman; this was, doubtless, that it be handed on to some third person, unknown to us.
"Then the Japanese government somehow got wind of the matter; and Okiu, their most acute agent, was assigned to secure the document. Like most artists, Okiu believes, so it seems, in preparing his material before he sets about using it; and this process in his hands has had a peculiarly Oriental tinge. True to his racial instinct his methods took an insidious, indirect form, a sort of preliminary torture, as it were, and this accounts for the series of enigmatic sketches with which Dr. Morse was persecuted during the last weeks of his life."
"But," said Fuller, somewhat at loss, "just how does all this assure you that Miss Corbin now has the paper?"
"I am coming to that," said Ashton-Kirk. "You recall, I suppose, what I told you regarding the scapulars, their different origins, devices and colors."
"Yes."
"There is one made of scarlet cloth—the 'Scapular of the Passion.' This is the one affected by Colonel Drevenoff; for it was one of this type which Miss Corbin took from its hiding-place. My lens showed me some fine scarlet strands adhering to some fragments of wax at the mouth of the candlestick; and as if this were not enough, I also saw the impression of a row of stitching, such as runs along the scapular's edge, upon a deposit of wax at the bottom of the socket."
"It seems incredible to me," said Fuller, "that a girl of Miss Corbin's sort should have a hand in an affair like this. But then," with a shake of the head, "I suppose her love for this fellow Warwick accounts for it. Many a man has been ruined by love of an unworthy woman, and many a woman, no doubt, by love of an unworthy man."
But to all appearances the secret agent did not follow these moralizings with any great attention. The big lamps upon the car threw their longwhite rays along Berkley Street; and while his mind was apparently engaged upon other things, the eyes of Ashton-Kirk followed the stretch of illuminated space to the end. Now he got out, and said to the chauffeur:
"Move ahead very slowly."
With eyes fixed upon the dusty asphalt, the secret agent walked ahead of the car. The lights of the latter threw everything they fell upon into sharp relief. At the curb before Okiu's house, Ashton-Kirk held up his hand, and the car halted.
"What is it?" asked Fuller.
"I caught the tire tracks of another car below there; they were so clear and uncut by other marks that I fancied that they might have been made late at night."
"Do you now think they were?"
"I can't say. But they lead up to this point. A halt was made, then the machine turned and doubled on its tracks."
Some distance up the street on the opposite side, a flare of red and green light caught the speaker's attention. It came from a drug store, and with Fuller he crossed the street and entered. A white-jacketed clerk stood behind a marble covered counter, and served them with the cigars which they asked for. Ashton-Kirk lighted his at a swinging gas flame near the door and drew at it with enjoyment.
"Rather out of the way for an all-night place, isn't it?" he asked
The clerk shrugged his shoulders.
"It's not a big payer after about nine o'clock," said he. "But you see, it is one of a chain of stores, and the company's policy is to keep open all the time."
"I see."
"We do some business by not closing, but not enough to shatter any records. This isn't the swiftest place on earth, you know."
"I suppose not."
"Your car will make some talk to-morrow," smiled the clerk. "They'll all be wondering who was up at such an hour as this. And those who heard you will feel that they have something on those who did not."
"I shall be a thrilling sort of a person, then," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "I suppose," after a moment, "that you do not have many automobiles pass through Eastbury at night?"
"Not after early evening. But yours is the second to-night—or rather this morning," with a look at the clock.
Fuller darted a rapid glance at the secret agent; but the latter displayed no eagerness. Placing his cigar upon the edge of the counter, he began carefully rearranging a frayed end of the bandage about his head.
"Two, eh?" was all he said.
"I didn't see the other myself," said the drug clerk. "Butitstopped over at the Japanese, too, so old Patterson, the watchman, told me. That was a couple of hours ago."
Ashton-Kirk had finished with the bandage and surveyed it, in a mirror, with an air of satisfaction. Then taking up his cigar once more, he remarked:
"Stopped there, too, did it? Humph! I wonder if any one got in?"
"Patterson said there were two persons came out of the house, but only Mr. Okiu got into the taxi. The other one walked up the street. But," and the clerk wagged his head in humorous appreciation, "that's not the funny part of the thing."
"No?"
"It was the girl," said the clerk, a broad smile upon his face.
Again Fuller darted the inquiring look at the secret agent; but even at this he did not display any indications of marked interest.
"There was a girl, was there?" was all Ashton-Kirk said.
The clerk nodded.
"Patterson is a funny old scout, there's no use talking," said he. "He's got such a comic way of looking at things. And where he gets all his expressions is more than I can say."
"I'd like to hear him tell about it," said Ashton-Kirk.
"He's taking a sleep in the back room," said the clerk, with a wink. "I'll try and get him out."
He disappeared and in a few moments returned, followed by a short, ruddy-faced old man with a short-clipped white moustache.
"Oh, the Jap and the taxi," said he, when the matter was explained to him. "Yes, that was a queer kind of a little thing." He looked at the secret agent in a knowing sort of way, and then proceeded: "You can't keep track of everybody, no matter how hard you try. I've been noticing that Jap, because hewasa Jap, ever since he came into this neighborhood, but I never give him credit for this."
"Have a cigar?" suggested Ashton-Kirk.
The private watchman bit the end off the cigar and lit it with much care.
"I smoke a pipe most of the time," said he, "but I like a cigar once in a while." He puffed it into a glow, and then went on: "That taxi to-night turns around and starts down the street and around the corner toward Fordham Road. And just as it turns the corner I notices a chicken standing there—regular broiler with a veil on and a little bag in her mit. She starts up Berkley toward where I'm standing, but before she getshalf-way I heard the buzzing of the taxi once more; around it came again into Berkley and shot up to the curb abreast of the girl.
"She stopped like a flash, the Jap threw open the door, and she gave a little yelp as though she was just about as glad as she'd ever been in her life. Then she jumped into the taxi, the door shut and around the corner it whirled and was gone. There's no use talking," said the speaker and he shook his head in a way that convulsed the drug clerk, "you can't never tell anything about human nature."
Ashton-Kirk buttoned up his coat.
"In that," said he, "I thoroughly agree with you. Human nature is a thing which we can base little upon with safety." Then to Fuller he added: "Come! I think we have some work ahead of us."
On the following morning Ashton-Kirk entered his study; a few moments later Stumph followed him, bearing a cup of coffee. And while his employer sipped this, Stumph gravely remonstrated.
"You should not work. You have had too little sleep."
"Has Purvis come in?" asked the other, heedlessly.
"Yes, he is waiting." Then, not to be deterred, the man added, glancing at the patch of white plaster which covered the wound on his employer's head: "You will be ill—you should rest."
"There is work which must be done," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "You don't always lay up yourself, Stumph, when you are out of sorts."
"No, sir," replied the man, gravely, "but this——"
"Ask Purvis to come in."
A few moments later a young man with a prominent nose and a long chin came into the room.
"Good morning," said he. "I understand from Fuller that you wanted me last night."
"It did not matter, as things turned out."
"My orders," said Purvis, "were to follow any of the household. When Drevenoff left the place I got after him according to instructions. But," with a disgusted air, "would you believe it?—I lost him."
If Ashton-Kirk was annoyed at this, he did not show it.
"How was that?" he inquired.
"He boarded the train at Eastbury," explained Purvis, "and I did the same. For the life of me I don't know how he did it, for I thought I had my eye on him all along; but when the train reached the city, he was not on it. Perhaps he noticed me and took a desperate chance while the train was moving."
"O'Neill is at the Fordham Road house," said Ashton-Kirk. "I want you to relieve him at noon."
"Very good," said Purvis. "Any instructions?"
"Nothing more than that you are to keep track of anything that may happen. O'Neill is to relieve you again at midnight."
When Purvis had taken his leave, Ashton-Kirk rang for Fuller. That young man entered; in spite of his loss of sleep he looked as brisk as ever.
"What about the motor cab?" asked the secret agent.
"I looked up the various stations. The nearestto Okiu's house is on Collingwood Avenue. I called them on the telephone, but could get no satisfaction. Then I paid them a visit, with better results. Okiu called a cab about midnight. Its driver's name is Freeman, and he lives on Nineteenth Street. Having gone off duty I thought he would probably be at his boarding-house; so I went there and was lucky enough to find him at home.
"Yes, he recalled the trip to Eastbury, and remembered perfectly that he had run his fare all the way to the city and to the railroad station. Then I went to the station. Again I was fortunate. A Jap answering Okiu's description had been sold two tickets at just about the time the taxi driver said he had reached the station."
"You inquired to what points the tickets were bought?"
"Yes," and here Fuller's face expressed great satisfaction. "They were for Washington."
The secret agent arose to his feet, his singular eyes shining with excitement, his nostrils dilating like those of a thoroughbred facing the barrier. After a few turns up and down the room, he said:
"This looks like the last stage of the chase. We must win now, or never."
"Washington," said Fuller, "is headquarters for such things as that secret document. The embassies just yawn for them."
There was a short pause; Ashton-Kirk halted at a window, and looked down at the eager, grubbing horde in the street.
"What have you heard from Burgess?" he asked.
"He sent in a long written report this morning. It would seem that the flurry on Fordham Road was not the only one last night—or rather this morning."
Fuller handed the other a number of folded sheets. They ran:
"I am sending this by messenger. Can't leave the job myself. About an hour ago Karkowsky got a call on the telephone. A man came to his room door and began hammering to wake him up. The 'phone is on the first floor; Karkowsky hurried down to answer; and I followed him."He went into the booth; I couldn't hear what was said, but I could see him through the glass door; and if ever a man listened to anything with attention, he was that man. As I watched him I could see that he grew more and more excited; then he hung up, and rushed out of the booth. The first thing he did was to snatch down a time-table from a rack; skimming it over he threw it aside and then was off up-stairs. I managed to get possession of the time-table; it was a schedule of Washington trains."Just now it looks as though my man were going to jump out for Washington. If he does I'll call you.
"I am sending this by messenger. Can't leave the job myself. About an hour ago Karkowsky got a call on the telephone. A man came to his room door and began hammering to wake him up. The 'phone is on the first floor; Karkowsky hurried down to answer; and I followed him.
"He went into the booth; I couldn't hear what was said, but I could see him through the glass door; and if ever a man listened to anything with attention, he was that man. As I watched him I could see that he grew more and more excited; then he hung up, and rushed out of the booth. The first thing he did was to snatch down a time-table from a rack; skimming it over he threw it aside and then was off up-stairs. I managed to get possession of the time-table; it was a schedule of Washington trains.
"Just now it looks as though my man were going to jump out for Washington. If he does I'll call you.
"Burgess."
"So," said Ashton-Kirk, as he laid the report upon the table, "our friend Karkowsky also shows an interest in Washington. Has Burgess called as yet?"
"Yes, I had a short talk with him a while ago. He was then at the station waiting for the train which Karkowsky was to take. And," continued Fuller, "he told me of something more. It seems while he was waiting at the Lowe Street place for Karkowsky to make a move, he thought he'd like to know who had the Pole on the 'phone and put him into such a state of mind.
"So he called the operator. 'This is such and such a number,' he says. 'What number was that who just called me?'
"'It was so and so number,' says the girl, after a little.
"'All right,' says he, 'give me that.'"
"Well?" said Ashton-Kirk.
"It was a tavern on Fordham Road about a block from Morse's," said Fuller. "The barkeeper answered. The only person he'd seen using the telephone was a young fellow who talked a foreign language—a Pole who lived at Morse's—the place he said where the man was killed a few nights ago. That was enough for Burgess; so he thanked the man and hung up."
"Drevenoff has heard something," smiled Ashton-Kirk."Altogether he seems a marvelously well-posted young man."
There was some further talk between the two; then Fuller went out and Ashton-Kirk continued to stand by the window, gazing down at the thronging, chaffering, noisy crowd. Large horses drew small loads, while small men staggered under large ones; heady cries summoned those at a distance to the spots where bargains in faded vegetables or decaying fish were to be had; the stone steps of the houses were filled with men in hard hats and upturned coat collars; women with their heads wrapped in knitted shawls peered out between the folds in stolid wonder.
At length he turned from the window, sat down in the wide-armed chair and lighted the German pipe; clouds began to gather above his head and to curl into the outer air; the rumble of wheels, the outcries of the drivers and hucksters, the undertone of those cautiously sparring for the advantage in a trade, stole into the room; however, he smoked on, oblivious. But, when his pondering seemed at its deepest and the corrugations between his eyes the most prominent, he suddenly struck the table a blow with his palm and leaped up.
"That's it," he cried, "that's it! What an idiot I was not to think of it before."
Putting aside the pipe he took down a directoryand began turning the pages rapidly. Now and then he made a rapid note upon a block of paper. Then he pushed the book away, descended the steps two at a time, and in the lower hall put on his hat. Stumph, hurrying to be of some service, reached the hall just as the street door slammed; and through a window he saw Ashton-Kirk, with eager tread, hurrying up the street.