CHAPTER XXIIICONCLUSION
ASHTON-KIRK, with Miss Knowles and Scanlon, entered the billiard room a few moments later.
Miss Hohenlo greeted them despairingly.
“Frederic’s game is disgraceful,” she said. “I never saw him play so badly.”
“In that case,” laughed Ashton-Kirk, “it will be a charity to relieve you of him. Miss Knowles, I am sure, will take his place with credit.”
The girl gave him a quick glance; then she went to the table and took the cue from Campe’s hand.
“I don’t think I have much of a chance against Miss Hohenlo,” smiled she. “She’s always been too clever for me.”
“My dear,” cried the spinster, reproachfully, “you play an excellent game. Indeed, I am never quite at ease with you.”
“That maiden-lady’s pretty able,” spoke Scanlon to Ashton-Kirk, a few moments later in the hall; “and in other things besides billiards. She must be on that something’s happening, that you first put Campe on guard over her and now the girl, and yet she goes on as if nothing was to be feared.”
“Calmness in the face of danger usually comes from a lack of imagination,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“But,” protested Scanlon, “you wouldn’t say she had any shortcoming like that, would you? I think the way she switched the matter of the northwest wind on to the shoulders of the girl is a good proof that she’s all there in that respect.And the way she grabbed, that same night, the fact that the sword was missing, and pieced the fact on to my suspicions of Miss Knowles, and the same weapon was rather cute.”
Here Campe came out of the billiard room and joined them.
“What now?” he asked.
“I think,” said Ashton-Kirk, “the last act of this drama of yours is about to be played.”
“Good!” said Campe, his eyes burning. “Whatever it develops—good!”
“Are you armed?”
“I always am—now,” answered the young man, sadly. “I haven’t taken a step without a firearm in readiness for months.”
“And you, Scanlon?”
“All right,” replied the big man.
When they reached the lower floor, Ashton-Kirk said to Campe:
“Please call your man. We’ll need him.”
“Wait!” Mr. Scanlon held out one large protesting hand. “What do you want him to do?”
“We are going into the cellars. I think it best that some one be left to watch the hall thereabouts, and the cellar stairs.”
Bat nodded.
“Thought it was something like that,” said he. “And that’s why I wanted to know. Now I want to say this. Kretz may be all right; then, again, he may not be.”
Campe gazed at the speaker astonished.
“I should as soon distrust myself as Kretz,” said he. “I’ve known him for years, and he is in every way worthy of confidence.”
“May be so,” admitted Bat. “May be so. But things break the other way sometimes, you know.So let’s be sure.” He looked at the others inquiringly. “How about that day when we were shot at in the cellar?” said he. “How did the lamp come to smash? It happened, remember, before a shot was fired.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
“If that’s all you have against the sergeant-major,” said he, “I think he will do. As it happens, I know just what caused the smash; some one from the darkness struck it. I saw the hand that did it, but not the owner thereof.”
Scanlon was silent for a moment; then he said:
“Well, I don’t set myself up as a judge. I was wrong in some other matters, so there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be wrong in this one of Kretz’s. So, ifyouthink he’s O.K., I’m willing to.”
“There is only one traitor in Schwartzberg,” said young Campe, mournfully.
“Who’s that?” asked Scanlon.
“I think you know,” replied the young man. “And, as I said to you before, there’s no need to mention names.” There was a brief silence, then he added: “Something made me suspect that everything was not right. But I was never sure of anything,” to Ashton-Kirk, “until the night before your first visit here.”
“You saw some one picked up by the searchlight while Kretz was firing at a man who was running away,” said the crime specialist. “We saw her, too.”
“When she returned,” said Campe in a low tone, “I asked her why she went, how she got out, and what was her errand. But she couldn’t answer. And ever since she has avoided the subject.”
“I made one of my customary mistakes thatnight, too,” said Scanlon. “I picked the wrong lady, and I thought you meant her, too.” Then to Ashton-Kirk: “Shall I call the sergeant-major in?”
“Yes,” replied Ashton-Kirk.
In a few moments the German entered, and he listened, grim and unwinking, to the detective’s instructions.
“Here I shall stand,” said he, “until you tell me—no more.”
“That’s enough—if you keep your eyes open.” Then to Scanlon Ashton-Kirk said: “Do you think you could find a hatchet?”
“I’ll have one in a minute,” replied the big man.
He produced one from the storeroom. Ashton-Kirk then went to the outer gate and blew a shrill signal. Almost at once Burgess and his companion appeared out of the darkness, and followed the special detective into the castle. Then the electric torch flashed along the vault steps as the five descended. The door closed and Kretz was heard to shoot the heavy bolts.
“It’s rather early to expect anything definite,” said the crime specialist. “But you’d better see that your weapons are ready, for all that.”
And when they reached the floor of the vault each had a heavy automatic in his hand. Quickly they went through the place and found it empty.
“No one here,” said Mr. Scanlon, fingering the grip of his weapon regretfully. Then in another tone he added, to Ashton-Kirk: “But, I say, what makes you think there will be?”
“Some days ago,” replied the special detective, “in my journeying about in the guise of an invalid, I came across a boat hidden along theriver bank, and the indications were very strong that it belonged to the people at the inn.”
“Well?” asked Scanlon.
“When you told me of your experience with the man who went through Mr. Campe’s papers,” said Ashton-Kirk, “I thought a paper was the object of the visit. And so it was—but only as a thing that would lead to something else. This latter fact I suspected from the contents of the telegram received by me this morning; and I was convinced of it when we made our search of the vaults a few hours ago. The paper sought was one which held certain directions; the man with the cough found it that night before he leaped through the window. The paper could not have been clear to them; it pointed to something hidden here in the vaults of Schwartzberg; they searched, but without success. At length, perhaps last night, Alva came, as we saw by the wheel tracks of his chair. His superior intelligence at once showed itself, and located what they sought.”
Young Campe gave a cry.
“So it was in Schwartzberg, as they said!” he exclaimed, despairingly.
“You never knew it, then?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
“I knew nothing, except that I was threatened with death unless I gave up what I had never seen and knew nothing of. I told them so a hundred times, but they would not believe me.”
“You could have given them the run of the place,” suggested Ashton-Kirk, “and let them search for themselves.”
The jaw of the young man set.
“No,” said he. “They asked that, but Irefused. You, I think,” and he looked at the other steadily, “know why.”
“I think I do,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“But,” spoke Mr. Scanlon, “tell me how you know they located what they were after?”
“In that far corner,” said the crime specialist, “there is a heavy flag, set in the floor. Very recently, so I noted to-day, some one has scraped away the cement at its edges. There has been an effort to raise it, but the attempt has failed because of a lack of tools.”
“I’ve got it,” said Bat. “When you walked me up along the river this afternoon, that place where you left me to go poking among the tangled old vine was the place where you discovered the boat. And you saw tools in it; and that’s what told you they were coming to-night.”
“Well done,” laughed-the detective. “Very well done indeed!”
Then Campe, who had patiently kept himself from asking questions, seemed unable to contain himself any longer. One query followed another in rapid succession, and in a few moments Ashton-Kirk found himself deep in statements and explanations. The torch had been snapped off; they stood in the darkness of the vaults, talking in low tones.
And when everything had been told him, the young man was silent for a space. Then he said:
“The way you have gone about this is quite wonderful—I would not have believed that such a meagre array of detached facts could be so pieced together, and made into a whole so direct and significant. But even now I do not understand how you made up your mind as to the nature of the thing these men seek.”
“When I read Fuller’s statement, contained in his report, that the former head of the Guatemala police was now that country’s representative at Washington, I wired at once asking information as to the man Evans and the nature of his offences in Guatemala. The telegram I received this morning,” to Scanlon, “was in answer to that, and it said——”
Here the voice died away; there was silence for a moment.
“Well,” asked Scanlon, “what did it——”
“Hush!”
Again there was silence. Then, little by little, a sound reached the ears of the big man—a faint scraping—and then a murmur.
“They are coming,” said the crime specialist. “This way.”
For an instant the torch flashed to show them their way; then, safe in the shadows, they waited. A glimmer of light danced in the darkness, then it flooded a narrow space; the door to the underground passage had been opened; a man stepped into the vault. To the surprise of Scanlon he recognized the soft gentleman.
“Hello!” was Bat’s mental exclamation. “He’s here again, is he? Maybe we’ll play a return engagement; our act went big last time.”
The newcomer looked carefully about and as he was doing so a second man entered. This was the drawn man, Shaw. He turned and helped the Indian servant with the rolling chair, in which lay Alva. After this came Hirst, who had discarded both his crutch and stick, and then the landlord of the inn, with the peppery little doctor carrying some heavy tools.
“What is the time?” asked Alva in his strong voice.
“Almost ten,” replied the soft man.
“We’d better get to work at once,” spoke Alva. “Get the bars.”
“Wait,” said the soft man. “I want to have a look at the door.”
The rays of the lantern came creeping toward the five crouching in the shadow. But the edge of the illumination did not quite reach them as the man went by and softly up the step. After a little he returned; the rays lighted up the inquiring faces of those awaiting him.
“All right,” he reported. “It seems to be still nailed fast.”
“Now,” said Alva, impatiently, “to work. And let us get out of this hole. I can feel the dampness creeping into my very bones.”
The watchers saw them cluster about the point indicated by Ashton-Kirk a short time before. The yellow light of the lantern played about them quaveringly; Alva, with his misshapen head and his burning eyes, sat propped up in his chair, waiting.
Iron chinked against stone; there came a grinding and a straining as the men threw their weights on the bars; then followed a panting of breath, muffled exclamations, and a huge slab of stone from the floor leaned against the wall.
“The light!” cried Shaw.
The rays shone down on the place which the flag had covered a few moments before.
“There they are!” came the smothered cry of the soft man.
Shaw snatched at something; in a moment it was out upon the floor. It was a flat package,wrapped in lead foil and tied with cord. A knife-blade cut the binding, the foil was torn away, as was layer after layer of oiled paper; then the rays of the lantern glanced upon the surface of a number of metal plates.
“They are the plates! It’s Joe’s work!” The soft man was exultant and waved his arms.
“How many are there?” asked Alva.
“Four,” replied Shaw. “And all in perfect condition.”
“In six months,” babbled the soft man, “there will be some ‘stuff’ in circulation in Mexico that will never be detected. ‘Stuff,’” and here he laughed almost hysterically, “that’ll be better than the genuine. Joe was the workman; he knew how to go over a plate.”
“And he also knew how to wrap one so that the damp wouldn’t get a chance to work on it,” said Shaw. “Hold the lantern closer.”
Under the light the drawn man inspected the plates closely.
“Great work!” said he, at length. “Never saw better.” Then he looked at the soft man. “How long did your brother put in on them?”
“I’m not sure. A good many months, though. And it was all done in this place. Joe worked himself to death over them, he was sick when old Campe got cold feet, backed out of the job and hurried north. He must have given Joe some kind of a story to get him to hide his work in this way; he was a wise old fox, as you know. Anyway, he went back to Mexico; Joe died before he could get any kind of word to me; and there we were, up a tree.”
“Well, we are safely down again,” came the strong voice of the cripple; “but don’t let uswait here. Get the plates together, and we’ll be off.”
Shaw obeyed; carefully he placed the plates one upon another, the layers of oiled paper between. He had them all nicely adjusted when they were snatched from his hand, and a voice said quietly:
“Careful now, gentlemen. Don’t do anything hasty. There are five guns between you and what you want.”
Startled, amazed, snarling, the seven stared at Ashton-Kirk. Faintly they saw the burly form of Scanlon in the shadow, and beside him the master of Schwartzberg and the two detectives; in the polish of the black automatics which these held there was a silent menace.
Ashton-Kirk nodded to the soft man, and smiled.
“The Guatemala police also admired the work of your brother,” said he. “They say they never saw better.” Then without turning his head: “Scanlon!”
“Right here,” answered the big man, promptly.
“How long do you think it would take you to undo the work of Joe Evans, engraver, upon four plates, counterfeiting the notes of the Mexican Republic?”
“With a hatchet,” replied the big man, “about once second to each plate.”
The engraved steel clashed upon the floor at his feet.
“I’ll take the torch, too,” said Bat, “so’s to be sure and make a job of it.”
“Steady now,” said the detective, as his keen eye noted a movement on the part of the criminals. “And you, Mr. Shaw, keep away from thatlantern. I understand the sudden extinguishing of lights is a specialty of yours.”
The light of the torch fell upon the four steel plates; Mr. Scanlon placed them face up, and with a few sharp cuts from the edge of the hatchet upon each ruined them for ever. And then, once more, they clashed upon the floor, this time at the feet of the intruders.
“There they are,” observed the big man, lazily. “Seeing that you were at so much trouble to get them I’d hate to see you go without them——”
“I suppose,” said Alva, and his full lips drew back and showed his teeth in a smile, “you will now call the police.”
“I hardly think we’ll go to that extreme,” replied Ashton-Kirk. “The Mexican government possibly would be interested to know who was guilty of the murder of three members of the Campe family, but we’ll hold that in reserve for a while, at least.”
“You couldn’t prove anything,” sneered Alva.
“Don’t be too sure of that, Mr. Alva. The mark of your hand is plain in your work, and it would not be at all difficult to tie you up in it.” He nodded to the man, quietly. “But,” said he, “we’ll say nothing about that now. I’m giving you a chance—not for your sake, nor for the sake of any of your friends, of course—but to spare an entirely innocent young man a family scandal.”
He pointed to the underground passage.
“Waste no time in going,” said he. “And let us see no more of you.”
Sullenly the seven, like wild beasts, longing, but not daring to leap upon their captors, turned to the passage. Alva’s chair was rolled into it,then the other followed, muttering and with many sidelong glances.
“Good-night,” called Scanlon into the tunnel. “Hope you’ve had a good time.”
Then the great stone swung shut and closed them out.
“I don’t think you’ll ever be bothered by any of those gentlemen again,” said Ashton-Kirk, to Campe. “They were interested in the plates, and not at all in you. However,” as they ascended the steps, “I’d have that passage filled in, if I were you, and meant to spend much time at Schwartzberg.”
Kretz opened the door at Campe’s summons. The entire household seemed gathered in the lower hall about the door.
“The Fräulein Hohenlo,” and the grim German motioned toward that lady, “would go down to you. But I would not let her.”
“You are not hurt?” asked a voice, and the golden-haired girl came forward toward young Campe. Her voice was low and trembling, and she moved unsteadily.
“Take care!” cried Ashton-Kirk, sharply. He was not a moment too soon in the warning, for Campe had barely time to leap forward and catch the fainting girl in his arms.
Miss Hohenlo, white, and with a deadened look in her eyes stood looking at Ashton-Kirk.
“He was not injured?” she asked.
“Who?” said he.
“Alva.” Then, quietly, for she seemed to understand that all was over, “He is my husband.”
“No,” replied Ashton-Kirk. “He is safe enough.” Then looking at the woman withnarrowing eyes, he continued: “He has just about reached the river bank. Will you join him there?”
Dumbly she went down the hall, her hands seeming to grope the way.
“Kretz,” said the special detective, “open the door.”
The German moved after the woman, and in a few moments they heard the great gate open and close.
“Well,” said Mr. Scanlon, with a long breath, “that’s all finished! And it seems to me,” nodding to Ashton-Kirk, affably, “it’s a pretty fair kind of a job.”
The Stories in this Series are:ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATORASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGISTSECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)SPECIAL DETECTIVE (ASHTON-KIRK)
The Stories in this Series are:ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATORASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGISTSECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)SPECIAL DETECTIVE (ASHTON-KIRK)
The Stories in this Series are:ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATORASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGISTSECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)SPECIAL DETECTIVE (ASHTON-KIRK)
The Stories in this Series are:
The Stories in this Series are:
ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATORASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGISTSECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)SPECIAL DETECTIVE (ASHTON-KIRK)
ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATOR
ASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGIST
SECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)
SPECIAL DETECTIVE (ASHTON-KIRK)