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Ashton-Kirk, Investigator

<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> <h3>PENDLETON IS VASTLY ENLIGHTENED</h3> The Hammondsville local was taking on its passengers. It was a sooty train, made up of three coaches and a combination baggage and smoking car. The gateman pointed out its conductor, inside, and the two approached him. He was a spare, elderly man with a wrinkled, shrewd face, and a short, pointed manner of speech. "Oh, the General Passenger Agent sent you?" said he, examining them. "All right. What's wanted?" "Your train stops at a station called Cordova, does it not?" "It stops at every station on the run. Cordova's one of them." "There is an institution at Cordova, I believe?" "For deaf and dumb kids—yes." "Of course some of the people from there ride in and out with you at times." "I don't get many of the youngsters. But the folks that run the place often come to the city." "You are acquainted with them, of course. I mean in the way that local conductors come to be acquainted with their regular riders." Purvis grinned. "Say," said he. "It's hard to get acquainted with some of them asylum people. There's only a couple of them that can talk!" "I see." Pendleton noted Ashton-Kirk's dark eyes fixed steadfastly upon the man's face as though he desired to read the remainder from his expression. "There is one of them," continued the investigator, "whom perhaps you have noticed. He's rather a small man, and wears thick glasses. He also dresses very carefully, and he wears a silk hat." "Oh, yes," said the conductor, "I know him. He goes in and out quite often. Very polite too. Always says good day with his fingers; if the train is crowded, he's a great little fellow for getting up and giving his seat to the ladies." "Have you ever heard his name?" "Yes. It's Locke. He's some kind of a teacher." Ashton-Kirk thanked the man, and with Pendleton walked through the gate. As they were descending the stairs to the street, Pendleton said: "And now he wears a silk hat, does he? But you have not made sure of the man. You forgot to inquire if Mr. Locke favored the German dramatists." For a moment Ashton-Kirk looked puzzled, then he burst into a laugh. "Ah," said he, "you remember that." "Of course I remember it. How can I forget it? You go prancing about so like a conjurer that there's not a moment that I don't expect something. If you finish by dragging the murderer from your sleeve, I'll not be at all astonished. Your methods lead me to expect some such a finale." "To explain each step as I take it," said the investigator, "would be much more difficult than the work itself. However the time has now arrived for me to enlighten you somewhat upon this point, at least. I am quite convinced that this man Locke played a leading part in the murder of Hume. He is in a manner definitely placed, and I can speak of him without fracturing any of my prejudices." They got into the car, and Ashton-Kirk continued to the chauffeur: "Christie Place." Then to Pendleton, he added as the machine started, "I want to make some inquiries at the house where Spatola lived; and in order to make the matter clearer, we'll just drop in at 478." As they proceeded along at a bounding pace, the investigator related to Pendleton what had passed between Edyth Vale and himself a few hours before. Pendleton drew a great breath of relief. "Of course I knew that her part in the matter was something like that," he said, "but I'm glad to hear it, just the same." He looked at his friend for a moment and then continued: "But how did you know that Edyth heard a door close immediately after the pistol shot?" They had just drawn up in front of Hume's, and as Ashton-Kirk got out, he said: "If you had only used your eyes as we were going over the place," said he, "you'd have no occasion to ask that question." There was a different policeman at the door; but fortunately he knew the investigator and they were allowed to enter at once. When about half way up the stairs, Ashton-Kirk said: "This, I think, is about the place where Miss Vale stopped when she saw the light-rays moving across the ceiling and wall of the hall. You get the first glimpse of those from this point. Remain here a moment and I'll try and reproduce what she heard—with the exception of the cry." Pendleton obediently paused upon the stairs; Ashton-Kirk went on up and disappeared. In a few moments there came a sharp, ringing report, and Pendleton, dashing up the stairs, saw his friend standing holding open the showroom door—the one with Hume's name painted upon it. "It's the bell," said Ashton-Kirk, pointing to the gong at the top of the door frame. "When I examined it this morning I saw that it was screwed up too tight, and knew that it would make a sound much like a pistol shot to ears not accustomed to it." Pendleton stared in amazement at the simplicity of the thing. "I see," said he. "While Edyth stood listening on the stairs someone opened this door!" "Yes; someone unacquainted with the place. Otherwise he would have known of the bell." "But how did you know that Edyth heard a door close?" "Whoever rang the bell closed the door after him. It has a spring lock like the street door; and was locked when Miss Vale tried it a few moments later." "You say that the ringing of the bell shows the person who rang the bell to have been unacquainted with the place. I think you must be wrong here. Spatola is acquainted with the place; he was here at the time. This is proven by the scream of the frightened cockatoo which followed the ringing of the bell." "It was not a cockatoo that made the sound," said Ashton-Kirk. "Give me a moment and I think I can convince you of that." The gas in the hall was lighted; the investigator stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the fourth floor. "Persons," he continued, "who secretly enter buildings, as a rule never trust to the lighting apparatus of the buildings. One reason for this is that it is not under their control—another that they cannot carry their light about with them." He pointed to the lowermost step of the flight; there, as before, were the stump of candle, the burnt matches, the traces of tallow upon the wood. "There were two or more men concerned in this crime," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "and that is the method of lighting that they chose—a candle." "Two men! How do you know that?" asked Pendleton. "You shall see in a moment," replied the investigator. Then he continued: "And the candle was used not only for illumination—it served another purpose, and so supplied me with the first definite information that my searching had given me up to that time." Pendleton looked at the discouraged little candle end, with its long black wick, the two charred splinters of pine wood and the eccentric trail of tallow droppings. Then he shook his head. "How you could get enlightenment from those things is beyond me," he said. "But tell me what they indicated." "The candle and the match-sticks count for little," said Ashton-Kirk. "It is the tracings of melted tallow that possess the secret. Look closely at them. At first glance they may seem the random drippings of a carelessly held light. But a little study will show you a clearly defined system contained in them." "Well, you might say there were three lines of it," said Pendleton, after a moment's inspection. "Right," said Ashton-Kirk. "Three lines there are, and each follows a row of tack heads. These latter were, apparently, once driven in to hold down a step-protector of some sort which has since become worn out and been removed." The speaker took a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. Across the pad he drew three lines one under the other. Then with another glance at the candle droppings upon the step, he made a copy of them that looked like this: <center><ANTIMG src="images/clue.gif" width-obs="241" height-obs="150" alt= "drawing of clue"></center> Pendleton bent over the result under the flare of the gas light; and as he looked his eyes widened. "Why," cried he, "they look like a stenographer's word-signs." "Good!" said Ashton-Kirk. "And that, my dear fellow, is exactly what they are. There, scrawled erratically in dripping tallow, is a three word sentence in Benn Pitman's phonetic characters. It is roughly done, and may have occupied some minutes; but it is well done, and in excellent German. I'll write it out for you." Then he wrote on the pad in big, plain Roman letters: HINTER WAYNE'S BILDNISSE "There it is," said the investigator, "done into the German language, line for line. Brush up your knowledge now; let me see you turn it into English." Pendleton, whose German was rusty from long disuse, pondered over the three words. Suddenly a light shot across his face; then his eyes were in a blaze. "Behind Wayne's Portrait!" He fairly shouted the words. Astonishment filled him; he was trembling with excitement. "By Heaven," he gasped, "you have it, Kirk. Now I understand the smashing of the portraits of General Wayne. There was something of value hidden behind one of them—between the picture and the back! But what?" "It was nothing of any great bulk; the hiding place indicated points that out, surely," said Ashton-Kirk, composedly. "A document of some sort, perhaps." Pendleton stood for a moment, lost in the wonder of the revelation; then his mind began to work once more. "But I can't understand the writing of the thing upon the step," said he. "It was the fact that it was written that proved to me that there were at least two men concerned. One knew the hiding place of the coveted object; and this is how he conveyed the information to his companion," pointing to the step. "But," protested Pendleton, "why did he not put it into words? Surely it would have been much easier?" "Not for this particular person. As it happens, he was a mute." Again Pendleton's eyes opened widely; then recollection came to him and he said: "It was Locke—the man concerning whom you were making inquiries of the railroad conductor!" Ashton-Kirk nodded, and replied. "And it was he who shrieked when the door of the showroom opened. The out-cry of a deaf-mute, if you have ever heard one, has the same squawking, senseless sound as that of a psittaceous bird like the parrot or cockatoo." "But," said Pendleton, "the fact that the man who scrawled these signs upon the step was a deaf-mute, scarcely justifies the eccentricity of the thing. Why did he not use a pencil, as you have done?" "I can't say exactly, of course. But did it never happen that you were without a pencil at a time when you needed one rather urgently?" "This thing has sort of knocked me off my balance, I suppose," said Pendleton, rather bewildered. "Don't expect too much of me, Kirk." He stuffed his hands in his pockets dejectedly and continued: "You now tell me that this man was a mute. Yesterday you said he was small, that he was near-sighted, that he was well dressed and knew something of the modern German dramatists. You also told the conductor that he wore thick glasses and a silk hat. Now, I suppose I'm all kinds of an idiot for not understanding how you know these things about a man you never saw. But I confess it candidly; I don't understand." "It all belongs to my method of work," said Ashton-Kirk. "It's simple enough when you go about it the right way. I have already given you my reasons for thinking the man who did this," pointing to the step, "to be a mute. I judged that he was of small stature because he chose the bottom step upon which to trace his word signs. Even an ordinary sized man would have selected one higher up." "All right," said Pendleton. "That looks good to me, so far." "The deductions that he was well dressed and also near-sighted were from the one source. His hat fell off while he was tracing the signs; that showed me that he was forced to stoop very close to his work in order to see what he was about. You see that, don't you?" "How did you know his hat fell off?" asked Pendleton, incredulously. "Mrs. Dwyer is evidently paid to clean only the hall and lower stairway," replied Ashton-Kirk, composedly. "And that she sticks closely to that arrangement is shown by the condition of this upper flight. The dust upon the step is rather thick. If you will notice," and he indicated a place on the second step, "here is a spot where a round, flat object rested. That this object was a silk hat is positive. You can see the sharp impress of the nap in the dust; here is the curl in the exact center of the crown as seen in silk hats only. And men who wear silk hats are usually well-dressed men." "But how can you be at all sure that the hat fell off? Isn't it possible that he took it off and laid it there?" "Possible—yes—but scarcely probable. A well-dressed man is so from instinct. And his instinctive neatness would hardly permit him to put his well-kept hat down in the dust." "Go on," said Pendleton. "The stairs have been used since the hat fell there; but the dust has not been disturbed. There is a hand-rail on the other side of the flight, and consequently, all went up and down on that side." "I can understand the thick glasses," said Pendleton, "his being near-sighted suggested those. But what made you think he cared for the modern German dramatists?" "That was a hazard, merely," and the investigator laughed. "He knew German and was apparently a man of intelligence. No man who combines these two things can fail of admiration of Hauptmann, Sudermann and their brothers of the pen. And then a mute who knew shorthand well enough to have such ready recourse to it, struck me as being unusual. They all know the digital sign language; but German and phonography classed him as one above the ordinary. This knowledge brought the suggestion of an institution. Then came the suggestion that he might be an instructor in such an institution. The fragment from the railroad ticket hinted that the institution might be out of town. Fuller's research placed two such institutions. The ticket counter at the railroad office narrowed it down to one. The conductor of the train all but put his hand on the man." There was a short silence. Then Pendleton drew a long breath. "Well, Kirk," said he. "I don't mind admitting that you have me winging. I'll tell you now it's clever; but if I can think of a stronger word later, I'll work it in instead." "We have a pretty positive line on one of the criminals, and we will now turn to the other," said the investigator, briskly. "It was this other who committed the murder. The infirmities of Locke, the mute, made it impossible for him to venture into the rooms. The risks for a deaf and short-sighted man would be too great. Danger might creep upon him and he neither hear nor see it. For some reason which I have not yet discovered, but it may have been distrust, he had not informed his confederate as to the whereabouts of the object of their entrance. When they got as far as this hall, he concluded to do so; but as neither man had a pencil, he conveyed the information as shown; then the confederate entered Hume's apartments by the door which Mrs. Dwyer found open. This, by an oversight, may have been left unlocked, or the criminals may have had a key. However, that does not affect the case one way or another. "It is my opinion that Hume was seated at his desk at this time and heard the intruder enter the storage room; then pushing back his chair as we saw it, he arose. The criminal, however, sprang upon and struck him so expertly that he collapsed without a sound. Then the bayonet came into play. "A search followed for the thing desired—a search, short, sharp and savage. The murderer either found what he sought, or the footsteps of Miss Vale upon the stairs frightened him. At any rate he pulled open the showroom door—the one with the gong; Locke, still in the hall, screamed and both fled up these stairs to the roof and away." Pendleton had waited patiently until his friend finished. Then he said, with a twinkle in his eye: "You say the murderer opened the show room door, the gong rang and then Locke screamed. Now, old chap, that's not possible. If Locke is deaf, he couldn't hear the gong; and so there would be no occasion for him to cry out." "I think if you'll go back over what I've really said," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "you will find that I have made no mention of Locke crying out because of the gong. I said the murderer opened the door that has the gong. Then Locke screamed, not because he heard anything, but because of the sight he saw." "Ah!" "He caught a glimpse of Hume upon the floor—as we saw him." "You think, then, that Locke's intentions were not murder?" "At the present time I am led to think so. The confederate either was forced to kill to save himself, or he had nursed a private scheme of revenge. And the ferocity of the blow with the bayonet inclines me to prefer the latter as a theory." "That brings us back to both Morris and Spatola," said Pendleton, gravely. "By all accounts both bore Hume a bitter grudge. But the fact that both criminals escaped by the roof shows familiarity with the neighborhood, as Miss Vale pointed out to you. This seems to point to Spatola." "So does the purchase of the bayonet, and in the same indefinite fashion," said Ashton-Kirk. "But come, we motored to Christie Place more to inquire about this same Italian than anything else. So let's set about it." They thanked the policeman in charge and left the building. As they proceeded down the street toward the house in which the newspapers had informed them Spatola lived, the investigator paused suddenly. "I think," said he, "it would be best for us to first see Spatola himself, and ask a few questions. This might give us the proper point of view for the remainder." And so they once more got into the car; and away they sped toward the place where the violinist was confined. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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