Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent

by John Thomas McIntyre

  CHAPTER II

  ASHTON-KIRK GOES TO EASTBURY

  Ashton-Kirk turned to Fuller.

  "Read what you have taken down," he directed.

  Fuller did so, and while he read, the secret agent stood by the window,listening. When the assistant finished the other did not speak; heremained gazing down at the shabby hordes which eddied and murmured inthe street. There was a strange look upon the keen, dark face of thewatcher; the eyes were full of singular speculation. At last he spoke.

  "Queer things come out of the East," he said. "Even these people below,who have merely lived upon the western fringe of the Orient, are tingedwith its mystery. Every now and then an Occidental eye gets a flash ofsomething among them for which we have no explanation."

  "I have felt that frequently," said Fuller; "but never gave much thoughtto it. Orientals, somehow, have always impressed me uncomfortably; theyseem, so to put it, to have something in reserve. It is as though theyhad a trick or two up their sleeves which they have never shown us."

  Ashton-Kirk nodded.

  "A strange and interesting people," said he. He crossed to the bookshelves and took down a thin folio; placing it upon the table, he beganto rapidly turn the leaves; a series of Japanese prints fluttered beforeFuller's eyes.

  "There are numberless things which are held as marking the line ofdivision between the races of the East and West," remarked Ashton-Kirk."But," with a smile, "I have an idea that food and the cooking thereofhas more to do with it than anything else. The mental and physicaldifferences are the results of this. And in nothing does the Japanese,for example, show the result of his nourishment as in the matter of art.His hand in a drawing is unmistakable."

  He closed the volume of prints; and from a stand took a telephone bookand opened it at Eastbury. This was a "Boom" suburb, and as yet had nogreat population; down the list of subscribers ran the inquiring finger;at length it paused and a slight hissing intake of the breath told of adiscovery.

  "Good," said he.

  Tossing the book to Fuller, he added:

  "Find Dr. Morse's number in Fordham Road."

  While the deft fingers of his assistant ran through the pages,Ashton-Kirk turned to a sort of rack; throwing open one of the hugerolls which it contained, he displayed a section of a marvelouslycomplete map of the city and suburbs. It was done by hand and invariously colored inks; every street, avenue, court and alley wereclearly traced; each house and number was microscopically set down. Thismap was the growth of years; each month it was altered in some small wayas the city expanded; the care taken with it was the same as that whicha business house gave its ledgers. Again the long, inquiring fingerbegan to move.

  "Ah! Fordham Road is the first street east of Berkley."

  "Dr. Morse's address is 2979," said Fuller, looking up from thedirectory.

  "The same block!" cried Ashton-Kirk, his finger searching among thelines. Then he burst into a laugh and allowed the spring to whisk themap out of view. "Their houses stand back to back," said he.

  Fuller's expression indicated curiosity; but he had been withAshton-Kirk a number of years and had grown to know that his utteranceswere not always meant to be heard. The secret agent took up a bit ofbrown rice paper and a bulging pinch of tobacco; as he delicatelymanipulated these, he said to Fuller:

  "Do you recall the name of Okiu?"

  "It seems familiar," replied the assistant, after a moment's thought.Then suddenly: "Wasn't he one of----"

  "Look in the cabinet," said Ashton-Kirk.

  Fuller went to the filing system and pulled open the drawer marked "OK."After a search of a few moments he turned.

  "Yes," said he, eagerly. "Here he is, and underscored in red. Thedetails are in Volume X."

  Ashton-Kirk touched one of a row of bells. A buzzer made reply; througha tube the secret agent said:

  "Bring up Volume X at once."

  He threw himself into the big chair, stretched his legs contentedly anddrew at the cigarette. In a little while Stumph entered, bearing a hugecanvas-covered book; this he laid upon a small table, which he thenpushed toward his employer. The latter looked at his watch.

  "I'm not to be disturbed again to-day," said he. "And I'll dineearlier--at five o'clock."

  "Anything more?" asked Fuller, when Stumph had left the room.

  "Look up the trains stopping at Eastbury after seven o'clock. And standready to go with me. I may need you."

  Fuller went out; and Ashton-Kirk, with a cloud of blue smoke hoveringabout his head, opened the canvas-covered volume, found the name hesought, and at once plunged into the finely written pages. The minuteswent by, and the hours followed; cigar succeeded cigarette and pipefollowed cigar; the table became littered with burnt matches, ash, andimpossibly short ends. When Stumph finally knocked to announce dinner,he found tottering mountains of books, maps and newspaper cuttingseverywhere and in the midst of them was the investigator, lying back inhis chair with closed eyes; the only indication that he was awake beingthat a thin column of smoke was ascending from the pipe.

  At seven-twenty that evening a local paused at Eastbury Station; andamong those who got off were Ashton-Kirk, and the brisk looking Fuller.

  The station lamps were lighted, but were pale as yet, for deep splashesof reddish gold piled high on the horizon line, and long, shaking linesof light shot down the sparsely built streets.

  Fordham Road was one of the newest of these latter; its asphalted lengthshowed hardly a trace of travel and its grading was as level as that ofa billiard table. The buildings were even fewer here than elsewhere inthe suburb; and upon the vacant spaces huge signs reared themselves,announcing the sale of choice sites.

  Number 2979 was a brick and brown-stone house with a wide veranda and asmooth lawn which ran all around it. Skirting the lawn was a hedgefence; and a cemented path led to the front door. A tall, angular oldwoman opened this in answer to the ring. Her eyes were sharp and gray;her face was severe--crossed and recrossed by a thousand minutewrinkles; her hands were large and the veins were blue and swollen.

  "Is Mr. Warwick at home?" asked Ashton-Kirk.

  The sharp, gray eyes seemed to become partly veiled, the thin lips onlymoved a trifle when she spoke.

  "You would see him?"

  Ashton-Kirk nodded; and as the old woman admitted them, he said:

  "You are not English, then?"

  For an instant she seemed to bristle with indignation; her eyes, wideopen now, snapped.

  "English! No; I am a French woman, thank God!"

  She showed them into a somberly furnished but spotlessly keptsitting-room; a single window overlooked that portion of the lawn whichlay behind the house.

  "If you will sit down," she said, "I will speak to Mr. Warwick."

  Ashton-Kirk, whose first glance had been through the window, said:

  "You have Japanese for neighbors, I see."

  The woman's eyes also went to the window; there was a long, narrowstretch of lawn between the house and the one behind it; and this wasdivided in the center by a hedge fence. Upon the opposite side of thelatter, engaged in uprooting the encroaching weeds, was a small, darkman with spectacles and grayish hair. At sight of him the old woman madea gesture of aversion.

  "The good God hates all pagans," she said, resolutely, and went out.

  The secret agent smiled.

  "I think I should have known her for a zealot even without that," hesaid. "The type is perfectly expressed in her."

  "She has no love for the Japs, at all events," said Fuller, as he wentto the window.

  "The man clipping the hedge," said Ashton-Kirk, "is a member of thehousehold of whom Warwick neglected to speak."

  Fuller looked at the person indicated; he was upon the Morse side of thefence and wielded a huge pair of shears diligently; in spite of themildness of the evening he had a heavy coat buttoned to the chin. Nearhim frolicked a small terrier.

  "He may be a gardener called in to do the trimming," suggested theassistant.

 
"I think we'll find that he belongs here," said Ashton-Kirk. "That is aScottish terrier running about there; and that breed is never friendlywith strangers."

  There was a piano being played somewhere in the house; the touch wassure and soft, the air mournful and full of minors. They had listenedbut a moment, however, when Warwick entered the room.

  There was a flush in his cheeks and an excited sparkle in his eyes; ashe spoke his voice shook a little as though not perfectly under control.

  "Thank you," he said, eagerly, as he shook hands. "I am glad that youhave come."

  "Something has happened?"

  "Yes. A special delivery letter came for Dr. Morse about an hour ago. Afew moments after receiving it I heard him shouting aloud in thelibrary, and apparently smashing things in his rage."

  "Did you go to him?"

  "No. When he is that way, we have found it a better plan to leave himalone. After venting his rage in the way I have just mentioned, herushed from the place."

  Ashton-Kirk did not immediately comment upon this; his eyes were uponthe man clipping the hedge.

  "Who is that?" asked he.

  Warwick followed his glance.

  "Oh, a young fellow whom the doctor employs about the place. He is aPole, and came about a month ago; he seems very intelligent, and I knowhe is hard up. Morse knew his father somewhere, I believe."

  "I see." The speaker turned from the window.

  "You were saying that Dr. Morse rushed from the house in a passion."

  "Yes. And I went at once into the library. Upon his desk I found this,which was, more than likely, the cause of the outburst."

  He handed Ashton-Kirk a sheet of paper; in the center was a cross, theonly peculiarity of which was that the down stroke was red, and theother was blue. This the secret agent inspected with interest.

  "I believe you said that he cried aloud in the library--did you catchany words?"

  "No. But Miss Corbin did. She told me that----"

  "Wait!" Ashton-Kirk halted him. "I would like to speak to Miss Corbinpersonally."

  "Ah, yes. I suppose it would be best."

  Warwick left the room. Instantly Ashton-Kirk was at the window, andafter a glance, he laughed softly.

  "Fuller," said he, "if you saw a man weeding a garden and another manclipping a hedge near by; and if you noticed that they gradually andalmost imperceptibly worked toward each other, what should you think?"

  Fuller looked out at the two stooping figures; the terrier had stoppedhis capering and lay gnawing one of the cuttings from the hedge, whichhe held between his paws.

  "They _are_ nearer to each other," said Fuller. "And look! they neverexchange a glance. It seems to me," in the low, rapid tone of one towhom an idea had just occurred, "that they desire to speak to eachother, but would rather not be observed."

  Before the secret agent could reply to this, Warwick reentered, and withhim was a girl. She was slight and dark and dressed in white. Her mostremarkable feature was her eyes; they were big and black and wonderful.Her manner was hushed and fearful; her voice, when she spoke, was sunkalmost to a whisper.

  "Philip tells me that you are a very gifted man," she said, afterWarwick had spoken the words of presentation. "He says that hiddenthings are plain to you. I do not understand how or why this is, butnevertheless I am glad that you have come. And I only hope," here one ofthe slim, white hands trembled upon his sleeve, "that you have come intime."

  "I think," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "that you had better make aneffort to control yourself. You are cold with fear. It is necessary thatyou answer a few questions; so try and calm yourself--even if only forthat reason."

  "I can't! I can't!" She made a despairing sort of gesture, the greateyes filled with a thrilling terror. "How can I be calm when I read suchthings in his face?" One hand was upon the arm of the secret agent, theother upon that of young Warwick; she looked first at one and then theother. "Death is near to him," she said. "It is very near to him."

  "No, no!" cried the young Englishman.

  "I tell you, yes! And, perhaps, it is even nearer than I dream. It maybe upon the very threshold."

  "My dear girl," cried Warwick.

  "Have you been blind, Philip?" she asked in the same whispering voice asbefore. "Have you been blind that you have not seen? But no," her tonechanging tenderly, "it is not to be expected of you. He has not been afather to _you_."

  "No," said Warwick, and somehow a second meaning seemed to lurk behindthe words, "he has not."

  The girl turned to Ashton-Kirk.

  "Never," she said, "has any one been better or kinder than Dr. Morse hasbeen to me. Everything that I have I owe to him. And so can you wonderthat _I_ have been quick to see?"

  "Quick to see--what?"

  "The fear," she answered, "the fear which has gradually taken possessionof him. You have seen some of it," to Warwick, "but not all. It isterror of the unseen, of the unknown. It is fear of a danger which hedoes not understand."

  "You think, then, that Dr. Morse does not know the meaning of thesegrotesque messages which he has been receiving?"

  "I know that he does not. I have always known it; but just how, I cannotsay. This evening, upon opening the letter, he rushed out of thelibrary. I happened to be passing the hall, and heard him cry out: 'Beplain! Who are you? What do you want?'"

  "Is that all you heard?"

  "Yes; for with the last word he threw open the front door and was gone."

  Ashton-Kirk glanced at the two-colored cross.

  "Perhaps," said he, "if we could find the envelope which this came in,it would tell us something."

  "Will you come into the library?" said Warwick.

  As they were moving toward the door, Ashton-Kirk whispered a few quickwords to Fuller; the latter nodded and took a seat by the window, partlyscreened by a hanging and apparently much interested in the lawn.

  The library was a large, high ceilinged room, darkly paneled and with asmoothly polished floor. The chairs were massive oak affairs and therewere two huge, flat-topped desks. The bookcases were stuffed withserious, well-handled tomes; at one side was a highboy, the many drawersof which were furnished with glass knobs. Upon the top of this was alarge English traveling bag, the strap of which was tightly buckled.

  From the floor near one of the desks Warwick picked up a torn envelope.

  "That is what the paper came in," said he. "I know, because it was I whohanded it to him."

  "Postmarked at three o'clock this afternoon at the central station,"said Ashton-Kirk. "And the address was written on a typewriter." Hethrew the envelope upon the desk. "We'll learn nothing from that,except, perhaps, that the sender is one who understands the value ofkeeping hidden."

  Just then a door was heard to open and close heavily. At the soundAshton-Kirk noted the girl go swiftly to Warwick's side and whispersomething hurriedly.

  "No," said he, and there was just a trace of sharpness in his tone. "Ofcourse not."

  Quick steps were heard in the hall, then a man entered the room.

  "Uncle," said Stella Corbin.

  She went to him and put an arm about him, but his feverishly burningeyes singled out the stranger.

  "It is a friend of Philip's--Mr. Ashton-Kirk. He has been kind enough tovisit us."

  There was a disagreeable smile about the thin lips of Dr. Morse as hesaid:

  "Kind, indeed. We are charmed." Then to Warwick he added, "It is notevery one, my dear Philip, who has the power of attracting friends."

  Dr. Morse was a tall man, with high, narrow shoulders and a long,pasty-white face. There were deep, sour-looking lines about his mouth;the short black hair stood up on his head like bristles.

  "To attract friends," said the secret agent, "is rather an enviableknack."

  "It denotes a perfect nature, I have no doubt," replied Dr. Morse, stillwith the disagreeable smile.

  "And if such a knack exists," said Ashton-Kirk, evenly, "it argues theexistence of a counter condition, don't you think, in some others--t
hatof attracting enemies?"

  For a moment there was a dead silence in the room; a look ofconsternation appeared in the face of the young Englishman. Dr. Morsesmoothed back his short, stiff hair and sat down; the smile was stillpresent, but his red-lidded eyes were narrowed in a way that was not atall pleasant.

  "Perhaps you are right--things are usually balanced in some such way.We all have our enemies," he added. "I have read somewhere that thefewer the personal foes, the weaker the man. And since we must have themin order to prove our personality," with a laugh which soundedpeculiarly unnatural, "why, we can consider ourselves fortunate if theybut stand out where we can see them."

  "Your businesslike enemy seldom fights in the open," commentedAshton-Kirk with the air of a man merely making talk. "Our Americanpoliticians could teach you that fact."

  The physician nodded.

  "The ambuscade is effective," he agreed. "I learned its use in theRusso-Japanese war."

  "So!" The secret agent's brows went up. "You served in that war then?What regiment?"

  "The 47th infantry, Siberians."

  "It is peculiar how things come about," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "Whilewaiting for Warwick I noticed that the house in your rear is occupied byJapanese. Rather close quarters for old opponents, is it not?"

  "The Japanese," spoke Dr. Morse, "were the opponents of Russia."

  "I see. You are on good terms with your neighbors, then?"

  "No. They have been there almost as long as I have been here; but Ihave never spoken to one of them."

  Just then there came a tap upon the door; the old servant woman entered,but at the sight of those present, she halted.

  "I beg your pardon, Simon," she said to Morse. "I did not know you wereengaged."

  He looked at her coldly.

  "Well, Nanon," said he, "what is it now? Out again? There is no serviceat your church to-night."

  There was a jeer in his voice, but the old French woman paid noattention to it. That she addressed him by his first name indicated thatshe felt no sense of inferiority. Indeed, as Ashton-Kirk regarded her,he detected a look of contempt upon her severe face.

  "No," she answered, "there is no service to-night, as you know verywell. I came to speak of Drevenoff."

  A peculiar look came into the eyes of the secret agent; it was as thoughhe were groping about for something hidden away in his memory; then likea flash, recollection seemed to come.

  "Well, what of him?" asked Dr. Morse.

  "He is no better. Even now while he clips the hedges, he shakes withcold; again he burns."

  The physician gestured impatiently. Arising he went to a small cabinetand took out a jar partly filled with whitish pills. While he was soengaged, Warwick whispered to Ashton-Kirk.

  "Don't wonder at Nanon's manner. You know I'd told you she'd been in thefamily for years--before the doctor was born. He has the bad taste tosneer at her religion; and I really think that she considers him somehowevilly possessed. It's a sort of truce between them."

  Dr. Morse placed some of the pellets in an envelope upon which hescrawled some lines.

  "Tell him to take these," he said, handing them to the old woman. "Thedirections are on the envelope."

  "I hope it is nothing serious," said his niece.

  "He needs some quinine, that is all," returned the physician.

  Old Nanon moved toward the door. Her withered, large veined right handhung at her side; Ashton-Kirk noted her dart a sidelong glance towardMorse; then the bony forefinger made a rapid sign of the cross betweenthem.

  And so the door closed behind her