Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent

by John Thomas McIntyre

  CHAPTER V

  THE HOUND STRIKES THE TRAIL

  Old Nanon led the secret agent through the rear of the house and then upthe stairs from floor to floor and room to room. His eyes seemed to takein everything, gauging, measuring, speculating; now and then he asked aquestion to which she returned a brief, illuminating answer. Finallythey descended and Ashton-Kirk examined the front door. Beside theordinary spring lock it had a heavy bolt.

  "When you left the step and went back into the kitchen to prepare thecoffee, did you close this door?" he asked.

  "I did; and bolted it."

  "Did you look at it after the body was found?"

  "It was I who opened the door for Drevenoff when he started after you.It was still bolted."

  Both Fuller and Drevenoff stood in the hall; and as old Nanon paused atthe library door, Ashton-Kirk said to the Pole:

  "How far away is the nearest police station?"

  "About half a dozen blocks," answered the other.

  "I want you to go there at once and report what has occurred."

  "I can call them upon the telephone," suggested Drevenoff.

  "I prefer that you go in person," said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly. "More thanlikely they will send a man or two; if so, please wait for and returnwith them."

  Nanon opened the library door, turned the switch which controlled thelibrary lights, and then stepped back.

  "He is there," she said, one lean finger pointing to the empty doorway.

  "Will you not go in?" Ashton-Kirk looked at her keenly.

  "No." She drew back further, and he noted her make the same furtive signthat he had caught upon his first visit. "He has filled the world withevil," she went on, "and you see the end of it. Who knows but what thatroom swarms with things that the soul should fear?"

  With this she turned and retraced her steps down the hall, and they sawher reenter the room where the girl had been left.

  "A queer sort of old party," commented Fuller. "And one that seems tostick to her opinions."

  The two went into the library and closed the door behind them. Thehideous thing which sat huddled in the desk chair compelled theirinstant attention; the head lay tipped back and the face was caked withdry blood. From one thing to another the secret agent swiftly turned hisattention; his singular eyes were narrowed, his nostrils widened likethose of a hound searching for the scent.

  "He was killed while he sat," said he to Fuller. "His position in thechair is too natural for it to be otherwise. And from the size of thewound I should say the weapon was a small one; the fact that no one, noteven a woman seated just outside the door, heard a report, alsoindicates the same thing."

  Around the library went the secret agent; the side windows were tried,but were fast, as were those opening upon the porch. A raincoat lay uponthe floor; upon the top of the highboy rested a dark, soft hat.

  "The bag!" said Ashton-Kirk in a low voice.

  "Was there a bag?" asked Fuller.

  In a few words the other related what old Nanon had said. Fullerwhistled through his shut teeth as he searched the room with a glance.

  "It's gone," said he, "and a hundred to one the thing we want is gonewith it."

  "Perhaps," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we are not at all sure ofthat. The person who is keyed up to the pitch of a desperate deed suchas this seldom is in the state of mind to make an intelligent search.If the desired thing is at his hand, well and good, but if it is hiddenthe chances are decidedly against him. Witness the attempt upon therubies of Bostwick's wife, in which her butler lost his life; also theastonishing matter of the numismatist Hume.[1] A miscalculation spoiledthe criminals' chances in the first case; and a misunderstanding with aconfederate was fatal in the second. The beast in a man is uppermostwhen he can do murder; and even the most intelligent of beasts is not areasoning thing."

  "That sounds like truth," said Fuller. "But this is the way I look atit. Dr. Morse was clearly in a state of dread; all about him agreed thatthese queer things, which were continually recurring, had broken hisnerve. A servant enters a room and finds him preparing for a journey.Yet apparently he has not mentioned his intentions in this regard evento his niece, to whom he is much attached. To my mind this indicatesthat he was about to run off somewhere without saying anything to anyone. He feared to remain and he feared to tell that he was going,thinking it would, somehow, leak out."

  "Well, and what next?"

  "The most natural thing for him to do under the circumstances,"proceeded Fuller, "would be to take with him the article which createdall the fuss. It would be against human nature to leave it behind. Hewas about to put it into the bag, or he had already done so, when theservant saw him endeavoring to turn the key."

  "That," smiled the secret agent, "is rather well thought out. But youhave overlooked one thing. That Dr. Morse intended doing as you statewould necessitate his knowing definitely what his mysteriouscommunicants desired. His own acts and especially his own words, asoverheard by his niece, indicate the reverse of this. And if he did notknow what they wanted," with a twinkle in his eye, "it is certain thathe could not pack it away in a bag."

  Fuller looked perplexed, but nodded understandingly.

  "That's so," said he. "I forgot, for a moment, that the case had thatpeculiar phase." Again he looked all about. "However," he continued,"the bag is not here, and if the murderer took it with him, you can betthat he had an excellent reason for so doing."

  While Fuller was speaking, Ashton-Kirk lifted the coat from the floor;several of the pockets were pulled out. At once he examined the coatworn by the dead man; the inside pockets of this were also turned out,as were those upon the lower outside.

  "There was a search," said he. "But, as before, when the house atSharsdale was broken into, the personal valuables were not its object.Here is his watch in his fob pocket, and this," taking up a torn cardcase from the desk, "lies just where the criminal flung it in his angerat not finding what he wanted. Its contents," pointing to a tightlywadded heap of bills also upon the desk, "are there."

  "Suppose," doubted Fuller, "that the paper wanted was in this pocketcase. The murderer would have taken it. As it stands, you do not knowwhether he found it or not."

  "I think I do," replied Ashton-Kirk. "A man who has sought for a thingfor a long time is delighted at finding it. The man who threw thosebills upon the desk," holding up the tightly twisted lump, "was angry.That is plain in the vehemence of the act."

  He stooped and pulled open drawer after drawer in the desk; theircontents were tumbled, showing that a rough and hasty hand had beenplunged into them. Fuller was gazing in fascinated silence at the long,supple, inquiring fingers as they deftly ran through everything; thensuddenly he noted them halt. At once his glance went to the owner'sface; Ashton-Kirk, his eyes turned in a sidelong look toward a door atthe rear of the room, stood in an attitude of listening. Fuller wasabout to speak, but the other lifted his hand in a warning gesture.There was an instant's silence, the secret agent listening as before;then he bent toward Fuller and said softly:

  "Switch off the lights!"

  Stealthily Fuller crossed the room and did so; then he stood waiting. Ina few moments he heard a slight creak from the hall, and a muffled sortof jar. A minute or two passed; he was then astonished to hear the voiceof the secret agent speaking in an unconcerned tone of voice.

  "Hello," muttered the young man, "he is mighty cool about it, whateverit is. Turning off the lights to hold a conversation is rather new, Ishould say, outside of a spiritualistic seance."

  A short time passed; then steps came along the darkened hall, andAshton-Kirk's voice said:

  "Now, Fuller, the lights, if you please."

  Fuller turned on the lights once more, and again the two entered thelibrary.

  "I thought I heard you speaking to some one," said Fuller inquiringly.

  "Over the telephone," said the other, quietly. "There was a littlematter that I desired information upon."

  Again he resumed his inspect
ion of the room. The furniture, piece bypiece, passed under his keen eye; the floor, the walls, the hangings,the books and writing materials--nothing escaped him. At length he cameonce more to the highboy with its numerous drawers and glistening glassknobs.

  First one and then another of the drawers he pulled open; like those ofthe desk, they told of the same hasty hand. However, this seemed to beall they had to tell, for the secret agent did not spend more than aninstant over each. But as he was about to open the last but one, Fullersaw him pause and bend nearer. Then out came a morocco case and fromthis was produced a powerful magnifying glass. It was the knob upon theleft hand side of the drawer that had caught his attention; putting thelens on this it threw up a thick, dark splotch.

  "Blood!" said Ashton-Kirk.

  Fuller bent forward with great interest.

  "In searching the body after the shooting," said he, "the fellow,whoever he was, probably came in contact with the flow from the wound.And in opening the drawer he transferred it to the knob."

  But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

  "No," said he. "It is his own blood. Look!" and he ran the glass fromknob to knob upon the other drawers; "there are no marks here. And yet aman making a search would invariably start at the top, as I have done."Then the lens shifted back to the knob with the splotch. "Mark this oneclosely," he added, "and tell me what you see."

  "The knob has been broken," said Fuller at the first glance.

  "Exactly. All along its top there is a keen ragged ridge. Probablyseizing this to tear open the drawer, the criminal cut himself."

  For a moment the speaker stood studying the broken knob with itsparticle of dried blood; then like a flash he turned to Fuller, hissingular eyes ablaze, and snapped:

  "On the desk there is a paper-weight. Get it."

  Fuller, astonished, did as he was bidden.

  "What now?" he inquired.

  "Throw it through a bookcase door," was Ashton-Kirk's astonishing reply.

  Fuller stood amazed.

  "What?" gasped he.

  "Throw it through a bookcase door," repeated the secret agent, busy withhis lens.

  Fuller stood a moment, hesitating; the other arose impatiently, took theheavy paper-weight from him and sent it crashing through the door of thenearest case. The glass splintered and fell jingling to the floor;Ashton-Kirk selected two small pieces and handed them to Fuller.

  "In the kitchen you will find hot water and soap; wash and dry thesecarefully."

  The assistant went hastily, and while he was gone, Ashton-Kirk bentonce more over the broken knob. With the thin blade of a pocket-knife hepicked at the fragment of dried blood; finally he worked it loose andcaught it upon a card as it fell. Carrying this to a small table abovewhich hung a light, he examined it carefully. Then to Fuller, as thelatter returned, he said:

  "Are they ready?"

  "All ready," replied Fuller, and he placed the two pieces of glass readyto his employer's hand.

  Once more Ashton-Kirk looked at the blood clot; selecting that portionof it which appeared to be thickest he pressed the back of the knifeblade carefully against it; then taking it up with the tip of hisfingers he carefully broke it in two at the exact place. Sharply hebrought the pieces under the light; two crimson, shining spots ofuncongealed blood showed within the outer crust.

  "Excellent," said the secret agent. "I thought it possible, but scarcelydared hope for it."

  One after another and with delicate care he applied the newly exposedsurfaces of the clot to one of the bits of glass; a fair sized smear ofred appeared upon the smooth glaze. Then he drew the second glass acrossthe top of the first; the result was that he now possessed two distinctsmears of the blood.

  With much satisfaction he placed these upon the top of the highboy.

  "Now we'll leave them to dry," said he, "and in this place they'll notbe likely to be disturbed."

  Fuller was filled with curiosity as to the meaning of the foregoingperformance, but the other had already resumed his prowling up and down,and the aide understood that this was no time for questions.

  After a little, Ashton-Kirk opened the door at the back of the library,and they entered the rear room. There was a long window overlooking thelawn, and a door opening into the hallway. The room was scantilyfurnished; but upon the shelves were a stack of books in wrappers; alsothere were a number of filing cabinets.

  The secret agent looked at some of the books.

  "Remnants of editions," he said. "Morse was his own publisher, itseems."

  Fuller examined the window.

  "All tight," said he. "A Caspar window holder."

  The door leading to the hall was fitted with a large old-fashioned lock,from which protruded a copper key.

  "That looks safe enough," said Fuller, as he glanced at this.

  "If it were fast it might be," said the other, drily. "But I hadoccasion to use it while you had the lights out, and found it unlocked."

  Nanon was summoned and Ashton-Kirk met her in the hall.

  "This door," said he; "is it usually left unlocked?"

  "Never," she answered. "Dr. Morse always had it fast from the inside. Hekept his books and papers there, and did not care to have themdisturbed."

  "That will do," said Ashton-Kirk. The old woman was just about to turnaway when there came a loud peal at the door-bell.

  "The police," said Fuller.

  "Go and see," said Ashton-Kirk to Nanon.

  Grimly she went along the hall, her spare, strong figure iron-like inits rigidity; Fuller's eyes followed her and then turning to the secretagent, he said:

  "The thing looks queer, doesn't it? Everything tight as wax, but a veryeffective job done for all." Then, lowering his voice, he added: "Therewere only four of them inside; and from my way of thinking the thingrests between them."

  The front door had opened in the meantime; they heard the murmur ofvoices and then it closed sharply. The old Breton woman hurried back towhere they stood; and as she came the hall lights showed that her linedface had gone a livid yellow; her bony, large veined hands wereoutstretched.

  "Who is it?" asked Ashton-Kirk.

  She pointed toward the door quiveringly.

  "The Japanese," she answered

  FOOTNOTES:

  [1] For the details of the case of the numismatist Hume, see the firstbook of this series: "Ashton-Kirk, Investigator."