Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent

by John Thomas McIntyre

  CHAPTER XI

  A RAY OF LIGHT

  The late editions of the evening-papers ran riot with this latestfeature of the Morse case. The New York police, by happy chance, hadpounced upon the warm trail as soon as the young Englishman stepped fromthe train. What followed was so totally unexpected by the authoritiesthat it set them into a violent state of agitation. This they at oncecommunicated to the ever receptive "yellows," and then the publicreceived more than its due share of the developments as served uponscores of front pages.

  "Who the Japanese is is a mystery to the police and the hotel people,"declared the _Star_ in triple-leaded feature type. "How he got into thehotel and up to Warwick's room is, as yet, a thing which, so they claim,has baffled the best efforts of all concerned. But what he meant to dowhen he reached the room is in the opinion of this journal a matter thatwill prove infinitely more taxing upon the wit of the detectivedepartment."

  Fuller read column after column of such comment. The various people whohad figured in the matter were separately interviewed and their ideaswere given much space. The railway porter, who had sprung into fame byrecognizing Warwick and who had had the awesome experience of carryingthe much spoken of leather bag from the day coach to the cab outside,related his feelings when he later became aware of his patron'sidentity, and told of his hunt for the policemen who had given him theyoung man's description. The cabman also talked thrillingly, as did theclerk and the bell-boy who led the detectives to the door of Warwick'sroom. As for the police, they appeared to have maintained an attitude ofmuch wisdom. What utterances they condescended to make were of apeculiarly Delphic character; and, as is usual, they hinted atastonishing revelations which limited periods of time would bring forth.

  "They are now deep in the case," stated the _Standard_, hopefully, "anda little time may work wonders. A half dozen experienced man hunters arerunning out the various fine threads which stretch away in as manydirections. Each of them has a hopeful outlook and is confident ofultimate success. And this intelligent force has been recruited byOsborne, a local man of acknowledged parts, who is handling the parentstem, so to speak, of this exotic crime growth. Mr. Osborne willfamiliarize himself with this new phase of the case and will then beready to take up his task here with renewed vigor."

  "For experienced people," commented Fuller, as he cast the sheets fromhim, "I think the publishers of newspapers are the most gullible in theworld. Day after day they apparently stand for the same oldexplanation--day after day they seem to be taken in by the same oldconventional lies."

  A short man with a bulging chest and surprisingly broad shoulders satopposite the speaker. He stroked his prominent jaw as he remarked:

  "They are as wise as any one else, and they feed that sort of pabulum tothe public because they think it wants it. They know how the regularpolice work; but they say nothing because they don't think their readersare interested in hearing about it. The fellow who takes an eveningpaper home to read after business would much rather believe that Osborneis a remarkable detective than just a fair mechanic who was draggedaway, by ward politics, from his natural job of gas fitting."

  "I suppose you are right, Burgess," replied Fuller. "There is moreinterest in the first, I admit. But between you and me, I don't thinkOsborne ever cleared up a case yet that he didn't get the rights of justby sheer luck."

  "And he knows it," said Burgess. "And what's more, he is firmlyconvinced that that is the only way a case _can_ be cleared. He truststo luck in every instance."

  "I expected that you would be sent to New York to look up this hotelmatter," said Fuller, as he sat back in Ashton-Kirk's lounging chair andstretched his legs out in luxurious comfort.

  "Oh, I've been looking up that fellow Karkowsky," said Burgess. "Theboss sent O'Neill over on the Warwick end. O'Neill is pretty smooth, youknow, and is just the fellow to get along with the regular police, andwork all they know out of them--if there _is_ anything."

  "How does Karkowsky look?" questioned the other.

  "I haven't got sight of him yet. Seems to be a queer sort of bird andflies only at night. And now that the police have got so interested inlooking for him, he's apt to get more difficult to out-guess thanbefore."

  "Have they muddled up the trail?"

  "In the usual way," with a disgusted wave of the hand. "Brass bandmethods, you know. They follow him with drums beating and then wonderwhy they don't catch him."

  At this moment there was a step at the door, and Ashton-Kirk entered. Hewore evening clothes with an overcoat over them; a silk hat was on hishead, and he carried his gloves and stick as though he had just comein. There was only one light burning in the room, and it threw hisgigantic shadow upon the wall.

  "How are you?" he said to Burgess. "Anything to report?"

  "There it is in the envelope, as far as I have gone," replied Burgess."But there is nothing very vital. Karkowsky seems as elusive as any onethat I know of."

  Ashton-Kirk nodded. He took up the envelope and opened it. There wereseveral closely typed sheets and his eye ran over them quickly. Thereport was as follows:

  "_Notes on Karkowsky_"

  "The keeper of the harness shop at Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue is of the name of Andrew Brekling. He is a Pole and has been in this country for five years. Karkowsky was unknown to his landlord in every way, save that of a lodger. He rented a third-story room and lived in it almost a month. He had few callers. The harness-maker does not remember any one of the name of Drevenoff, and is quite sure that no young man of the description which you gave me of Drevenoff ever came there.

  "I made a great many inquiries in the neighborhood, but learned little. A grocer told me that Karkowsky purchased many articles from him and appeared to have plenty of means; he also said that while the Pole was voluble upon most things he never spoke of himself or his affairs.

  "Then I found from the harness-maker that Karkowsky had spent a good bit of his time at a branch of the city library which was no great distance away from his lodgings. Thinking this might, on an off chance, turn some light on the matter, I went there. The young woman in charge recalled Karkowsky perfectly, although she did not know his name. He had always been good-natured and smiling and always read the one kind of books--scientific philosophy of the most modern type. Once he told her that all the other books in the place should be burnt."

  Having reached the end of the report, Ashton-Kirk took off his coat andhat and laid the report upon the table.

  "Have you made any further attempts?" he asked of Burgess.

  "I've been hunting for some trace of him all day," replied the man. "Butit's tough work. He went off without any one seeing him, and I haven't athing to dig a claw into."

  "Was there nothing left in his room--nothing that would indicate whathis intentions were?"

  "Not a shred of anything. You see, he had rented the place readyfurnished. And the police were there ahead of me."

  "Take the matter up again to-morrow; if nothing develops let me know,and we will make a fresh beginning over the same route. Mr. Karkowskyhas been, so it appears, an important figure in this matter, and itwould be just as well to know where we can put our hands upon him whenwe want him."

  After a brief conversation relating to the details of the work thatBurgess had done, that gentleman departed. Ashton-Kirk rolled acigarette and sat down in the big chair which Fuller had vacated. Thenhe drew toward him a number of books which lay upon the table.

  "These," said he, "were kindly loaned me by Father O'Leary of the Churchof the Holy Redeemer. And the information they contain is quaint andmost valuable."

  "They are rather out of your line, are they not?" questioned the other,as he took up one of the volumes and looked at the title. It was a "Lifeof St. Simon Stock."

  "Nothing is out of my line," said Ashton-Kirk. "I have, as you know,seized some of my most helpful assistance from what might be regarded as
a most unpromising source." He took the little book from his aide's handand ran over its pages. "In what way," asked he, "can a biography ofSt. Simon Stock help me to save the United States from an internationalembarrassment and incidentally give me more information upon the subjectof the murder of Dr. Morse?"

  Fuller shook his head.

  "I don't know," said he. "But if you say it will do so, I'm perfectlywilling to believe it."

  The other smiled.

  "You have been with me for several years, Fuller," he said, "and yourclerical work is very complete. Your investigations, when you are givena definite point to work upon, are also satisfying. But you stop there.I should think that by this time you would have begun to weigh thedifferent problems which come up and reason them out for yourself."

  Again Fuller shook his head.

  "I've got a pretty good kind of a brain," said he; "people who know haveconsidered me a first-class accountant, and I'm a perfect storehouse forcertain kinds of facts. But it's not your kind of brain; for ages ofeffort would pass and not once would I dream of trying to gaininformation as to the death of a resident of Eastbury from a parcel ofbooks like these."

  "I suppose you are right, my boy," said Ashton-Kirk; "different types ofmind have different tendencies." He continued fluttering the leaves ofthe book, the pale smoke of the cigarette drifting formlessly abouthim. Then he went on: "Perhaps it does seem rather an extraordinarything to expect a monk of the thirteenth century to aid in solving thepresent problem. But let us go further into the matter and we maypossibly get some light."

  He laid the burnt end in the shell upon the table and rolled anothercigarette; and while he did so, he talked.

  "Simon Stock was an Englishman, and was a native of Kent. At the age oftwelve he is said to have left his home and lived in a hollow tree. TheOriental idea had penetrated the West, and Europe was filled withanchorites. Some monks of the Order of Mount Carmel entered England fromthe Holy Lands and Simon, now a man of mature years, joined them. Thereis a legend that he was directed to do so by a supernatural agency, butCatholic scholars seem to pay little attention to this. At any rate timepassed and the Kentish man, famous for great piety and virtue, wasfinally made general of the White Friars, a name by which the CarmeliteOrder was known.

  "Again legend plays its part. As he knelt one day in prayer in hismonastery at Cambridge, the Virgin Mary is said to have manifestedherself to him and presented him with the scapular."

  "I have a sort of hazy notion as to what that is," said Fuller, "but notenough to work on."

  "It was originally a sort of habit which the monks wore over their othergarments," replied Ashton-Kirk; "but from St. Simon Stock's day italtered in appearance. It became two squares of cloth fastened by twopieces of tape, and was worn around the neck by those persons whodesired to benefit by its privileges. When stretched out on a flatsurface its appearance," went on the speaker, as he took up a pencil anddrew a few rapid lines upon the margin of a newspaper, "was somethinglike this:"

  Fuller's eyes opened in wonder.

  "Why," he cried, "that is exactly like the drawing sent so frequently toDr. Morse!"

  Ashton-Kirk laughed quietly.

  "Already," said he, "you are beginning to see the use of FatherO'Leary's books. And, perhaps, as we go on, your vision will becomewider still." There was a moment's pause, then the speaker continued:"There is another scapular beside that of St. Simon; it is theTrinitarian, which was brought forward by an order of that name, foundedby John de Matha, and Felix de Valois for the redemption of captives.These religious wore a white habit with a cross upon the breast. ATheatine nun named Ursula Benincasa originated still another scapular,that of the Immaculate Conception, which is of light blue. An Italianorder, called the Servites, introduced another, this time of black; andthe Sisters of Charity of Paris brought forward still another--ofscarlet."

  Ashton-Kirk's pencil tapped upon the drawing which he had made upon themargin of the newspaper.

  "Dr. Morse had this design sent to him in all the colors named. Firstcame the brown, then there was blue, white, black and red. When thegamut, so to speak, of colors had been run, he received the picture ofthe crowned woman, done in brown. This is now very easy to explain. Thesender for some reason had called attention to the various sorts ofscapulars and was beginning all over again. The Carmelite scapular is ofbrown and bears a picture of the Virgin Mary--hence the woman wearingthe crown. Then came the cross which I was shown upon my first visit tothe Morse house; its down stroke of blue and cross stroke of red is thesame as the device upon the white scapular of the Trinitarians. But,however, all this would never have been dreamed of by me if it had notbeen for the third picture as found by us in the secret drawer of Dr.Morse's desk."

  With the pencil, Ashton-Kirk sketched a human heart, transfixed bynumerous daggers.

  "When this caught my eye," he continued, "I could feel the stirring of amemory--one of those which I spoke of as being ticketed and ready tohand," with a smile. "Was it the heart which awoke this dim feeling offamiliarity? No. Was it the daggers? Again, no. Then it must be thegeneral idea--a heart pierced by daggers. At this I felt the memorystruggle desperately in the brain cell; then suddenly it broke out. Ihad seen the design upon a bit of laced card in the show window of areligious goods store, when a boy. I recalled the title, printed at thebottom of the card, perfectly. It was 'The Seven Dolors.' The memory ofthis was specially keen, for I had not known what was meant by dolors,and had gone to a dictionary and found that they represented sorrows orpangs. This all came back like a flash, and instantly I counted thedaggers transfixing the heart in the drawing. They were exactly seven.

  "I was now convinced that the whole matter of the drawings had areligious aspect, and looked at them with a different eye. The cross wasself-evident; the crowned woman could be none other than the VirginMary. However, it was not until I had consulted Father O'Leary that Igot to the bottom of the matter. With the other things made plain tohim, he instantly recognized this as the outline of the scapular,"tapping the marginal sketch upon the newspaper.

  For a few moments Fuller was silent. Then he said:

  "That was a clever stroke, and it might go a long distance toward makingsome other things plain. But," and he shook his head in a ratherhopeless way, "I confess that I don't see the reason for all thesethings being sent to Dr. Morse. In fact, there _doesn't_ seem to be anysort of reason _in_ it."

  Ashton-Kirk arose.

  "There is seldom any reason in things which we do not understand," saidhe. "But it often happens that when we do come to understand them thenwe find the reasons behind them solid and far-reaching enough.